Applied Mathemagics

[Riddlest]

I come to lying on my side in what smells like a swamp, the damp earth pressing into my face. My limbs feel all wrong, too short and bent in ways they shouldn't be. The air is thick and damp, filled with the scent of wet leaves, dirt, and something acrid that stings my nose. Groaning, I try to sit up, but the moment I push myself upright, I catch sight of tan-furred stumps where my hands used to be.

What the hell?

Hooves. My brain struggles to process what I'm looking at—what I am. My heart pounds in my chest as I take a shaky look at the rest of me. My body's covered in short, smooth fur, like some kind of horse. My legs bend awkwardly beneath me, too slim and wiry. My tail—a goddamn tail—flicks against the ground without my permission, sending shivers up my spine.

The worst part? When I look down at the murky puddle next to me, there's a reflection. Blonde hair, like a mop, hangs over my eyes, and jutting out from my forehead is a light tan horn, spiraled like something out of a fantasy movie. My face is also tan, long and narrow, my nostrils too wide, my eyes absurdly big, its horrible to look at. They're almost human, which makes it even worse—they stare back at me, full of confused fury.

"What in the actual hell…" I mutter, but the voice that comes out isn't mine. It's softer, higher-pitched albeit still male, it makes me wince. A part of me hopes this is some messed-up dream, but the way the damp cold bites into my fur tells me otherwise.

I stumble to my hooves—legs—whatever they are now—and nearly fall on my face. My knees buckle, and the world tilts violently before I manage to plant all four hooves firmly on the ground. It takes a humiliating amount of effort just to stay upright.

Great. Not only am I a freak, but I'm a clumsy one.

The forest is silent. No birds, no bugs, just the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of tree trunks shifting in the wind—if there even is wind. The air feels stagnant, heavy with humidity that clings to my fur and soaks through to my skin. Every step I take sends a squelch through the muck, and the sound is far louder than it should be. It feels like the forest is listening.

I need to move. Staying here, where I woke up, feels wrong. The trees press in on all sides, their jagged branches clawing at the gray sky above, and the path ahead—if you can even call it a path—is nothing more than a narrow break in the oppressive undergrowth. I can't shake the feeling that those branches are reaching for me. Watching me.

Shoving the thought aside, I force my shaky legs into motion, each step a concentrated effort to not fall flat on my face. The tan fur covering my body is already streaked with mud and who-knows-what else, but I can't bring myself to care. Survival first, dignity later.

The forest only gets darker as I push forward. The light from above is faint, a sickly green filtered through the dense canopy. Shadows pool around the roots of the trees, which twist and bulge unnaturally, like frozen coils of massive snakes. They shouldn't be shaped like this. It's like the trees themselves are alive, frozen in grotesque poses mid-motion.

I pause to catch my breath, leaning against one of the gnarled trunks. Its surface is slick and cold, but the moment I touch it, my skin crawls. There's something about it—an almost imperceptible vibration beneath the bark, like the faint hum of machinery or… something worse. I jerk back, my hooves slipping on the wet ground, and stumble away.

That's when I hear it.

A sound, faint but distinct, breaks the unnatural stillness. It's a whisper, distant and airy, like voices carried on the breeze. Only, there's no breeze. My ears swivel instinctively toward the sound, and I curse the fact that they move on their own now. The whisper grows louder, though I can't make out words. It's coming from somewhere deeper in the forest.

"Nope," I mutter, forcing my legs to turn me in the opposite direction. "Not playing that game."

But the whisper follows. It's not just a sound anymore—it's a sensation. A prickle at the base of my horn, like static before a lightning strike. My fur stands on end, and a cold sweat drips down my neck. My heart pounds as I quicken my pace, stumbling over roots and slipping on mossy stones. The forest closes in, the path narrowing with every step, but I don't dare stop.

The whisper turns into a low hum, surrounding me, vibrating through the ground and into my bones. It's not natural. It doesn't belong here—I don't belong here. Panic claws at my throat, and my breath comes in short, ragged gasps as I burst into a small clearing.

The air feels different here. Still wrong, heavier. Oppressive. The clearing is empty, save for a massive tree in the center, its trunk twisted and blackened like it's been charred in a fire. The branches above are bare, clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Carved into the bark are strange, angular markings, their edges glowing faintly with a sickly green light. They pulse in rhythm with the hum, which has grown deafening now, reverberating through my skull.

I back away, my hooves trembling beneath me. My instincts—whatever's left of them in this cursed body—scream at me to run, to get as far away from this tree as possible. But my legs won't move. I'm rooted to the spot, staring as the glow intensifies, the markings shifting and writhing like living things.

Then, without warning, the hum stops. The silence is worse. It's absolute, pressing down on me like a physical weight. My breathing sounds unnaturally loud, and even my heartbeat feels muffled, like I'm underwater.

Something moves behind me. A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of leaves. My ears swivel before I can stop them, but I don't turn around. I can't. My body is frozen, every muscle locked in place as the presence—whatever it is—draws closer. The air grows colder, biting into my skin through the fur, and the smell of damp earth is overwhelmed by something metallic. Coppery.

Blood.

A voice, low and guttural, whispers directly into my ear. The words are garbled, incomprehensible, but the tone is unmistakable. It's hungry.

My legs scream at me to run, but I barely manage a shaky step before my hoof catches on a root, sending me sprawling forward. I hit the ground hard, mud caking my fur and seeping into my mane. The voice grows louder, that guttural whisper drilling into my skull, and the thing behind me begins to move.

It doesn't walk like anything alive should. It shuffles, dragging itself closer with wet, slapping noises, like meat hitting a butcher's block. My heart is hammering so loudly that I can barely hear the thing over it. I scramble, trying to get back up, my hooves sliding and slipping uselessly in the muck. I can't even crawl properly—every time I push off the ground, my legs buckle beneath me.

"Go away," I croak, my voice cracking with desperation. Tears sting my eyes, blurring the nightmarish shapes around me. "Just… just go away!"

I don't want to look. I don't want to see it. But my head turns anyway, as if some morbid part of me can't help but confirm my worst fears.

It's worse than anything I could have imagined.

The creature stands in the dim light of the clearing. Its body is a grotesque patchwork of flesh, stitched together with jagged seams that ooze something dark and viscous. Pieces of skin hang loosely from its frame, flapping slightly as it shifts its weight. The shape is vaguely equine but wrong in every possible way—its legs are mismatched lengths, one shoulder slumping lower than the other, and its body sways unnaturally, as though it's about to collapse under its own weight.

But the worst part is its face. A blank sheet of skin where features should be. It ripples, a nauseating movement, as though something beneath is trying to push its way through.

I choke back a scream, tears streaming down my face as I try, uselessly, to pull myself away. My muscles feel like lead, my limbs refusing to cooperate. Every second feels like an eternity as the Skinbag takes another step forward, its hoof—a grotesque lump of bone and sinew—sinking into the mud with a sickening squelch.

I'm going to die here.

"No… no… NO!" The words burst out of me in a broken sob, my mind spiraling into panic. My body is trembling uncontrollably now, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I can feel it—the weight of its presence bearing down on me, the metallic stench filling my nostrils as it leans closer.

Go away. Please, go away. Just leave me alone! The thought pounds through my head, desperate and raw, and something… shifts.

A sharp pressure builds at the base of my horn, like a balloon about to burst. It's searing and electric, making my vision blur and my teeth clench. The Skinbag lurches closer, its blank face inches from mine now, and I can feel the heat of its breath—or whatever passes for breath in that thing—on my fur.

"GO AWAY!" I scream, raw and guttural.

And then, everything explodes.

A surge of force erupts from my horn, a blinding, golden light that floods the clearing. It hits the Skinbag like a freight train, slamming into its malformed body with a sickening crunch. The creature is thrown backward, crashing into the blackened tree with such force that the bark splinters and the glowing markings sputter out. The Skinbag crumples to the ground in a motionless heap, the sickly green glow fading from its patchwork body.

Silence falls over the clearing again, but this time it's different. The oppressive weight is gone, replaced by a strange stillness. I'm left lying in the mud, panting, my body shaking uncontrollably. My horn aches, the pain radiating through my skull like a dull throb, but I'm alive.

I'm alive.

I stare at the Skinbag's lifeless form, my chest heaving as the realization sinks in. I killed it. I don't know how, but I killed it.

A shuddering sob escapes me as I curl into myself, the adrenaline draining from my body, leaving me hollow and exhausted. The forest is still watching, I can feel it, but for now, the danger is gone.

My legs finally decide to work, though barely. Trembling and weak, I push myself up from the mud, slipping twice before I manage to stand. The Skinbag doesn't move, but I can't bring myself to trust that it's truly dead. The way it was stitched together, the way it felt—it wouldn't surprise me if it stood back up and came after me again.

I stumble backward, not even bothering to wipe the tears from my face or the mud caked in my fur. My hooves squelch in the muck, the sound making me wince with every step, but I don't stop. I can't.

The blackened tree looms behind the corpse, its markings dark and lifeless now, but the sight of it makes my chest tighten. Whatever power was there, whatever created that thing, I want nothing to do with it. I just need to get away.

Every step feels like it takes an eternity, my legs buckling every so often as I try to navigate the uneven ground. The forest doesn't let up—its twisted roots and gnarled branches seem determined to trip me. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the faint noises of the forest, but the oppressive silence from before is gone.

That should be comforting. It's not.

I glance over my shoulder every few steps, expecting to see that horrible, rippling blank face staring back at me, but there's nothing. Just the dense shadows of the trees.

When I've finally put what feels like a safe distance between me and that thing, I collapse against a tree trunk, my body heaving with exhaustion. My legs are covered in scratches and mud, my chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. My horn still aches, a dull throb that pulses with my heartbeat.

"What the hell just happened?" I mutter, my voice hoarse.

I lift a shaky hoof to my horn, hesitant to touch it, half-afraid it might explode again. That surge of energy, that force—whatever it was—it saved my life. But how did I do it? My mind replays the moment in a haze: the panic, the fear, the overwhelming desire for that thing to just go away.

Was it… magic?

I glance around the clearing, looking for something—anything—to test the theory on. There's a small twig lying a few feet away, brittle and half-buried in the dirt. Focusing on it makes my stomach churn, memories of that monster's blank, rippling face flashing in my mind.

But I have to try.

I squint at the twig, willing it to move. Nothing happens. My ears flick back in frustration, and I grit my teeth, narrowing my focus until my vision tunnels.

Move, I think, the word sharp and forceful in my mind. Still nothing.

"Come on," I growl, glancing at my horn like it's a faulty piece of equipment. I dig my hoof into the mud, planting myself firmly, and try again. This time, I feel it—a faint, buzzing pressure at the base of my horn, like static building up. My jaw tightens, and I focus harder, willing that damn twig to so much as twitch.

The buzzing intensifies, and for a moment, I think I've done it. But the twig remains stubbornly still, half-sunken in the dirt.

Then it moves. Or at least I think it does. It's barely perceptible, a tiny, jerky motion that might have been the wind. My heart leaps into my throat, and I almost call out in triumph before doubt creeps in.

Did I really make it move? Or is the forest just playing tricks on me?

I stare at the twig until my vision blurs, waiting for another sign, but nothing happens. The buzzing fades, leaving my horn aching again, and I slump against the tree, defeated.

"Great," I mutter, closing my eyes and letting out a shaky breath. "So I'm useless unless I'm about to die. That's just perfect."

The air around me is heavy, damp, and cold, but I can't bring myself to move yet. My body feels drained, like that burst of magic—or whatever it was—sapped everything I had. Still, I can't afford to stay here long. Not in this forest.

I open my eyes and stare at the twig again, silently daring it to move. Nothing. My ears flick, catching the faintest rustle of leaves in the distance, and my chest tightens. I don't know if it's the wind or something worse, but I'm not sticking around to find out.

With a groan, I push myself back onto my hooves, wobbling as I regain my balance. "Guess I'll figure this magic thing out later," I mumble to myself, though the words feel hollow. I don't have a choice—if I can't figure it out, the next monster I meet won't give me a second chance.

The light fades faster than it should, like the forest is sucking the day straight out of the sky. I keep moving, tripping over roots and slipping in the mud as my body fights me every step of the way. My hooves are clumsy, catching on things I'd normally step over without a second thought, and my legs feel like they belong to someone else—someone uncoordinated and about three drinks deep.

The dark creeps in, not just around me, but inside me too. Every shadow looks like it's watching, every distant rustle feels like it's getting closer. I grit my teeth, pushing forward, but my body is running on fumes. The aches in my legs, my back, even my neck—it's too much.

I need to stop. I need to figure something out before it gets pitch black.

My breath clouds in the cooling air, the temperature dropping sharply now that the sun—or whatever passes for it here—is gone. The thought of spending the night in this cursed place, exposed to who-knows-what, sends a fresh wave of panic through me. My legs buckle as I lower myself to the ground, shaking with exhaustion.

I need a fire.

The idea hits me like a slap. Fire means warmth, light, safety—or at least the illusion of it. It's basic survival. I glance around the clearing, spotting a few fallen branches scattered nearby. My hooves drag against the ground as I stand again, the effort making me wince. Gathering sticks and logs with hooves is about as fun as it sounds. Every time I try to pick something up, it slips away, or I fumble it. By the time I've got a pile of dry wood together, my legs feel like they're going to give out again.

I slump down next to the pile, chest heaving. "Alright," I mutter, trying to steady my breath. "Fire. Easy."

I stare at the wood like it's a math problem I forgot how to solve. No hands, no matches, no flint, no nothing. And unless I want to go full caveman and start rubbing sticks together with my hands—which, again, I don't have hands—I'm out of options. My eyes drift to my horn, and I feel a twinge of hope, immediately crushed by the memory of how badly my last attempt went.

But what other choice do I have?

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. The pressure at the base of my horn is still there, faint but constant, like a low hum I can't turn off. It worked before, I remind myself. I didn't die. That's something.

I focus on one of the logs in the pile, the smallest one. My jaw tightens as I concentrate, trying to picture it floating, moving, doing anything. The hum in my horn builds, that static pressure buzzing in my skull, but the log doesn't budge.

"Come on," I growl under my breath. "Move, damn it!"

Nothing.

I try again, harder this time, pouring every ounce of frustration, fear, and exhaustion into that one thought. My horn burns with effort, the buzzing now a sharp, electric ache. And then… the log twitches.

Barely. It might've been the wind again. But I felt something—a connection, however faint. My heart pounds as I grit my teeth and push harder, the pressure building to the point of pain.

The log shifts. It's small, barely an inch, but it's enough to make me gasp. I collapse back onto the ground, my chest heaving, my horn throbbing like someone drove a nail through my skull.

"That's it?" I whisper, my voice shaking. "That's all I can do?"

I glance at the pile of wood, mocking me with its stubborn stillness. The realization sinks in: there's no fire coming tonight. I'm not going to be able to defend myself, or stay warm, or keep anything away.

The night presses down, colder now, the darkness swallowing the edges of the clearing. My breath comes out in shaky clouds as I curl up near the pile, my body trembling—not just from the chill, but from the crushing weight of how helpless I am.

But I can't stop trying. I can't let this… weakness be the end of me. I stare at the pile of wood again, teeth gritted, and focus on that one faint spark I felt. It's there, somewhere. I just need to find it again.

The night creeps in around me, slow and suffocating. The faint light that filtered through the twisted canopy above is gone now, leaving only the faint glimmer of distant stars through the cracks. The air feels colder with every passing minute, the damp chill clawing through my fur and sinking into my skin like icy needles. I shiver uncontrollably, my legs drawn tight against my chest, my tail tucked around me in a feeble attempt to keep the heat in. It doesn't work. Nothing works.

The ground is wet, cold, and unyielding beneath me, seeping its misery into my body. Every inch of me aches—my legs from the clumsy, endless walking, my horn from the useless bursts of effort, my chest from the dull, hollow ache of trying to hold myself together. My mane hangs in damp, stringy clumps over my face, dripping water into my eyes every time I shift. I don't bother brushing it away anymore.

I'd give anything to be warm. A coat, a blanket, a fire—hell, even a hug from someone, anyone, just to feel less cold, less… alone.

The forest around me is a void, a black expanse that swallows sound. Every now and then, a distant rustle or crack of a branch breaks the silence, sending my heart racing. My ears twitch on their own, trying to pinpoint the noises, but they always seem to come from nowhere. My mind plays tricks on me, turning every shadow into a monster, every sound into a threat.

My thoughts spiral, faster and darker with every minute that crawls by. The weight of everything presses down on me—this body that doesn't feel like mine, this forest that wants me dead, this… whatever the hell I am now. I don't know how I got here, or why, or if there's even a way back. The thought twists my stomach into knots.

Tears well up in my eyes, hot and stinging, and I don't even bother wiping them away. They mix with the dampness already on my face, and I let out a choked, shaky breath that turns into a sob before I can stop it. The sound echoes in the clearing, and I clamp my hooves over my mouth, horrified. I wait, listening for something to stir in the shadows, but nothing comes. The silence returns, and I'm left with only my own ragged breathing.

I bury my face in my hooves, my body trembling, and let the tears come. The hopelessness of it all hits me like a freight train—the cold, the wet, the loneliness. I'm not just lost. I'm trapped. Trapped in a body I don't understand, in a world that feels like it wants me gone.

It's not just the physical misery—it's the fear, the isolation, the sheer wrongness of everything. I'm supposed to be human. I'm supposed to have hands, and a voice that doesn't sound like this, and a home to go back to. The realization that none of that exists for me anymore… it's unbearable.

"Why me?" I whisper, my voice hoarse and shaking. "What did I do to deserve this?"

The forest doesn't answer. It never does.

The night drags on, every second feeling like an eternity. The cold becomes a constant ache, sinking into my bones, making it hard to even move. My breath comes out in weak, shaky puffs, and my eyes burn from the tears I've cried.

I try again. One last desperate attempt to make something happen, to feel like I have even the smallest bit of control. I focus on the pile of wood, on the faint buzzing in my horn, on the desperate need for warmth and safety. My whole body tenses as I push every thought, every shred of willpower into the effort.

"Please," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Just… please…"

The buzzing flares for a brief moment, sharp and electric, and I think I feel the log twitch. Or maybe it doesn't. It doesn't matter. The cold, the exhaustion—it's all too much. My head droops, and the buzzing fades to nothing.

I'm too tired to cry anymore. Too tired to feel anything except the biting cold and the hollow ache in my chest. My body curls in on itself, a pathetic attempt to preserve what little warmth I have left.

The night stretches on, and I sit there, shivering and alone, waiting for the morning that feels like it will never come.

---

Morning comes slowly, almost reluctantly. The faintest gray light seeps through the tangled canopy, and with it, the oppressive darkness finally begins to fade. But the cold doesn't go away. Neither does the damp. I'm still curled up near my pathetic pile of wood, trembling from head to hoof, my body stiff and aching from a night of misery.

My eyes crack open, and the world around me is hazy and dull. The forest is still there—twisted, gnarled, and watching. It feels more alien in the light than it did in the dark. The trees are grotesque silhouettes, their bark split and oozing with something that glistens in the weak light. The ground is damp and uneven, littered with roots that look more like veins, pulsing faintly if I stare too long.

I try to move, but my legs don't cooperate. My joints feel locked in place, and every attempt to shift sends a fresh jolt of pain through my body. My muscles ache, my hooves sting from the constant stumbling, and my horn still throbs with the ghost of last night's futile efforts. I let out a groan, the sound raw and pitiful, and collapse back into the dirt.

The shivering hasn't stopped. My fur is still damp, clinging to my skin in a way that makes me want to tear it off. My mane is a tangled, filthy mess that hangs in my eyes, and every breath I take is shallow and shaky. I feel hollow, like I used up every ounce of strength I had just surviving the night, and there's nothing left to keep me going.

I glance at the pile of wood I worked so hard to gather. It's still there, mocking me with its uselessness. A bitter laugh bubbles up in my throat, and I choke it back before it can turn into something worse. The thought of crying again makes me feel sick.

"Great job, genius," I mutter, my voice raspy and weak. "All that effort for nothing."

Talking to myself feels pathetic, but it's better than the silence. Better than the constant feeling that the forest is listening.

My stomach growls, a sharp reminder of another problem I can't solve. I haven't eaten since… I don't even know when. Back when I was human. Back when everything made sense. The memory feels like a lifetime ago, and it only makes the ache in my chest worse.

I try to sit up again, gritting my teeth through the stiffness and pain. It takes longer than it should, but I manage to get upright, wobbling on unsteady legs. My body feels foreign, clunky and awkward, like I'm wearing a suit that doesn't fit. I can barely keep my balance, let alone move with any kind of purpose.

The forest around me is quieter than I expected. No birds, no animals, just the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. It should be comforting, but it's not. The silence feels wrong, like something's missing. Or watching. My ears swivel on their own, tracking sounds I can't hear, and the motion makes me wince.

I need to move. Staying here won't solve anything. It's not safe, and it's not like I can wait for someone to magically find me. My legs shake as I take a hesitant step forward, then another. Every movement feels like a struggle, my hooves slipping on the damp ground, but I force myself to keep going.

"Just keep moving," I mutter under my breath. "One step at a time."

The mantra doesn't help much, but it's something to hold onto. The cold air bites at my skin, and my body protests with every step, but I can't stop. Not now. Not when the alternative is sitting in the mud, waiting for the forest to swallow me whole.

I glance up at the faint light filtering through the trees, my breath clouding in the chilly air. The sky is a pale gray, offering no warmth, no comfort. Just another reminder that this place isn't home.

Home. The thought makes my chest tighten. I don't even know where home is anymore—or if it still exists. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I stop, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me.

But I can't afford to break down again. Not here. Not now.

I force myself to take another step, then another, my hooves crunching against the damp leaves beneath me. The forest stretches endlessly in every direction, a maze of shadows and twisted shapes. I don't know where I'm going, or if I'm even going anywhere, but I have to keep moving.

Because if I stop, I don't think I'll get back up.

The forest stretches on forever. Every step feels like a battle against my own body—hooves slipping on damp leaves, legs trembling with every awkward motion. But I force myself to keep going. Stopping feels too much like giving up, and I refuse to do that. Not yet. Not while there's still some tiny spark of hope flickering in the back of my mind.

My mane hangs in wet, filthy strands over my face, and my fur is streaked with mud and leaves. I must look like something dragged out of a swamp. But who cares? There's no one here to see me, no one to judge. It's just me and this cursed forest.

Then I hear it. A faint, trickling sound, almost too quiet to notice over the soft crunch of my hooves. My ears swivel toward it, and for once, I'm grateful for their weird, independent movement. It's water. A stream.

My heart leaps, and I pick up my pace, stumbling through the undergrowth toward the sound. The terrain is uneven, and I trip more times than I care to admit, but the thought of fresh water keeps me moving. The trickling grows louder, clearer, until I finally break through a tangle of bushes and see it.

The stream winds lazily through the forest, its water clear and glistening in the pale light. Smooth stones line the edges, and the gentle current carries away bits of leaves and debris. For a moment, I just stand there, staring, the sight almost surreal after hours of trudging through endless mud and shadows.

I limp toward the bank, my legs shaky but eager. The cold water laps at the stones, and I lower my head to drink. The taste is sharp and clean, a welcome change from the misery of the forest. It's not much, but it's enough to give me a shred of comfort.

As I drink, I notice movement beneath the surface. Tiny fish dart through the water, their scales flashing silver and gold in the light. My stomach growls loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet. The sight of the fish fills me with a desperate kind of hunger, the kind that makes your mouth water and your mind race with ideas that you know won't work.

Food. Right there, just out of reach.

I step closer to the water, watching the fish with an intensity that borders on obsession. My hooves splash in the shallows, and the fish scatter, darting away faster than I can react. My stomach twists with frustration, and I let out a sharp, angry breath.

I try to reach down with my hooves, but it's useless. They slip on the wet stones, and I nearly fall face-first into the stream. My tail flicks in irritation as I straighten up, glaring at the water like it's mocking me. The fish come back, swimming just out of reach, taunting me with their easy, graceful movements.

"Come on," I mutter, my voice low and bitter. "Just one."

My eyes drift to my horn. I don't want to try again—not after last night's failure. But what choice do I have? I can't keep walking on an empty stomach. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The buzzing at the base of my horn is faint, like a low hum waiting to be called on.

I focus on one of the fish, the biggest one I can see. My jaw tightens as I concentrate, trying to picture it lifting out of the water, hovering toward me. The buzzing grows stronger, sharper, and I feel the faintest tug, like a string being pulled.

The fish doesn't move. Or maybe it does—a tiny twitch, barely noticeable. My legs shake with the effort, my horn throbbing in protest, but I keep going, pouring every ounce of focus into that one thought. Move. Just move!

The buzzing reaches a peak, and the fish jerks, its body twitching in the water. My heart leaps, hope flaring for a brief moment—then the connection snaps, and the fish darts away, disappearing into the deeper parts of the stream.

I collapse onto the bank, panting, my horn aching and my body trembling with exhaustion. Tears sting my eyes again, but I blink them away, refusing to let myself break down. Not here. Not now.

The fish is gone, and my stomach growls louder, a painful reminder of how much I've failed. But I can't afford to sit here and wallow. I force myself back onto my hooves, wobbling slightly as I take a few hesitant steps.

I limp back to the water's edge, glaring down at the stream. The rippling surface mocks me, silver flashes of fish just beneath it like dangling promises I can't reach. My stomach twists, an ache so deep it feels like it's clawing up my throat. I can't afford to give up. Not on this. I need to eat.

The big fish are too much. I can feel it in my horn, like trying to lift something too heavy for hands that aren't strong enough. Fine. I'll aim smaller. My eyes dart to the little ones, their quick, erratic movements a challenge but at least within the realm of possibility. I hope.

I lower myself to the bank, my hooves sinking into the wet stones as I stare at a tiny fish darting near the edge of the stream. The buzzing in my horn stirs faintly as I focus, summoning every bit of energy I have left. My body trembles, cold and weak, but I don't let go. Not yet.

The fish doesn't notice me—its movements are light, fluid, and oblivious to the predator trying to will it out of the water. My horn aches as the buzzing grows sharper, more focused. I grit my teeth, sweat beading under my fur as I push harder. Come on. Just a little more.

The faintest shimmer of magic wraps around the fish, a fragile glow that feels like it might shatter if I breathe too hard. It twitches in the water, and for a second, I think I've got it. My heart races, hope surging in my chest, and I hold my breath as I lift.

The fish jerks upward, breaking the surface, suspended in a weak field of golden light. I stare at it, disbelieving for a moment, the sight almost surreal. It's small, no more than the size of my hoof, but it's there. Floating. I actually did it.

"Yes!" The word bursts out of me, giddy and triumphant, and I nearly laugh—until the connection breaks.

The glow around the fish flickers, then snaps like a thread, and the fish plummets back into the water with a splash. I freeze, staring at the ripples as they fade, leaving nothing but the empty stream behind. The fish is gone, darting back into the depths like it was never there.

"No. No, no, no!" My voice cracks, and I slam my hoof into the stones, the pain barely registering through the rush of frustration and despair. My chest heaves as tears blur my vision, my breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

I had it. I had it. And now it's gone.

The ache in my horn feels unbearable, a dull, pulsing pain that matches the beat of my racing heart. I curl up on the bank, shaking, my body trembling with exhaustion and cold and hunger. My mane clings to my face, damp and filthy, and I bury it in my hooves, trying to hold back the sobs that threaten to break free.

This place doesn't care about me. It doesn't care that I'm starving, or that I'm alone, or that I don't belong here. The forest feels alive in the worst way, and every part of it seems to whisper the same message: You don't matter.

I shudder, my breath hitching as I force myself to sit up again. The stream gurgles softly, a soothing sound that only makes me angrier. I can't let this beat me. I won't.

"Okay," I whisper, my voice shaking but determined. "One more time."

My horn buzzes faintly, and I focus on another fish—a smaller one, slower, something I might actually hold onto. My stomach churns, and my body protests, but I block it out. I have to keep trying. It's all I can do.

I wipe my face with a muddy hoof, smearing dirt but pushing the tears away. The world blurs in front of me, and I blink hard, forcing myself to focus on the shimmering water. A tiny fish flickers near the edge of the stream, its movements slower than the others. My stomach growls loudly, a sharp reminder that this is my only shot.

"Alright," I whisper to myself, teeth gritted. "This time. This time, it's mine."

The buzzing at the base of my horn stirs again, faint but growing stronger as I zero in on the fish. My legs tremble, my head aches, and my chest feels tight, but I don't let up. The fish moves lazily, darting a little closer to the bank, and I seize the chance.

I imagine grabbing it—not gently, not carefully, but with a sudden yank. My magic flares, jagged and unsteady, and I jerk my head back as if it'll help.

The fish rockets out of the water.

For a moment, I just stare, my brain struggling to catch up as the little silver creature flips end over end through the air. It hits the muddy bank with a dull slap, flopping wildly, and a strangled noise escapes my throat—half laugh, half cry of disbelief.

"I did it!" I shout, scrambling toward it. My hooves slip on the wet stones, but I don't care. I've never felt such an overwhelming surge of relief in my life. My stomach aches, and my heart pounds, but none of it matters because I did it.

I crouch over the fish, watching it thrash in the mud. It's small—barely enough to count as a meal—but it's food. Real, tangible food. My mouth waters as I lean closer, the instinctive need to eat overriding everything else for a moment.

Then it hits me.

I have no way to cook it.

The realization sinks into me like a lead weight. My elation fizzles, replaced by a cold dread that makes my stomach twist even harder. My eyes flick to my pile of wood, then back to the fish, my mind racing in a frantic loop.

My breathing quickens, and the ache in my chest grows sharper. I glance down at the fish, its movements slowing as it flops weakly against the mud. The sight makes my throat tighten.

What am I supposed to do? Eat it raw? My stomach churns at the thought, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. But what choice do I have? Letting it go isn't an option. I worked too hard for this.

My gaze flickers to my horn. The dull ache is still there, a constant reminder of last night's failures. If I couldn't even lift a log, how am I supposed to start a fire? The thought makes my chest tighten even more, panic clawing at the edges of my mind.

I stare at the fish, my body frozen, my thoughts spiraling. My triumph feels hollow now, like the universe dangled hope in front of me just to snatch it away.

You got this far, I tell myself, though the words feel flimsy and weak. You'll figure the rest out.

The fish lies there, twitching weakly in the mud, and I can't stop staring at it. My stomach growls again, loud and insistent, and I feel like I'm being mocked. My mouth waters and my chest tightens at the same time—desperate hunger fighting against helpless frustration.

I tear my gaze away from the fish, scanning the forest around me. I can't eat it like this. I won't. I need fire. Somehow, I need fire.

The old pile of wood is long gone, abandoned somewhere back in the forest during my frantic trek to find the stream. It doesn't matter. I'll just get more. My legs ache as I stand, and I nearly fall back down, but I grit my teeth and push forward. My body feels like it's falling apart, but the raw determination in my chest is louder than the pain. Spite keeps me moving.

I stumble through the undergrowth, my hooves catching on roots and slick patches of mud. The forest looms around me, the trees twisted and uninviting, but I find what I need soon enough: dry branches scattered among the roots of a massive oak. The wood looks brittle, splintered from falling who knows how long ago, but it'll have to do.

I bite down on one of the larger sticks to carry it back, nearly gagging at the taste of damp earth and mold. My hooves drag the rest, clumsy and slow, until I've assembled a fresh pile of wood by the stream. It's smaller than the last one, but I don't care. It just has to work.

The next step is the hard part.

I pull out two smaller sticks, holding one awkwardly between my hooves. My limbs tremble as I try to position the other stick upright, but it keeps toppling over, slipping from my grasp like soap. My hooves feel more like blunt clubs than tools—no grip, no precision, just raw, unwieldy stumps. Every time the stick falls, my frustration grows sharper.

"Damn it," I hiss, slamming my hoof into the ground. The impact sends a jolt up my leg, but I barely feel it over the raw anger bubbling in my chest. "Just stay up!"

My horn throbs faintly, like it's mocking me, and an idea sparks in my mind. It's not a good idea—it's born of desperation and exhaustion, but it's something.

Balancing the stick is the problem. Fine. If my hooves can't do it, maybe my magic can.

I focus on the upright stick, staring at it like it's a puzzle I can brute-force my way through. The buzzing at the base of my horn stirs, faint and weak, but enough to work with. I concentrate harder, trying to picture the stick standing still, balanced and steady.

It wobbles at first, the glow of my magic flickering erratically, but it holds. Just barely.

My heart races, and I grab the other stick with my hooves, my grip clumsy but determined. My legs shake as I position it under the balanced stick, angling it just right. The buzzing in my horn falters, the stick teetering dangerously, but I press on.

"Come on," I mutter through gritted teeth. "Just work. Just work!"

I press the sticks together and start spinning the top one in my hooves, awkward and uneven as my telekinesis holds the end, balancing it.. My grip slips constantly, and the spinning is jerky at best, but it's movement. It's friction. The sound of wood scraping against wood fills the air, and for a brief moment, hope flickers in my chest.

The stick wobbles again, the glow of my magic flickering like a dying lightbulb. My jaw clenches, and I push harder, the buzzing in my horn turning into a sharp ache. My hooves slip, the stick jerks sideways, and I almost lose it entirely.

"Damn it!" I shout, my voice breaking. My legs shake as I reset the sticks, my breathing ragged and shallow. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I shove them down. I can't afford to cry. Not now.

My whole body trembles as I try again, spinning the stick with clumsy, frantic movements. The upright stick wobbles, the glow around it flickering like a candle in the wind, but I don't let up. I don't care how much my horn aches, or how raw my hooves feel, or how much the forest seems to mock me with every failure.

I will make this work. I have to.

The sticks scrape against each other, faster and faster, the sound growing sharper as I press harder. My horn buzzes wildly, the upright stick tilting dangerously, but I keep going. Every ounce of strength, every shred of willpower, goes into this one moment.

And then I see it—a faint curl of smoke rising from the base of the sticks. My heart skips a beat, and I almost lose control in my excitement. The smoke thickens, tiny embers glowing faintly in the brittle wood.

I drop the spinning stick and crouch low, blowing gently on the embers, my breath shaking. The glow brightens, and a small flame flickers to life, weak but real.

I did it. I actually did it.

I feel a spark of triumph. It's small and fragile, but it's mine. A fire. Warmth. Life.

I stare at the tiny flame, my chest heaving with exhaustion and relief. My hooves ache, my horn throbs, and my body feels like it's about to collapse, but I don't care. For the first time, I've won.

The flame is barely more than a flicker, a fragile little tongue of orange clinging to the brittle wood. My chest tightens as I crouch over it, my breath shallow and trembling. Every gust of wind, every stray movement feels like it could snuff it out, and I can't let that happen. Not after everything.

I grab the driest twigs I can find from the pile, my hooves fumbling as I try to position them over the flame without smothering it. It's maddening work—every movement feels too clumsy, too risky. The glow wavers, the flame shrinking slightly, and panic claws at my chest.

"No, no, no," I whisper, the words shaky and desperate. My heart pounds as I lean closer, shielding the fragile fire with my body. "Stay. Stay with me."

The flame gutters, flickering dangerously low, and I bite back a sob. My hooves tremble as I place another twig near the ember, angling it carefully. The flame hesitates, licking at the wood, and then grows, just a little.

A weak laugh escapes me, part relief, part disbelief. "That's it," I murmur, my voice barely more than a breath. "You can do this. Come on."

The fire is small, barely enough to warm my hooves, but it's there. It's real. I sit frozen, afraid to breathe too hard or move too fast. The thought of losing it now is unbearable, the fear gnawing at the back of my mind. My horn still throbs, and my body aches, but I don't dare stop. Not until the flame is strong enough to survive on its own.

I grab another stick, this one slightly thicker, and position it over the flame. My hooves slip, and the stick wobbles dangerously close to smothering the tiny fire. I flinch, pulling back as the flame flickers violently.

"Damn it," I hiss, my voice cracking. My legs shake as I adjust the stick, carefully nudging it into place. The flame clings to the wood, catching hold with a faint crackle. I let out a shaky breath, my body sagging with relief.

The fire grows slowly, the embers glowing brighter as the twigs catch. It's still fragile, but it's stronger now, less likely to vanish at the slightest mistake. I sit back on my haunches, staring at the small but steady flame, my chest heaving with exhaustion and relief.

For a moment, I let myself feel the warmth. It's faint, barely more than a whisper against the cold, but it's enough to keep me going. Enough to remind me that I'm still here, still fighting.

The fish lies nearby, forgotten for the moment, its dull silver scales glinting in the light of the fire. My stomach growls, the sound loud in the quiet, but I don't reach for it yet. First, I need to keep the fire alive. It's all I have.

I glance at the pile of wood, my mind racing with thoughts of what I'll need to do to keep this going. Bigger sticks. More kindling. Something to shield it from the wind. My body screams for rest, but I know I can't stop yet.

"Alright," I whisper to myself, my voice hoarse but determined. "One step at a time."

The forest presses in around me, dark and cold and unforgiving, but the fire burns on. Small. Fragile. But alive. Just like me.

My stomach growls again, a sharp, painful reminder of the fish lying nearby. I glance over at it, its silver scales catching the light of the flames. It's small, but it'll be enough to keep me going. At least, I hope it will.

I reach for the fish with trembling hooves, fumbling to hold it in place. Its body is slick with mud and water, and it slips out of my grasp more than once before I finally manage to lift it. My grip is clumsy at best, but I shuffle closer to the fire, trying to figure out the best way to cook it.

There's no spit, no grill, no fancy setup. Just me, my hooves, and a tiny fire that looks like it could go out at any moment. I crouch down, holding the fish awkwardly near the flames, trying to angle it so it cooks evenly. The heat feels good, soothing against the cold that's seeped into my bones, but the fish flops weakly in my hooves, startling me.

It's still alive.

A jolt of panic shoots through me as the fish thrashes again, slipping out of my shaky grip. "Hey!" I shout, scrambling to catch it, but the damn thing flops once, twice, and then hurls itself straight into the fire.

pfft. The tiny flame sputters and hisses as the wet fish lands on it, smothering the embers in a single, catastrophic moment. My heart sinks as I watch the glow fade, the fire reduced to a faint wisp of smoke and a patch of scorched wood.

"No," I whisper, my voice trembling. "No, no, no!"

I lunge forward, brushing the fish aside in a desperate attempt to save the fire, but it's too late. The embers are cold, the wood blackened and useless. My chest tightens, and my vision blurs with tears as the reality of what just happened crashes over me.

"You stupid, useless—" My voice breaks into a snarl as I grab the fish with my hooves. It thrashes weakly, but I'm beyond caring. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I slam it against the ground, over and over, the dull, wet thud of its body hitting the dirt filling the air.

"Why can't anything just—work?!" I shout, my voice cracking with frustration and anger. Each word is punctuated by another slam, my hooves trembling with rage and exhaustion. The fish finally goes still, its body limp and mangled, and I let it drop to the ground.

I sit there, panting, staring at the ruined fish and the cold ashes of my fire. My chest heaves, and my whole body shakes—not just from the cold, but from the sheer, overwhelming despair that's settled over me like a weight I can't lift.

I wipe at my face with a muddy hoof, smearing dirt and tears across my fur. "Why?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Why is this happening to me?"

The forest doesn't answer. It never does.

I sit there for a long moment, staring at the mangled fish lying in the dirt. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts, and my chest burns with frustration. Everything in me wants to scream, to cry, to just give up and lie down in the mud. But I can't. I won't.

"Fuck this," I mutter, my voice low and venomous. "Fuck this forest. Fuck this fish. Fuck everything."

I force myself back onto my hooves, legs shaking as I stagger toward the smoldering remains of my fire. The sight of the cold ashes makes my stomach churn, and a fresh wave of anger surges through me. My horn throbs, my body aches, but I don't care. I'm going to get that fire back, even if it kills me.

"Alright, you stupid fucking pile of sticks," I growl, crouching down to pick up what's left of my firewood. My hooves fumble with the brittle pieces, and one slips out of my grasp, landing in the mud. "Shit!"

I grab another stick, shoving it upright. It wobbles immediately, and I slap it with my hoof to steady it. "Stay. Stay the fuck up."

The buzzing at the base of my horn stirs again, faint and irritating, like a persistent itch. I focus on the stick, my teeth gritted as I force my magic to hold it steady. The glow flickers weakly, and the stick leans dangerously to one side, but I don't let go. "You're not going anywhere, you cunt."

With the stick barely balanced, I lut a hoof on each side and start spinning it against the first. My hooves are clumsy and uncoordinated, the motion jerky and uneven. The sound of wood scraping against wood grates on my nerves, but I keep going. My breath comes in angry, shaky gasps, and every muscle in my body screams for me to stop.

"Fucking—spin!" I shout, slamming the stick harder against the base. "Work, you goddamn useless pieces of shit!"

The upright stick wobbles, and the glow of my magic falters. I grit my teeth, the buzzing in my horn flaring into a sharp ache as I force the stick back into place. My hooves slip again, and I let out a frustrated roar, slamming the spinning stick into the ground.

"Why can't anything just fucking work?!" The words come out in a snarl, my voice raw and shaking.

But I don't stop. I grab the sticks again, my breath ragged and my hands—hooves—trembling with fury. The buzzing grows sharper, louder, as I force my magic to keep the stick upright. My movements are frantic now, the spinning faster but no less clumsy. Sweat drips down my face, mixing with the dirt and tears streaking my fur.

Finally, I see it—a faint curl of smoke rising from the base of the sticks. My heart leaps, but I don't dare stop. I blow on the embers, my breath shaky but determined, and the glow brightens, faint but steady.

"Yes," I hiss through gritted teeth, my voice low and venomous. "You fucking stay alive this time."

The flame flickers to life, small and fragile, but real. I crouch over it, shielding it from the wind with my body, and feed it the driest twigs I can find. My hooves fumble constantly, and the flame gutters with every misstep, but I refuse to let it die.

"Come on," I mutter, my voice shaking. "You're not going out again. Not this time."

The fire grows slowly, stubbornly, until it's a small but steady flame. My chest heaves, my legs feel like they're going to give out, and my horn feels like someone drove a nail through it, but I don't care. I did it.

I sit back, staring at the fire with a mix of triumph and pure, unfiltered rage. "Fuck you," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "I win."

The fire crackles louder now, casting a warm, flickering glow that pushes back the oppressive cold of the forest. I keep feeding it, piling on sticks and branches, shoving more wood into the flames until it's roaring. The heat is intense, washing over me in waves that sting my face and dry the mud clinging to my fur. I don't care if it's overkill—I want it big. I want it to burn so hot and bright that nothing in this cursed place can snuff it out.

My legs wobble as I grab another branch, shoving it onto the fire with a grunt. Sparks fly up into the dark canopy above, and I watch them rise with a strange sense of satisfaction. The fire is mine, and this time, it's not going anywhere.

I sit back on my haunches, wiping sweat from my face with a muddy hoof. My body feels like it's been put through a blender—my muscles ache, my horn throbs, and my stomach growls louder than ever. But for the first time, I feel like I've gained some control. The fire is strong now, alive and defiant, and it feels like a small victory in a world that's done nothing but kick me while I'm down.

My eyes drift to the stream, the water glinting in the firelight. The fish are still there, darting in and out of the shadows, their movements mocking me like before. My jaw tightens, and my ears flick back as my frustration flares. Not this time. I'm not letting them win again.

I scan the water, searching for an easy target. A smaller fish catches my eye, its silvery body flickering near the surface. My horn buzzes faintly, the magic stirring at the edge of my consciousness, and I grit my teeth, focusing on the fish.

"Alright," I mutter under my breath, my voice low and rough. "You're mine."

The buzzing sharpens as I concentrate, the faint glow of my magic flickering to life around the fish. My grip is weak and shaky, but I don't need finesse. I just need one good jerk.

I clench my jaw, pouring every bit of frustration, hunger, and spite into that single moment. My horn flares, the buzzing turning into a sharp, electric hum, and I yank with everything I have.

The fish rockets out of the water.

It's not graceful. My magic doesn't so much lift it as throw it, physics taking over the second the glow around it snaps. The fish flips wildly through the air, water spraying off its slick scales, and crashes into the dirt near the fire with a wet, satisfying smack.

I stare at it, breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. A grin spreads across my face, shaky and almost feral. "Got you," I whisper, a low, triumphant laugh bubbling up from my throat.

I scramble over to the fish, ignoring the way my legs tremble beneath me. It flops weakly on the ground, its movements sluggish and uncoordinated. My hooves hover over it for a moment, unsure, but then I slam one down, pinning it to the dirt.

"Not getting away this time," I mutter, my voice sharp and venomous. I glance at the fire, its heat washing over me in waves, and my grin widens. "Now we do this right."

The fish twitches one last time before going still, and I finally let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. For the first time since waking up in this godforsaken place, I feel like I've actually won.

The fish flops weakly in the dirt, its silver body glinting in the firelight as it struggles against the inevitable. My chest is heaving, my muscles trembling from the effort of getting it out of the water, but I don't let myself pause. Not this time.

I glare down at it, the anger and hunger twisting together into a single thought: You're not going to ruin this.

My hoof comes down hard, slamming into the fish with a wet, crunching sound. It twitches once, then goes still. I keep my hoof pressed against it, panting, my breath sharp and ragged. The fire crackles behind me, its heat brushing against my back as I stare at the lifeless fish.

"Not this time," I mutter, my voice low and hoarse. "You're not screwing this up."

I lift my hoof, staring at the flattened, lifeless body of the fish. My stomach growls loudly, the sound cutting through the crackle of the flames. I don't even feel bad about what I just did—there's no room for guilt right now. Not when I'm starving. Not when survival is the only thing that matters.

Grabbing the fish with my hooves is clumsy work, but I manage to lift it, dragging it closer to the fire. The heat radiates off the flames, and I pause for a moment, hesitating as I try to figure out the best way to do this. I've never cooked a fish like this before, not without a pan or tools or anything remotely useful.

"Alright," I mutter, crouching down and carefully placing the fish near the edge of the fire. "You're gonna cook. You're not gonna ruin my fire. And I'm gonna eat."

The fish lies there, lifeless and slightly charred as the flames lick at its scales. The heat makes my eyes sting, but I stay close, watching intently. Every pop and crackle of the fire makes my chest tighten, and I keep glancing at the flames like they're about to betray me.

"Stay," I whisper to the fire, like it can hear me. "Just stay alive. That's all I'm asking."

The fish begins to sizzle, the smell of cooking meat wafting up and mixing with the smoky air. My stomach twists with hunger, and I can't stop myself from leaning closer, my mouth watering as I watch the skin start to crisp. It's far from perfect—uneven, charred in places—but it's food. Real food.

For the first time since waking up in this nightmare, I feel like I might make it. Just barely, but it's enough.

The smell of the fish cooking is overwhelming. It's not exactly pleasant—burnt scales mixed with the smoke from the fire—but it's food, and that's all that matters. My stomach growls so loudly it feels like it might tear itself apart, and I can't wait any longer.

I crouch near the fire, my hooves trembling as I nudge the fish away from the flames. The edges of its skin are blackened and crispy, and the heat radiates through my fur as I struggle to pull it toward me without dropping it. My hooves are clumsy, the fish slick and awkward to hold, but I manage to flop it onto a patch of dirt a few feet from the fire.

The thing looks terrible. Its scales are still intact, charred and curling in places, and the meat beneath is unevenly cooked at best. But it smells like food, and that's all I care about.

I hesitate for a second, staring at the thing like it's going to somehow turn into a meal I recognize. But I know better. There's no way to descale it, no tools to clean it, nothing to make this easier. It's just me, my hooves, and this barely-cooked fish.

"Alright," I mutter under my breath. "Here goes nothing."

I lower my head, biting into the fish without ceremony. The texture is awful—rough, scaly, and burnt on the outside, mushy on the inside. The taste isn't much better, a mix of char and something metallic, but the meat underneath is warm, and it makes my stomach ache with anticipation. I tear off a piece, chewing awkwardly as bits of scale stick to my tongue.

It's disgusting. It's exactly what I need.

I eat as quickly as I can, ripping pieces off with my teeth and swallowing them down without caring about the taste or the texture. The scales scrape against my gums, and I spit out a few that stick to the roof of my mouth, but I don't stop. Every bite feels like a battle against my own gag reflex, but the warmth spreading through my stomach is worth it.

By the time I finish, my mouth feels raw, my tongue coated in a mixture of burnt ash and salt. I sit back, panting, staring at the charred remains of the fish's skeleton. My stomach feels heavier now, the ache dulled but not gone. It's not enough—not even close—but it's something.

I wipe my mouth with a muddy hoof, spitting out a piece of scale that stuck to my teeth. "That was… fucking disgusting," I mutter, my voice hoarse. "But at least I'm not starving anymore."

The fire crackles softly, its warmth still brushing against my fur. I glance at it, then at the stream, my mind already turning to the next fish. I'll need more if I want to keep going. If I want to survive.

I glance at the stream, the water glinting faintly in the firelight. The fish are still there, darting in and out of the shallows, their movements quick and erratic. My chest tightens as I remember the effort it took to catch the first one, but the memory of food—real, tangible food—pushes me forward.

"Alright," I mutter, pushing myself to my hooves. My legs tremble beneath me, but I force them to stay steady. "Let's do this."

The process is clumsy and exhausting. Each attempt to jerk a fish out of the water takes every ounce of focus and strength I can muster. My horn buzzes with effort, the glow flickering weakly as I yank fish after fish from the stream, their slippery bodies flopping onto the muddy bank.

By the time I'm done, three more fish lie in the dirt, their silver scales catching the firelight. My chest heaves, my horn throbs, and my legs feel like they're about to give out, but the sight of the fish fills me with a strange sense of triumph. It's ugly and primal, but it's mine.

I repeat the process of cooking them, crouched by the fire as I nudge each fish into the flames. The smell is just as awful as before, the charred scales and unevenly cooked meat filling the air with a mix of smoke and salt. I don't care. I rip into each fish with the same desperation as the first, tearing chunks of meat from their bodies and spitting out the scales as I go.

By the time I finish, my stomach is full, and the raw ache of hunger has finally dulled. I sit back on my haunches, staring at the remnants of the fish—a few scattered bones and charred bits of scale. My mouth feels raw, my hooves are caked in mud and ash, and my horn still throbs like someone's been hammering on it, but I feel… better. Not good, not by any stretch, but better.

The fire crackles softly, the warmth brushing against my fur as I glance at the stream. My eyes follow its gentle curve, the water winding lazily through the dark forest. It's not much, but it's a direction. A path to somewhere, even if I don't know where that is.

I push myself to my hooves again, wobbling slightly as my legs protest the movement. The fire flickers behind me, its light casting faint shadows on the trees, but I don't look back. The fire has served its purpose, and now it's time to move.

"Downstream," I mutter to myself, my voice low and hoarse. "That's where the water's going. Maybe there's… something."

I don't finish the thought. There's no point. Whatever might be downstream, it's better than staying here. I take a shaky step forward, my hooves slipping slightly on the damp ground, and then another. Each step feels steadier than the last, the food in my stomach giving me a flicker of strength I didn't have before.

The stream gurgles softly beside me, its sound a constant companion as I begin my slow, unsteady journey downstream. The forest is still dark, the trees gnarled and twisted, but the fire in my chest burns brighter now. Spite and survival fuel each step, pushing me forward into the unknown.
Author's Note:

Spoiler: Fan art of mc, by mxl6w94. Not in the story's style.

 

[Riddlest]

The stream guides me like a lifeline, its soft gurgling the only consistent sound in the otherwise oppressive silence of the forest. The path isn't easy—muddy banks, tangled roots, and the occasional sharp drop-off force me to navigate carefully. My hooves still feel like blunt instruments, clumsy and unwieldy, but at least I'm staying upright more often than not. That's progress, right?

The light filtering through the canopy is faint, a pale gray that barely keeps the shadows at bay. The forest seems quieter now, but not in a comforting way. It's the kind of silence that makes you feel like you're being watched. My ears swivel constantly, tracking phantom sounds, but I keep my eyes on the stream. As long as I keep moving, I'll be fine. I have to believe that.

Every so often, I pause to use my magic, testing its limits on small things: a loose branch in the way, a rock I can nudge into the water, a stray twig that I spin idly between my hooves and my horn. The buzzing sensation is still there, sharp and electric, but it's less overwhelming now. The movements are clumsy, jerky, but they're movements, and that's more than I could manage yesterday.

The more I use it, the more I start to feel a connection to the magic. It's faint, like trying to work with a tool I don't fully understand, but it's there. I can feel the way it tugs and pulls, the way it flickers when I lose focus. The stick I'm levitating wobbles in the air, tilting dangerously before I steady it again.

"Not bad," I mutter under my breath, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. It's still exhausting, but it doesn't leave me gasping and trembling like before. I'm getting the hang of it. Slowly.

The stream curves sharply ahead, and I stop for a moment, catching my breath as I lean against a tree. My legs ache from the constant walking, and the dull throb in my horn hasn't gone away, but the food I managed to eat earlier is keeping me going. I glance at the water, watching the way it flows over the rocks, and a strange sense of calm settles over me. It's the first time I've felt anything close to peace since waking up here.

The forest looms darker ahead, the trees thicker and more twisted, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The path along the stream narrows, forcing me to walk closer to the water. My hooves splash in the shallows, the cold biting at my legs, but I keep going.

I test my magic again, this time picking up a larger rock from the streambed. The glow around it flickers, but it holds, and I manage to lift it a few inches before my grip falters. The rock drops with a splash, and I let out a frustrated sigh, wiping the sweat from my forehead with a muddy hoof.

"Better," I mutter, forcing myself to take another step forward. "Still shit, but better."

The stream grows louder as I continue downstream, the gentle gurgling turning into something more forceful. A waterfall, maybe? The thought fills me with equal parts curiosity and dread. Waterfalls mean height, cliffs, danger—but they might also mean a clearing, or even a way out of this forest.

I take a deep breath, my chest tight with a mixture of exhaustion and determination, and press on. The stream is my guide now, and as long as it's moving, so am I. With each step, my magic feels a little less foreign, my hooves a little less clumsy, and my resolve a little stronger.

The sound of rushing water grows louder with every step, a low roar that vibrates through the ground and into my hooves. The stream beside me widens, its flow quickening, churning white as it approaches what I can only assume is a drop. My heart pounds in my chest, equal parts anticipation and unease as the forest opens up slightly, revealing the source of the sound.

The stream ends abruptly at the edge of a cliff, the water tumbling over in a silvery cascade that disappears into a misty abyss below. I stand at the edge, peering down at the drop, my stomach twisting at the sight. The cliff is steep, its surface jagged with sharp outcroppings of rock and the occasional patch of stubborn greenery clinging to the sides. The waterfall pours into a dark pool far below, the water churning violently before continuing downstream.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring. The view is beautiful in a harsh, untamed way, the kind of thing you'd stop to admire in a better situation. But here, in this nightmare forest with no clear way forward, it's just another obstacle. A massive, deadly obstacle.

"Of course," I mutter, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because walking in a straight line was working too well."

I step back from the edge, my hooves digging into the damp ground as I try to calm the gnawing anxiety rising in my chest. There's no clear path down—no stairs, no trail, nothing but a sheer drop and the faint hope of finding something I can use. My ears flick back as I glance at the waterfall, its roar almost drowning out my thoughts.

"Alright," I say to myself, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Think. You've got… magic, shitty hooves, and sheer fucking spite. Figure it out."

The cliff face isn't completely smooth. There are ledges, outcroppings, and small gaps that could maybe serve as footholds—if I had hands, or claws, or anything that could grip. My hooves, however, feel about as useful as bricks tied to the ends of my legs.

I glance at the waterfall again, following its path down to the pool below. It's a long way, the kind of drop that would break every bone in my body if I slipped. My stomach churns at the thought, and I shake my head, trying to push the fear away.

"Okay," I mutter, stepping closer to the edge and peering down. "You can do this. Just… don't die."

The buzzing in my horn stirs faintly, and an idea sparks in my mind. My magic isn't strong, but it's better than nothing. Maybe I can use it to steady myself, to hold onto something while I climb. It's risky, but staying here isn't an option.

I glance around, spotting a sturdy-looking root jutting out from the cliff face a few feet below. It's thick, gnarled, and half-covered in moss, but it might hold my weight. My horn aches at the thought of using it again, but I don't have a choice.

I focus on the root, the faint buzzing in my horn flaring to life as I summon my magic. The glow wraps around it, unsteady and flickering, but it's there. I take a deep breath, trying to push down the rising panic in my chest.

"Alright," I mutter, stepping closer to the edge. "One step at a time."

I lower a hoof over the side of the cliff, feeling for a foothold. My legs tremble as the wet rocks beneath me shift slightly, but I manage to brace myself. My magic tightens around the root, and I imagine it as a rope, something I can hold onto, something that will keep me safe.

I reach for the next ledge, leaning into my magic, expecting it to support my weight as I shift downward. My hooves scrape against the rock, and the I hold for a moment—just long enough to give me hope.

Then the glow around the root vanishes, and I realize too late that my magic isn't tethered to me like a physical rope. It doesn't pull, doesn't support. The root stays where it is, untouched by my desperate attempt to make it work.

My hoof slips.

The air rushes past me, cold and sharp, as I fall. My stomach lurches, and a scream tears from my throat, drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. The jagged cliff face blurs past me, and I twist instinctively, flailing in a futile attempt to grab onto something—anything.

My body slams into an outcropping, the impact driving the breath from my lungs. Pain explodes in my side, and I tumble, skidding across the rocky surface before dropping again. Another ledge, another impact, each one jarring and bone-shaking as I bounce down the cliff like a ragdoll.

I hit the water hard. The freezing shock of it drives every ounce of air from my lungs, and for a moment, the world is nothing but cold and dark and pain. The current drags me under, pulling me into the churning depths at the base of the waterfall. My limbs flail, but the water is relentless, battering me against unseen rocks as it sweeps me downstream.

Panic grips me, and I kick desperately, my head breaking the surface for a brief, gasping breath before the current pulls me under again. My chest burns, and my vision blurs as I fight against the water's pull, my mind screaming at me to keep going.

Somehow, I claw my way to the shallows, my hooves scraping against the rocky bottom. The current finally releases me, and I collapse onto the muddy bank, coughing and choking as water pours from my lungs. Every inch of me hurts—my side feels like it's been crushed, my legs are shaking, and my horn throbs so badly I can barely see straight.

I roll onto my side, gasping for air, the sound of the waterfall still roaring behind me. The cold seeps into my body, but I don't have the strength to move. My chest rises and falls in uneven, shallow breaths, my vision spinning as I stare up at the tangled canopy above.

"Well," I croak, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my head. "That… fucking sucked."

For a long moment, I just lie there, too exhausted and beaten to do anything but breathe. The pain is overwhelming, but it's also proof that I'm still alive. Somehow.

Eventually, I manage to sit up, wincing as my side protests the movement.

Sitting up feels like a battle in itself. My entire body protests, every movement sending sharp, burning pain through my limbs and ribs. My side throbs where I must have slammed into a ledge, and my legs tremble so badly I have to plant my hooves wide just to keep from collapsing again. My fur clings to me, soaked and cold, but as I glance down, I realize that the muddy grime I've been carrying is mostly gone.

"Well, silver fucking lining," I mutter, spitting out a mouthful of water and dirt. "At least I'm clean now."

The humor does little to lift my spirits, but it's enough to keep me moving. My mane drips into my eyes, and my tail is heavy with water, but I push it all aside. I'm alive, and that's all that matters right now.

The air near the waterfall is thick with mist, the constant spray chilling me to the bone as I glance around. The rocky shore is uneven and covered in slippery moss, but the pool itself is calmer now that I've made it out of the main current. The river continues downstream, winding away into the forest, its path gentler and more forgiving than the chaos I just survived.

My body aches with every step as I force myself upright, legs wobbling beneath me. My hooves scrape against the rocks as I stumble toward the riverbank, each movement slow and deliberate. The pain is relentless, but I bite down hard, forcing it to the back of my mind.

"Alright," I mutter through gritted teeth. "One fucking disaster at a time."

I take a moment to drink from the river, the cold water sharp and bracing. It soothes the raw burn in my throat from nearly drowning, though the taste of the water feels sharper now—metallic, like the memory of panic. I shake it off, splashing my face to stay awake. The chill keeps me moving, even as exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders.

The river is my guide. I know that much. Following it downstream is my best option, the only lead I have in this strange, hostile place. If nothing else, it'll lead me somewhere—maybe out of the forest, maybe to food, maybe to someone or something that can help.

My legs feel like they're made of lead, but I force them to move, step by agonizing step. The ground is softer here, the mud clinging to my hooves as I limp along the riverbank. The roar of the waterfall fades behind me, replaced by the softer, calmer babble of the stream. It's almost soothing, though the oppressive weight of the forest doesn't let me relax for long.

I test my magic again as I walk, nothing else to do, lifting a small rock from the ground and spinning it clumsily in the air. The glow around it is faint but steady, and I feel the buzzing in my horn less sharply now. It's still there—like an itch I can't quite reach—but it doesn't overwhelm me the way it did before.

"Well, at least that's getting easier," I mutter, watching the rock wobble in midair before I let it drop with a dull thud. The practice helps distract me from the pain, though it's clear I'm still far from mastering even the basics.

The ground is uneven, the river winding unpredictably through the trees, but I don't let myself stop. Stopping feels too much like giving up, and I've come too far for that.

The sound of rushing water fades into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of my hooves against the ground and the faint hum of my magic as I test it again. The ache in my side hasn't gone away, but it's dulled now, a constant reminder that I'm still here. Still alive.

"Downstream," I whisper to myself, my voice barely audible over the sound of the river. "Just keep going."

The forest stretches endlessly ahead, dark and uninviting, but I follow the river anyway. It's the only direction I have, and as much as I hate this place, as much as I want to scream at the universe for dropping me here, I can't stop.

The forest grows darker with each passing moment, the fading light replaced by the deep, oppressive shadows that seem to swallow everything around me. The temperature drops sharply, and the chill seeps into my fur, making me shiver as I limp along the riverbank. My hooves are sore, my side still aches, and my legs feel like they could give out at any moment. But I know I can't stop—not without a fire.

The memory of nearly freezing last night is still fresh in my mind, and the thought of enduring that again makes my stomach twist. I glance at the scattered sticks and branches along the riverbank, already dreading the process ahead. It worked before, but it wasn't easy, and I know it won't be easier this time. But I don't have a choice.

I gather what I can: a mix of dry twigs, brittle sticks, and one larger piece of wood to use as the base. My hooves scrape against the muddy ground as I drag the pile closer to a small clearing near the river. The sound of the water is softer here, almost soothing if not for the cold and the darkness pressing in around me.

Sitting down heavily, I take a deep breath and focus on the task ahead. My horn buzzes faintly as I lift one of the sticks, the golden glow of my telekinesis wrapping around it. It feels steadier now, less erratic, but still far from easy. My magic flickers slightly as I position the stick upright, balancing it awkwardly on the larger base.

"Alright," I mutter, my breath fogging in the cold night air. "Let's get this over with."

I grab another stick with my hooves, the rough texture scraping against my skin as I position it against the upright one. My legs tremble slightly, but I steady myself, gritting my teeth as I begin to spin the stick between my hooves. The movement is jerky at first, the stick slipping out of position more than once, but I adjust quickly, forcing the rhythm to even out.

The buzz in my horn grows sharper as I focus, keeping the upright stick steady with my magic. It's still clumsy, the glow flickering occasionally as my concentration wavers, but it's better than last time. At least it feels like I have some control now—if only barely.

"Come on," I mutter, the words sharp and bitter. "Just fucking work."

The wood creaks faintly as the friction builds, the faint smell of burning rising into the cold air. My hooves ache from the constant movement, and the muscles in my forelegs burn, but I don't stop. Not until I see the first wisp of smoke curl up from the base of the sticks.

"Yes," I hiss through gritted teeth, leaning closer as I blow gently on the embers. The smoke thickens, and a faint orange glow appears, tiny and fragile but unmistakable. My chest tightens with a mix of relief and desperation as I grab a handful of dry twigs, placing them carefully over the ember.

The flame flickers to life, weak but growing as it catches on the kindling. I sit back on my haunches, my body trembling with exhaustion, but I don't let myself relax yet. I feed the fire slowly, adding more twigs and sticks, watching as it grows stronger with each passing moment.

By the time the flames are steady, I'm shaking all over—partly from the cold, partly from the sheer effort of keeping my magic and hooves steady long enough to make it work. But it's done. The fire is alive, its warmth brushing against my fur and chasing away the worst of the chill.

I stare at it for a long moment, my chest heaving as I catch my breath. "Fucking finally," I mutter, my voice hoarse.

The fire crackles softly, its light flickering against the dark trees around me. I lean closer, letting the warmth seep into my aching body, and for the first time all day, I let myself feel a small flicker of pride. It still sucks. It's still a struggle. But it's progress.

The fire crackles softly, its warmth seeping into my fur and dulling the sharp edge of the cold. It's small—barely more than a campfire—but it's mine, and it feels like the only thing keeping the dark at bay. I sit close to it, hunched over with my legs tucked beneath me, watching the flames dance as they cast flickering shadows across the forest.

I don't dare let it go out. Not again.

Every few minutes, I grab another stick from the pile I've gathered, feeding it to the fire with deliberate care. The flames sputter and pop as they consume the wood, and I lean closer, shielding the fragile light from the occasional gust of cold wind that creeps through the clearing.

The forest around me is eerily quiet. No rustling leaves, no distant animal calls, nothing but the soft murmur of the river and the crackle of the fire. It should be comforting, but it's not. The silence feels too heavy, too deliberate, like the trees are holding their breath, waiting for something. I glance over my shoulder every so often, my ears twitching at phantom noises that aren't there.

My hooves are filthy, caked with mud and ash from tending the fire, but I don't care. My legs ache, my side still throbs from the fall, and the buzzing in my horn hasn't gone away, but none of it matters. The fire is alive, and that's what counts.

"Stay alive," I mutter under my breath, tossing another stick onto the flames. "That's all I need you to do."

The hours drag on, the darkness pressing in closer as the night deepens. I force myself to stay awake, even as exhaustion pulls at my body, tempting me to lie down and rest. The fire needs me, and I can't risk it dying—not when the cold is waiting to seep back in, not when I don't know what's out there in the dark.

My magic flickers weakly as I grab a larger branch, holding it steady while I position it over the flames. The effort makes my horn throb, but the glow stays steady, and I manage to feed the branch into the fire without dropping it. The flames leap higher, and I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through me.

"This is fine," I mutter, more to myself than anything. My voice is hoarse, cracked from the cold and the stress, but the sound keeps me grounded. "Everything's fine."

I glance up at the sky, or what little I can see of it through the tangled canopy above. The stars are faint, barely visible between the thick branches, but their pale light filters down in patches, mixing with the warm glow of the fire. It's almost peaceful, in a way—if I ignore the aches in my body and the ever-present sense of dread lurking in the back of my mind.

The fire crackles again, and I lean forward, poking at the embers with a stick to keep them glowing. My movements are clumsy, my hooves slipping more than once, but I manage to keep the flames alive. The light flickers against my fur, warming my face as I settle back down.

The night feels endless, the hours stretching into an eternity as I sit there, hunched by the fire, feeding it stick after stick. My thoughts drift, unfocused and scattered, but one thing stays constant: I can't let the fire die. Not now, not ever.

By the time the first faint traces of dawn begin to creep over the horizon, the fire is still alive, its flames steady and bright. My body feels like it's been through hell—my legs stiff, my side screaming in protest every time I move—but I'm still here. And so is the fire.

I sit back, my chest heaving with exhaustion and relief, and let myself smile. Just a little. For the first time in what feels like forever, I made it through the night.

The first rays of dawn creep over the horizon, bathing the forest in a pale, silvery light. The fire crackles softly, its warmth still radiating against my fur, and I feel an odd sense of accomplishment. I kept it alive all night, and for once, things feel like they're not completely falling apart.

My stomach growls loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet morning. It's an insistent reminder that I'm not done yet. I glance at the river, its surface shimmering faintly in the early light, and the shadowy shapes of fish darting beneath the surface catch my eye.

"Alright," I mutter, standing up and shaking the stiffness from my legs. My body protests the movement, my side still sore and my hooves raw, but I ignore it. I can't afford to stop now.

I crouch by the riverbank, my eyes scanning the water for a larger target. The smaller fish were enough to keep me going yesterday, but I need more if I'm going to keep my strength up. My horn buzzes faintly as I summon my magic, the golden glow flickering to life around a sizable fish swimming near the surface.

It's bigger than anything I've caught before, and the weight of it is immediately apparent. My telekinesis trembles, the glow around the fish flickering as I focus harder, gritting my teeth against the strain. "Come on," I hiss, narrowing my eyes as I picture the fish flying toward the shore. "You're mine."

With a sharp jerk, I yank the fish out of the water. It rockets through the air, flipping wildly as it sprays droplets everywhere, before landing with a wet thud on the muddy bank. The impact startles it into a frenzy of flopping and thrashing, and I quickly step forward, slamming a hoof down to pin it in place.

"Not this time," I mutter, staring down at the wriggling fish. My stomach growls again, and I feel a spark of satisfaction as I press harder, the fish finally going limp under my weight.

I drag it closer to the fire, careful not to get too close to the flames, and begin the now-familiar process of cooking it. The scales pop and sizzle as the heat works its way through, the smell of charred skin filling the air. It's not exactly appetizing, but my mouth waters anyway. This is survival, not a five-star meal.

The fish cooks unevenly, some parts blackened while others remain pale, but I don't care. Once it's done—or at least close enough—I pull it away from the flames and tear into it. The meat is hot, salty, and far from perfect, but it's filling. It's more food than I've had since waking up in this nightmare, and it feels like a victory.

For the first time in days, I feel something other than despair. Pride swells in my chest as I finish the fish, my stomach finally full. The fire is still alive, my magic is more reliable, and I've managed to make it another night without freezing, starving, or getting eaten by whatever's lurking in this forest.

I sit back, wiping my mouth with a muddy hoof, and stare at the fire as it crackles and pops. "Not bad," I mutter to myself, a faint grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Not bad at all."

The river murmurs beside me, the sound soothing in the quiet morning, and I let myself relax for a moment. It's not much—it's still cold, the forest is still terrifying, and I have no idea what's ahead—but for now, I've won another small battle.

The forest thins gradually, the oppressive darkness giving way to a softer, more open landscape. The tangled, gnarled trees begin to spread out, their twisted branches no longer reaching like claws overhead. The ground grows firmer beneath my hooves, less mud and more solid earth. For the first time in what feels like days, I can see the horizon—a pale line where the morning sky meets the land.

My chest tightens at the sight. Relief? Maybe. Or dread. The forest was awful, but at least I knew what to expect: darkness, cold, danger. Whatever lies ahead is a mystery, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to face it.

The river leads me to a small stone bridge, its surface weathered and moss-covered. It arches gracefully over the water, connecting the path I've been following to a village on the other side. I stop at the edge of the bridge, staring at the scene ahead with wide eyes.

At first, I don't recognize it. The buildings are quaint, with thatched roofs and colorful facades, but they look wrong somehow. The edges are too sharp, the materials too real—cracked wood, uneven stone. It's familiar, but not. Like a dream distorted into something far less comforting.

And then I see them.

Ponies. The kind I've somehow become. They mill about the village, walking in pairs or small groups, chatting in low, indecipherable tones. But they're not like the cheerful, harmless creatures I half-remember. These ponies are real, and they look… wrong.

Their bodies are small and stocky, their fur uneven, marred with patches of sweat and dirt. Their manes hang limp, tangled, and greasy, and their ears flick constantly as if swatting at unseen flies. But it's their eyes that are the worst.

Their massive, oversized eyes dominate their faces, bulging slightly in their sockets. The whites are streaked with red veins, spidering out from the corners like cracked glass. The irises are far too vivid, almost luminous, and they catch the light in a way that feels unnatural—wrong. When they blink, it's slow, deliberate, and wet, the sound faintly audible even from where I'm standing.

A chill runs down my spine as I watch them. They move like normal ponies might—bobbing their heads, trotting lightly—but the way their eyes shift, darting side to side, makes it feel like they're always looking for something. Or someone.

I swallow hard, my throat dry as I take a step back from the bridge. My instincts scream at me to turn around, to go back into the forest, no matter how terrible it was. But I can't. Not really. The forest is a death sentence, and this… this might be a chance. A horrifying, cursed chance, but a chance nonetheless.

Taking a deep breath, I step onto the bridge, the stone cool and damp under my hooves. Each step feels heavier than the last as I cross the arch, the village growing closer with every movement. The ponies in the distance don't seem to notice me yet, their attention focused on their own strange routines.

As I reach the far side of the bridge, the chatter grows louder, interspersed with the clatter of hooves on cobblestones. I hesitate at the edge of the village, my legs trembling as I glance back at the forest. The darkness looms in the distance, a reminder of what I've left behind.

Turning back to the village, I steel myself, taking a shaky step forward. "Alright," I mutter under my breath, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "Let's see what fresh hell this is."

The ponies haven't noticed me yet, but it's only a matter of time. The closer I get, the more I realize there's no turning back. This is it—whatever this place is, whoever these ponies are, it's my next step.

And God help me, I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

Author's Note:

 

[Riddlest]

I step off the bridge, my hooves clicking softly against the cobblestones as I enter the village. My body tenses, every muscle ready to bolt back toward the forest, but none of the ponies seem to notice me. They move about their day with cheerful energy, chatting, laughing, and going about their routines like everything is perfectly normal.

Except they don't look normal.

Up close, the details are even worse. Their massive eyes glisten in the daylight, catching every flicker of movement. The thin webs of blood vessels in the whites seem almost alive, throbbing faintly with each blink. Their fur, while vibrant in color, is rough, patchy, and matted in places. Their mouths, when they smile, stretch too wide, showing teeth that are just a little too big for their jaws. It's like seeing something familiar through a warped lens—everything is just a bit too real, too tangible, and it makes my skin crawl.

But despite their unsettling appearance, their voices are warm and bright, their laughter ringing through the air like music. A pink pony with a curly mane—Pinkie Pie, my mind supplies—bounces past, her movements almost cartoonishly exaggerated. She hums a cheerful tune, her steps light and bouncy, but her face… her face doesn't match. Her huge eyes dart around, almost too aware, and the smile on her face is so wide it feels more manic than happy.

She stops mid-bounce, freezing in place as if someone hit pause. Her ears flick toward me, and her wide, too-bright eyes lock onto mine. The smile on her face stretches impossibly wider, teeth flashing in a way that's meant to be friendly but feels… predatory.

"Hi!" she chirps, her voice loud and chipper, completely at odds with the unnerving intensity of her gaze. Before I can even think to respond, she's suddenly in front of me, moving so fast I don't even see her take a step. "I don't think I've seen you before! And I know everypony in Ponyville, which means you must be new!"

I freeze, my brain scrambling to keep up. Her words are rapid-fire, tumbling out in a cheerful stream that leaves no room for interruption. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. What do I even say to this?

Pinkie leans in closer, her massive eyes seeming to fill my entire field of vision. The blood vessels in the whites pulse faintly, and I can see the glint of light reflecting off her too-big pupils. She smells faintly of sugar and sweat, an oddly disconcerting combination.

"You are new, aren't you?" she asks, tilting her head so far to the side that I hear the faint pop of joints. "Ooh, this is so exciting! A new pony in town means we get to have a 'Welcome to Ponyville' party! I've got streamers and balloons and cake and—"

"Uh, no thanks," I blurt out, my voice cracking slightly as I finally manage to find my words. I take a step back, trying to put some distance between us. "I'm not really in the mood for a party."

Her smile falters, just for a split second, and her eyes narrow ever so slightly. The change is so subtle that I might have imagined it, but it sends a chill down my spine. Then, just as quickly, the manic grin snaps back into place.

"Not in the mood for a party?" she repeats, her tone overly dramatic, like I've just said something scandalous. "How can you not be in the mood for a party? Parties are the best!"

I take another step back, my hooves scraping against the cobblestones. My heart pounds in my chest as I glance around, hoping for some kind of escape route. The other ponies are still going about their business, oblivious to the increasingly uncomfortable interaction unfolding in the middle of the street.

"Yeah, uh, I just…" I stumble over my words, my mind racing. "I've had a long day. I'm tired. Just… need some time to settle in, you know?"

Pinkie's head tilts again, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, and I swear I can see her teeth grinding behind that stretched smile. For a moment, I think she's going to argue, to insist on dragging me to some kind of loud, chaotic event I can't handle right now.

But then she stops, her posture relaxing as she bounces back a step. "Ooooh, I get it!" she says, her voice returning to its usual high-pitched cheer. "You're the shy type! Don't worry, I've got just the thing for that. We'll start small! Maybe just cupcakes! Cupcakes are perfect for breaking the ice. And then, once you're feeling better, we can throw the real party!"

Before I can protest, she spins around and bounds away, her curly mane bouncing with each step. "Don't you worry, new pony! Pinkie Pie's got this covered!" she calls over her shoulder. "See you soon!"

I stand there for a long moment, staring after her as she disappears into the distance. My legs feel like jelly, and my chest is tight with a mix of relief and lingering unease. She didn't force me into anything—yet—but the intensity of that encounter left me shaken.

I glance around, the village suddenly feeling much smaller and more claustrophobic than it did a moment ago. The other ponies still pay me no mind, their cheerful chatter filling the air as they go about their day. But the memory of Pinkie's too-wide smile and unblinking stare stays with me, a lingering weight I can't shake.

I let out a shaky breath, forcing myself to take a step forward. "Great," I mutter under my breath, my voice low and bitter. "Welcome to Ponyville. This is going to be fantastic."

As the adrenaline from my encounter with Pinkie Pie starts to fade, another problem looms large in my mind: I have no idea what to do next. The village is bustling, alive with activity, and every pony seems to have a purpose, a place to be. Meanwhile, I'm just standing here, completely lost, with nowhere to go and no plan.

Worse, I don't have a single bit to my name. If this place works anything like a normal town, that's going to be a problem. Food, shelter, even basic supplies—all of it costs money. And unless there's some charity I don't know about, I'm out of luck.

My stomach churns, and I glance at the ponies moving past me. They still look grotesque, their massive, bloodshot eyes darting around as they chat and go about their business. But they're also normal in the way they act—smiling, laughing, living their lives like everything is fine. Like they're not horrifying to look at.

I need to talk to one of them. The thought sends a wave of anxiety through me, but I don't have a choice. I can't survive out here without help, and if I don't ask for it, no one's going to offer. My legs feel like lead as I scan the crowd, trying to pick out a pony who looks… approachable.

Eventually, I settle on a beige pony with a short brown mane, carrying a saddlebag loaded with papers and quills. They're standing near a cart of vegetables, chatting with the vendor. Their features are just as unsettling as everyone else's—those huge, veiny eyes and too-wide smile—but something about their relaxed posture makes them seem less threatening. Or maybe I'm just desperate.

Taking a deep breath, I force my hooves to move, one step at a time. My heart pounds in my chest as I approach, my mouth suddenly dry. By the time I'm standing near them, I feel like I'm going to collapse from sheer nerves.

"Uh… excuse me," I say, my voice cracking slightly. The pony turns to me, their smile widening as their oversized eyes lock onto mine.

"Yes?" they say, their voice pleasant and cheerful, but the way their teeth flash when they talk makes my skin crawl.

For a moment, my brain goes completely blank. What do I even say? My chest tightens as the silence stretches, and the pony tilts their head slightly, their smile not wavering.

"I… I'm new here," I manage to stammer, the words tumbling out awkwardly.

"I don't really know how things work here, and, uh… I'm looking for a job." The words feel clunky as they tumble out, but at least they're out. My legs tremble, and I force myself to hold their gaze, even as those massive, bloodshot eyes make my skin crawl.

The beige pony's expression brightens even further, which I didn't think was possible. "Oh, you're looking for work? That's wonderful! Ponyville always has opportunities for ponies eager to lend a hoof. There's a notice board just down the road, near the town square. It lists all the current job openings."

"Thanks," I say, nodding stiffly. I start to turn away, but the pony's voice stops me.

"Oh! I didn't catch your name," they say, tilting their head slightly. Their bloodshot eyes widen just a fraction, the veins pulsing faintly with each blink.

"Kinetic Flux," I blurt out, the name feeling foreign and awkward in my mouth.

The pony nods enthusiastically. "Well, Kinetic Flux, I'm Klee Nex, welcome to Ponyville! I'm sure you'll find something on the board that suits your talents. Good luck!"

I mutter another thanks and walk away quickly, my hooves clopping unevenly against the cobblestones as I head toward the town square. The notice board isn't hard to find; it's a large wooden structure with dozens of papers pinned haphazardly to its surface. A few other ponies stand nearby, scanning the listings, their grotesque faces looking oddly focused.

I take a deep breath and step closer, scanning the papers. The jobs are all over the place: farmhand, baker's assistant, construction helper. Each one sounds straightforward enough, but I know better. My coordination is still terrible—hooves instead of hands have made even walking a chore. The thought of plowing a field or carrying trays of baked goods makes me cringe. The idea of working construction? Laughable.

I sigh, my frustration mounting as I skim through the listings. Nothing seems remotely doable. Then my eyes land on a particular sheet of paper near the corner of the board. Its edges are worn, like it's been hanging there for a while, and the heading reads: Town Mage Needed.

Curious, I lean closer, reading the details:

Ponyville is seeking a capable unicorn to fulfill the role of Town Mage. Responsibilities include assisting residents with magical needs and inquiries, resolving minor magical issues, and providing guidance to those wondering, "Can I hire a mage for this?" No previous experience required. Compensation based on services rendered. Position does not include lodging.

I blink at the description, my heart thudding. It's vague—intentionally, I think—but it's the first thing I've seen that doesn't require brute strength or coordination. Magic. It's the one thing I've been using, however clumsily, since I woke up here. It's not much, but it's something I can work with.

The lack of lodging is a problem, but one I can figure out later. Right now, I need a start, and this might be my best chance. My horn buzzes faintly as I step back from the board, my mind racing. Town Mage. I could do that, right? If I fake confidence long enough, maybe no one will notice how little I actually know.

I glance around, my eyes drifting over the bizarre, grotesque ponies moving through the square. None of them seem to notice me, too busy with their cheerful conversations and daily routines. Taking a deep breath, I steady myself.

"Alright," I mutter under my breath. "This is it. Time to be a 'mage.'"

The words feel ridiculous, but I don't let myself think too hard about it. I need to find whoever's in charge of this position and convince them I'm the right pony for the job—before I lose my nerve.

The flier's instructions are simple: report to Town Hall for details. My stomach churns as I reread the words, my eyes flicking to the towering spire at the heart of the village. Of course, it had to be official. It couldn't just be some casual thing where I'd talk to a single pony and get started. No, this is a government position. Great.

I take a deep breath and set off toward Town Hall, my hooves clopping against the cobblestones. The streets are a little quieter now, the morning rush giving way to a more leisurely pace as ponies settle into their routines. They still look unsettling, their massive eyes catching every flicker of movement, but I force myself to focus on the task ahead.

The building looms larger as I approach, its pale beige walls and thatched roof giving it a strangely quaint appearance for what I assume is the heart of Ponyville's government. The front doors are wide and wooden, worn smooth from years of use, with brass handles that gleam faintly in the sunlight.

I hesitate at the entrance, my stomach twisting. This is it. No turning back now. I push one of the doors open with a hoof, stepping inside.

The interior is surprisingly simple: polished wooden floors, a few potted plants, and a large desk near the back where a pale brown pony with gray hair sits, sorting through papers. Her mane is neatly styled, her glasses perched low on her nose, and her expression is one of focused efficiency. She doesn't look up as I approach, too engrossed in whatever document she's reading.

"Excuse me," I say, my voice wavering slightly.

Her ears flick toward me, and she glances up, her oversized eyes locking onto mine. The veins in the whites of her eyes are faint but visible, and her wide smile stretches just a little too far. "Oh! Good morning! How can I help you?" she asks in a pleasant, professional tone.

"I, uh…" My throat feels dry, and I clear it awkwardly. "I saw the notice about the Town Mage position."

Her expression brightens, and she sets down her papers. "Wonderful! It's been open for a while now. We've been hoping for somepony to step up and take on the role." She gestures for me to come closer, and I step up to the desk, trying not to let my nerves show.

She adjusts her glasses, studying me intently. "What's your name, dear?"

"Kinetic Flux," I say automatically, the name still feeling strange but easier to say now.

Mayor Mare nods, jotting something down on a sheet of paper. "Well, Kinetic Flux, it's a pleasure to meet you. As you probably saw on the notice, the Town Mage position is an as-needed role. You'll be available to help residents with magical problems or questions, and they'll compensate you directly for your services."

I nod slowly, my mind racing. "Right. And, uh… what kind of problems are we talking about?"

"Oh, it varies," she says, waving a hoof dismissively. "Sometimes it's something simple, like helping with a stuck door or retrieving something from a hard-to-reach spot. Other times, it might be assisting with a more complicated magical issue. You'd be surprised how often ponies ask, 'Can I hire a mage for this?'" She chuckles lightly, but the sound feels almost hollow.

"And there's no… training or anything?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

She shakes her head. "Not for this role. Ponyville isn't exactly Canterlot, you see. We don't need an archmage, just somepony with a horn and a willingness to help."

"Got it," I say, trying to sound confident, though my stomach twists with doubt.

Mayor Mare leans back in her chair, her oversized eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "There is one thing, though. A test of basic magical competence. It's not extensive—just a quick demonstration to make sure you can handle the fundamentals: telekinesis, freezing, and heating an object."

I nod slowly, trying to maintain my composure, but inside, I'm screaming. Freezing? Heating? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Telekinesis I can manage, barely, but the rest? I've never even thought about trying to freeze or heat something. Still, I force a calm expression and remind myself to smile.

She gestures to a side room, rising from her desk and beckoning me to follow. "Come along. We'll start with telekinesis—it's the most straightforward."

I follow her into a small room with a simple setup: a wooden table, a few chairs, and a small metal ball resting in the center of the table. The room feels cramped, the air thick with the weight of what's about to happen. My pulse quickens as she steps aside, motioning toward the ball.

"All you need to do," she says, her voice even, "is lift this ball with your magic and hold it steady for a few moments."

I swallow hard, my gaze locking onto the ball. It's small, smooth, and utterly mundane, but it might as well be a mountain with the way my nerves are fraying. My horn buzzes faintly, a now-familiar sensation that I focus on as I take a deep breath.

You can do this, I tell myself, though I'm not sure I believe it.

The glow of my magic flickers to life around the ball, shaky and uneven at first. I grit my teeth, concentrating harder, and the buzzing in my horn intensifies. Slowly, the ball begins to lift, wobbling slightly as it rises above the table.

My chest tightens as I hold it there, every fiber of my being focused on keeping the damn thing steady. The glow flickers again, but I force it to stabilize, gritting my teeth as the effort sends a sharp ache through my horn.

The ball hovers in midair, trembling slightly but holding. My heart pounds as I glance at Mayor Mare, who nods approvingly, her unsettlingly wide smile giving me no comfort.

"Very good," she says, her tone pleasant but professional. "Now keep it steady for a few more seconds."

I nod mutely, sweat beading on my forehead as I lock my focus on the ball. It wobbles again, but I adjust quickly, the glow around it holding firm. My horn feels like it's on fire, but I grit my teeth and bear it. This is the first step—the one thing I know I can do. I can't afford to fail here.

After what feels like an eternity, she speaks again. "That's enough. You can set it down now."

I let out a shaky breath, carefully lowering the ball back onto the table. The glow around it fades, and I step back, my legs trembling slightly from the effort.

"Well done," Mayor Mare says, jotting something down on a clipboard she's somehow produced. "Your telekinesis is quite solid. Shall we move on to the next test?"

I nod again, my mouth dry. Solid? I don't feel solid. My head is pounding, and my nerves are shot, but I can't stop now. There's still the freezing and heating tests to go, and I have no idea how I'm going to manage them.

"Of course," I say, forcing a weak smile. "Let's do it."

Mayor Mare leads me back to the small table, this time placing a shallow bowl of water on it. The clear liquid ripples slightly as she sets it down, and her unsettlingly wide smile never wavers as she steps back. "Now for the heating and freezing tests," she says cheerfully. "Just heat the water until it begins to steam, then cool it until it freezes."

My stomach lurches. Steam and ice? I don't even know where to start! My pulse pounds in my ears as I stare at the water, my mind racing.

The problem isn't just the magic—it's that I have no clue what freezing or heating spells are supposed to look like. My horn can manage telekinesis, sure, but this? This is a whole new level. Panic bubbles up in my chest as I try to think of a solution.

Okay, think. You know physics. You're a mechanical engineer, for God's sake. Heat and cold aren't magical—they're just energy. Heat is the motion of atoms, and cold is the lack of it. Not a total lack, but close enough. If I can move those atoms… maybe I can fake it?

The thought sparks a tiny flicker of hope, and I latch onto it, forcing myself to breathe deeply and focus. I know the basics: heating something means making its atoms move faster, and freezing it means slowing them down. If I can control the motion of the water molecules, I might be able to pull this off.

But how? My telekinesis isn't precise—it's clumsy at best. Controlling a whole bowl if water is laughable. But the fish from earlier taught me something: smaller tasks are easier. Instead of trying to affect all the water at once, I can work in tiny layers.

I picture the bowl of water as a stack of infinitesimally thin layers, like slices of paper. Each layer can be heated or cooled individually, and by integrating over the whole volume—essentially summing up the effects on each layer—I can control the temperature of the water. It's not elegant, but it's the only idea I have.

"Whenever you're ready," Mayor Mare prompts, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

I nod stiffly, my horn buzzing faintly as I focus on the water. The molecules are already moving—they vibrate naturally, their speed determining the water's temperature. My magic wraps around the first thin layer, and I imagine the atoms moving faster, their bonds stretching and vibrating more intensely.

The water begins to ripple faintly, the surface trembling as I push the molecules into motion. My horn throbs with the effort, the buzzing growing sharper as I move to the next layer, then the next, gradually working my way down. The heat builds slowly, and I grit my teeth, concentrating harder.

A thin wisp of steam curls up from the surface of the dish, and I exhale shakily. "Check it," I mutter, stepping back to let Mayor Mare inspect my progress.

She leans forward, her wide eyes scanning the water. "Impressive," she says with a nod. "Now, freeze it."

I swallow hard, my head already pounding, but I nod again. "Alright," I whisper, focusing once more.

Freezing is trickier. I can't just stop the motion of the atoms—I need to orient them correctly to form stable hydrogen bonds, the key structure of ice. My magic flickers as I focus on the atoms in the topmost layer, hoping I'm aligning them so the bonds lock into place. I only know its working when I see the surface glisten, a faint crust of frost forming as I move to the next layer.

The integral approach works again, each layer freezing as I work my way down. It's painfully slow, my horn burning with the strain, but I keep going, the frost thickening until the entire dish is a solid block of ice.

I step back, gasping for breath. "Check it," I say again, my voice hoarse.

Mayor Mare leans in, tapping the frozen surface with a hoof. "Well done," she says, her smile widening.

"Wonderful," Mayor Mare says, her smile stretching just a little wider. "You've demonstrated excellent control over your magic, Kinetic Flux. Welcome aboard as Ponyville's new Town Mage."

I blink, barely processing her words. I got the job? Relief washes over me, followed quickly by a surge of exhaustion. My horn feels like it's been run through a blender, and every muscle in my body aches from the sheer effort of faking competence. But I force myself to stand straighter, offering a weak smile in return.

"Thank you, Mayor Mare," I manage to say, my voice still shaky. "I'll do my best."

She nods approvingly and gestures for me to follow her back out into the hallway. "Excellent. Let me show you your office."

My office? That stops me in my tracks for a moment. I hadn't expected that—honestly, I wasn't expecting much more than a pat on the back and vague directions to figure things out on my own. The idea that this job comes with an actual space feels… surreal.

Mayor Mare leads me down a short corridor, her hoofsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floor. The hallway is lined with simple doors, each labeled with small brass plaques: Records Room, Storage, Meeting Room. At the very end, she stops in front of a door with a dusty looking engraved plaque that reads Town Mage.

"This will be your workspace," she says, pushing the door open to reveal a modest room inside. It's not much—just a simple desk, a few shelves, and a single window that lets in soft, natural light—but it's more than I expected. A small bulletin board hangs on one wall, and an empty inkwell sits on the desk beside a stack of blank parchment.

I step inside, the wooden floor creaking faintly under my hooves, and glance around. The room smells faintly of dust and old paper, but it's clean and quiet. My space. Mine.

"You'll receive requests here," Mayor Mare continues, her tone brisk and professional. "Ponies in town know to come to the Town Mage when they need magical assistance. As the position doesn't include lodging, I recommend starting with smaller tasks to earn bits quickly and secure accommodations."

I nod slowly, still taking in the sight of the room. "Right. Got it."

She adjusts her glasses, her bloodshot eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me. "You'll also need to keep records of your work—nothing elaborate, just enough to track your services and payments. If you need supplies, let me know, and we'll see what can be arranged."

"Thank you," I say again, the words automatic. My mind is already racing with the implications of this job—what it means to be the person every pony in town comes to when they're out of options.

Mayor Mare steps back toward the door, her smile softening just slightly. "I have high hopes for you, Kinetic Flux. Welcome to Ponyville."

With that, she leaves, her hoofsteps fading down the hall. I'm left standing in the middle of the room, staring at the desk and the empty shelves, the reality of my new position sinking in.

An office. A real job. It's more than I expected when I stumbled into this strange, unsettling world, but the weight of it feels almost crushing.

I sink into the chair behind the desk, the wood creaking under my weight, and rest my hooves on the surface. My reflection stares back at me from the polished surface of the desk—tan fur, blonde mane, a faint sheen of sweat from the effort of getting here.

"Well," I mutter to myself, leaning back in the chair. "This is… something."

The room is quiet, save for the faint murmur of voices in the hall. For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself relax, if only for a moment. I survived the tests. I have a job.

Now I just have to figure out how to actually do it.

---

The hours drag on as I sit in my new office, the quiet only broken by the occasional creak of the floorboards or the muffled sounds of ponies moving about outside. I'm not sure what I expected—ponies bursting in with urgent magical emergencies? A line forming down the hall? Instead, it's just me, staring at the desk, the blank parchment, and the stack of quills that I don't even know how to use yet.

My horn still aches faintly from the tests, but I try not to dwell on it. Instead, I focus on my surroundings, looking for anything to distract myself from the gnawing anxiety in my chest. The window offers a view of the town square, where ponies go about their day, their grotesque but cheerful faces making my stomach churn. I glance at the bulletin board, wondering if I should pin something up to advertise my services.

I'm in the middle of debating whether I should try to organize the empty shelves when the sound of hoofsteps in the hall makes me sit up straight. My ears swivel toward the door, and I hold my breath as the steps grow louder. They stop just outside my office, and for a moment, I think whoever it is might turn away. But then the door creaks open.

A pale yellow pony steps inside, their oversized, veiny eyes darting nervously around the room. Their green mane is messy, sticking up in odd angles, and they carry a small satchel slung over one shoulder. The pony hesitates in the doorway, their expression uncertain, before their gaze lands on me.

"Um… hi," they say, their voice quiet and hesitant. "Are you… the new Town Mage?"

"That's me," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. I gesture toward the chair across from my desk. "Come on in."

They step inside slowly, their movements awkward, like they're not used to being in an office. They sit down, their hooves fidgeting against the edges of the chair. For a moment, they just stare at me, their too-big eyes blinking slowly, and I resist the urge to look away.

"So, uh… what can I help you with?" I ask, leaning forward slightly to break the silence.

The pony shifts in their seat, their satchel rustling as they open it and pull out a small, battered pocket watch. They set it on the desk between us, their hooves retreating quickly as if afraid to touch it any longer.

"It's broken," they say, their voice barely above a whisper. "It belonged to my grandfather, and I don't know what's wrong with it. I was hoping… maybe you could fix it? With magic?"

I stare at the pocket watch, my eyes widening. A surge of familiarity washes over me as I pick it up, turning it over in my hooves. The weight, the craftsmanship, the delicate gears visible through the tiny cracks in the casing—it's all so familiar, so grounding. Before I ever got into mechanical engineering, I used to repair watches to make ends meet. It was my first job, and for a moment, the memories of tiny screwdrivers, magnifying lenses, and the satisfying click of a working gear drown out the strangeness of where I am.

"I… I think I can help," I say, my voice more steady than I expected. I glance at the pony, who's watching me nervously. "But, uh, repair spells are… delicate. It's best if you wait outside while I work."

The pony nods quickly, almost too eagerly. "Oh, of course! I understand. I'll just be right outside." They shuffle out of the room, the door creaking softly shut behind them.

The moment they're gone, I let out a long breath and set the watch down on the desk. "Alright," I mutter to myself, rolling my shoulders and focusing on the task at hoof. "Just me and a pocket watch. You've done this before."

I light my horn, the golden glow of my telekinesis wrapping around the watch. It's not as precise as using actual tools, but it'll have to do. The first challenge is getting the backing off. Normally, I'd use a blade from a pocket knife or a flat head screwdriver to pry it open, but with no tools in sight, I have to improvise.

Gritting my teeth, I apply pressure with my magic, trying to wedge the edge of the backing up. The watch resists, the metal stubborn and unyielding. My horn buzzes sharply as I strain, the glow around the watch flickering as I push harder.

"Come on, you little bastard," I mutter, beads of sweat forming on my brow. I adjust the angle, imagining the tiny lip of the backing in my mind, and push again. With a faint pop, the backing finally gives, the metal plate flipping off and landing with a dull clink on the desk.

"Yes!" I hiss, a grin spreading across my face. "Still got it."

Inside, the gears are jammed and the spring looks dangerously overwound. It's a simple problem—well, simple for someone who's done this a hundred times before. My magic wraps around the delicate parts, carefully nudging them into place. I focus on the gear train first, loosening the stuck teeth and making sure they align properly. Each tiny adjustment sends a faint throb through my horn, but I ignore it, my mind absorbed in the intricate mechanisms.

The spring is next. I release a bit of its tension, working slowly to avoid snapping it. The telekinesis isn't as precise as I'd like, but I manage to unwind it just enough for the gears to turn freely again. I test the movement by gently nudging the balance wheel, and the entire mechanism springs to life, ticking steadily.

"Perfect," I murmur, watching the gears turn smoothly. The familiar rhythm of the ticking fills the quiet room, and for the first time since I arrived in this bizarre world, I feel a sense of control—of accomplishment.

I replace the backing with another push of my magic, making sure it clicks securely into place. The watch looks as good as new—or at least as good as it can, given its age. I set it gently on the desk and call out, "You can come back in now."

The door creaks open, and the pony steps inside, their nervous expression replaced by cautious hope as their eyes dart to the watch. I push it toward them with a hoof, leaning back slightly. "It's fixed. Try it out."

Their oversized eyes light up as they pick up the watch, the ticking filling the silence between us. "It's working," they whisper, a smile breaking across their face. "It's really working."

I nod, unable to keep the pride from my own grin. "It just needed a little… delicate work."

The pony looks at me, their expression grateful. "Thank you so much, Kinetic Flux. My grandfather would've been so happy to see this working again. How much do I owe you?"

I pause, caught off guard. I hadn't actually thought about pricing. Back in the day, I used to charge depending on the complexity of the repair, but here? I have no frame of reference.

"Uh… ten bits?" I say hesitantly, throwing out a number that feels reasonable. It's not too high, but not insulting either. Hopefully.

The pony nods eagerly, reaching into their satchel and pulling out a small pouch. They count out ten shiny coins and set them on the desk with a clink. "That's more than fair. Thank you again, Kinetic Flux. This means so much to me."

I wave a hoof dismissively, trying to play it cool despite the excitement bubbling inside me. "No problem. I'm glad I could help."

The pony tucks the watch carefully back into their satchel, their expression one of pure relief. "I'll be sure to tell everypony how helpful you were. Have a great day!" With one last wide-eyed smile, they turn and trot out of the office, leaving the door ajar behind them.

As soon as they're gone, I lean back in my chair, staring at the pile of bits on the desk. My first job. Ten bits. It's not a fortune, but it's a start—proof that I might actually be able to make this work. A grin spreads across my face as I scoop the coins into a neat pile, the metallic weight reassuring in a way I didn't expect.

"Not bad for my first day," I mutter to myself, leaning forward to drop the coins into the small drawer of the desk. My horn still aches from the effort of repairing the watch, but the satisfaction of a job well done outweighs the discomfort.

The room feels a little less empty now, the quiet a little less oppressive. I glance at the window, watching the ponies outside go about their day, and for the first time since I arrived in this strange, unsettling world, I feel like I belong—just a little.

I rest my hooves on the desk, letting the moment sink in. Sure, the job wasn't glamorous, and ten bits won't get me far, but it's a start. And if I can fix a pocket watch with nothing but telekinesis and a bit of ingenuity, who knows what else I can do?

I lean back, staring at the ceiling as a small laugh escapes me. "Town Mage," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head. "Guess I'm off to a decent start."

The hours tick by, and no one else comes through the door. I spend most of the afternoon sitting at my desk, fiddling with the stack of blank parchment, trying to look busy in case anyone walks in. But the hallway outside remains quiet, the creak of the floorboards my only company. Every now and then, I glance out the window at the ponies passing by, hoping someone might glance my way, but no one does.

By the time the sun starts to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, I've come to an unsettling realization: that first customer might be my only one.

The ten bits sitting in my drawer are all I have to my name, and the weight of their insufficiency presses heavily on me. I pull one out, turning it over in my hooves. The golden coin gleams faintly in the dim light, its edges smooth and slightly worn. It's more money than I've had in days, but it's not nearly enough for a room at an inn.

I run the numbers in my head, trying to estimate what a night's stay might cost, and every scenario leaves me short. My stomach churns as I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.

"Great," I mutter, the word dripping with sarcasm. "Just great. Town Mage, huh? Can't even afford a place to sleep."

The idea of going back to the forest sends a shiver down my spine. No way I'm doing that—not after what I went through to get here. But that leaves me with only one option: staying here. My office. It's not exactly cozy, but it's better than freezing outside or risking whatever might be lurking in the dark.

I glance around the room, my eyes settling on the space under the desk. It's cramped, sure, but it'll do. With a sigh, I get up and pull the chair out of the way, crouching down to test the fit. The floor is cold and hard, but it's not much worse than the forest floor—or the muddy riverbank I collapsed on two days ago.

"This is fine," I mutter to myself, squeezing into the narrow space. "Totally fine. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

I fold my legs under me, leaning against the side of the desk for support. The room is quiet, the sounds of the village outside fading as the night deepens. The faint glow of the moon filters through the window, casting pale light across the floorboards.

It's not comfortable. It's not even remotely ideal. But it's a place to sleep, and that's more than I had last night. I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath as I try to ignore the ache in my legs and the lingering soreness in my horn.

As the quiet settles in, I remind myself of the small victory I had today. Ten bits, one satisfied customer, and a job title—even if it's more symbolic than anything. It's not much, but it's something.

---

I wake to the sound of knocking, sharp and insistent, echoing in the quiet room. For a moment, I forget where I am, my mind still tangled in sleep and memories of home. Then the stiffness in my neck and back brings me back to reality—I'm crammed under my desk, a crick in my neck, and the wooden floor pressing into my side.

The knock comes again, louder this time. "Just a second!" I call, scrambling out from under the desk and shaking off the stiffness. My legs protest as I stand, but I force myself to straighten up and glance in the small mirror hanging on the wall. My mane is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and my fur's a little ruffled, but it'll have to do.

I take a deep breath and open the door, plastering on a professional expression that I hope hides my exhaustion. Standing on the other side is a familiar orange earth pony with a blond mane tied back in a loose ponytail. Her wide-brimmed hat is slightly askew, and her massive, veiny eyes fix on me with a mix of determination and concern. Applejack.

"Howdy," she says, tipping her hat slightly. Her voice is as warm and rich as I remember from the show, though hearing it in person sends a weird chill down my spine. "You the new Town Mage?"

"That's me," I say, my voice a little hoarse. I clear my throat quickly. "Come on in."

She steps inside, her hooves clacking against the wooden floor as she looks around the office. Her nose wrinkles slightly at the faint smell of dust and whatever lingering dampness my makeshift sleeping arrangements left behind, but she doesn't comment on it.

"Name's Applejack," she says, turning back to me. "I run Sweet Apple Acres, just outside town. Got a bit of a problem I'm hopin' you can help with."

"Applejack," I repeat, nodding. "Yeah, I've heard of Sweet Apple Acres. What seems to be the problem?"

She frowns, her ears flicking back slightly as she glances toward the window. "Our apple trees ain't doin' so hot. Yields've been droppin' every season, apples comin' out smaller and less juicy. Trees're lookin' weaker too—yellowin' leaves, stunted growth. And don't even get me started on the pests. Seems like we got every critter in Equestria chompin' on our crops."

I nod, scribbling notes on a piece of parchment to look busy. "Anything else? Soil quality? Weather?"

"Yeah," she says, her frown deepening. "Soil's hard as a rock these days, and it don't hold water like it used to. We've even had some erosion—bare patches where the topsoil's just gone. Been wonderin' if it's got somethin' to do with the Everfree Forest. It's right on the edge of our property, and, well, weird things've been happenin' over there lately."

I tap the quill against my hoof, my mind racing. The symptoms she's describing don't exactly scream "magic problem," but I can't just dismiss her concerns. "Alright," I say, looking up at her. "I'll need to take a look at the farm to figure out what's going on. Can you show me?"

She brightens slightly at that, nodding. "Course I can. I was hopin' you'd say that. We'll head out soon as you're ready."

"Give me a minute to grab my things," I say, turning to shuffle around my desk and pretending to gather supplies. Really, I'm just stalling to buy myself time to think. This isn't what I expected when I signed up to be Town Mage, but it's my job now. Somehow, I have to figure this out.

I turn back to Applejack with nothing in my hooves and what I hope is an air of confidence. "Alright," I say, nodding toward the door. "Lead the way."

As we step out into the bright morning light, my mind is already working through possibilities. Poor soil quality, pests, erosion—it all points to an ecological issue, not magic. But Applejack's convinced the Everfree is to blame, and if I want to solve this, I'll need to tread carefully. Time to see what Sweet Apple Acres has in store.

As we make our way through Ponyville and out toward Sweet Apple Acres, Applejack takes the lead, her confident strides matched by the upbeat tone of her voice. The early morning sun casts a golden glow over the village, and the air is cool, carrying the faint scent of dew and freshly turned soil.

"So," she says, glancing over her shoulder at me, "how long you been in Ponyville?"

"Not long," I reply curtly, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead. My legs still ache from yesterday, and the thought of what's waiting for me at the farm does little to improve my mood.

"Figured as much," she says, not missing a beat. "Ain't seen you around before, and I make it a point to know everypony in town. You settlein' in alright?"

"Sure," I mutter, though it couldn't be further from the truth. Sleeping under my desk and surviving on the hope of a steady income isn't exactly what I'd call "settling in."

Applejack doesn't seem fazed by my lack of enthusiasm. "Well, if you need anything, don't be afraid to holler. Ponyville's a friendly place—we look out for each other."

I grunt in acknowledgment, which she seems to take as a cue to keep talking.

"What about before Ponyville?" she asks, her tone curious but casual. "Where'd you come from?"

"Far away," I reply, not meeting her gaze. "Doesn't matter."

Applejack raises an eyebrow but doesn't press the issue. "Fair enough," she says after a moment. "Everypony's got their own story, I reckon."

Silence falls between us for a few minutes, and I let myself relax slightly, thinking she might give up on the small talk. But then she speaks again, her voice bright and friendly.

"You ever done this kinda work before? Magic stuff, I mean?"

"Something like it," I say, the lie coming out before I can stop it. I don't have the energy to explain the whole "engineer-turned-reluctant-mage" thing, and frankly, I doubt she'd believe me anyway.

"Well, that's good to hear," she says with a nod. "Sweet Apple Acres could sure use some help right now. Feels like every year, somethin' else comes along to make things harder."

Her words carry a faint note of weariness, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the weight she's carrying. Running a farm isn't easy, especially when things start going wrong. Still, I'm not in the mood for sympathy—or much of anything, really.

"You always this chatty?" I ask, unable to keep the grumble out of my voice.

Applejack stops mid-step, glancing back at me with a raised eyebrow. For a moment, I think I've offended her, but then she lets out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing down the dirt road. "Yup," she says, grinning. "It's kinda my thing."

I roll my eyes but keep walking, the corner of my mouth twitching in what might almost be a smirk. "Great," I mutter. "Lucky me."

Applejack just chuckles, her pace picking up as we approach the edge of town. "You'll get used to it," she says, tipping her hat back slightly. "Besides, a little friendly chatter never hurt nopony."

"Debatable," I mutter under my breath, but she doesn't seem to hear—or maybe she just chooses to ignore it.

As we cross the bridge leading to Sweet Apple Acres, the sprawling orchards come into view, their rows of apple trees stretching out as far as the eye can see. The sight is impressive, but even from here, I can see the signs of trouble. Bare patches of soil, drooping leaves, and a noticeable lack of ripe, vibrant apples stand out against the otherwise picturesque landscape.

"Well," I say, taking a deep breath as we approach the gate. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

"Don't worry," Applejack says, her tone optimistic. "I've got a good feelin' about this. You'll figure it out."

I don't share her confidence, but I nod anyway, bracing myself for whatever's waiting in the orchard.

I step into the orchard, the cool morning air thick with the scent of earth and damp leaves. At first glance, Sweet Apple Acres is beautiful—rows of apple trees stretching into the distance, their branches heavy with green leaves and small, underwhelming fruit. But the signs of trouble are everywhere: yellowing leaves, stunted growth, and bare patches of compacted soil scattered across the fields.

Applejack watches me intently as I move from tree to tree, my eyes scanning the branches, the ground, and the fruit. "So," she says after a moment, "what d'ya think? Is it the Everfree messin' with the orchard?"

"Not sure yet," I say, crouching down to run a hoof through the soil. It's hard and dry, clumping together in a way that screams poor water retention. I glance up at her, my mind racing with questions. "How long has this been going on?"

She tilts her head, thinking. "Couple years, I'd say. Started small—just a few trees not producin' as much—but now it's spreadin'. More pests, too. We've had codling moths, apple maggots, you name it."

I nod, filing that away as I stand and move to another tree. The bark is rough and slightly cracked, the branches sagging under the weight of their meager fruit. "What about the soil? Have you done anything to improve it? Compost, mulch… fertilizer?"

"Fertilizer?" she echoes, her expression shifting to confusion. "No, we ain't needed any of that. These trees've been growin' just fine for generations, all natural-like. Why mess with somethin' that works?"

I bite back a sigh, turning my attention to the ground again. "How often do you plant other crops in this area?"

She frowns. "Other crops? We don't. This here's apple country—we grow apples, plain and simple."

That's what I was afraid of. I lean against the nearest tree, running a hoof through my mane as I try to piece everything together. Years of planting nothing but apple trees, no crop rotation, no fertilizer—it's a recipe for nutrient depletion. The soil's probably stripped of everything the trees need to thrive: nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, and a dozen other micronutrients.

But I can't just say that. Applejack's looking at me with an expectant expression, clearly hoping for some magical explanation. And honestly, I need this job.

"Alright," I say, keeping my voice calm. "Here's what I'm seeing. The trees aren't getting what they need from the soil. Over time, even the best soil runs out of, uh… magical energy. The trees use it up, and if you don't replenish it, they'll start to weaken."

"Magical energy," she repeats, nodding slowly. "Huh. Never knew about that."

"Exactly," I say, relieved she's buying it. "And here's what we're going to do: you need to plant clovers in between the rows. They harmonize with the apple trees' magic, helping replenish the energy in the soil."

"Clovers?" she says, raising an eyebrow. "Ain't that just a weed?"

"Not in this case," I insist, trying to sound authoritative. "Clovers work with the soil to restore balance. They, uh, pull in magic from the air and channel it into the ground. You'll also need to alternate your apple rows with other crops—something hearty that works well with the orchard. It'll let the soil rest and recover."

Applejack frowns, rubbing her chin with a hoof. "So, plant clovers and other crops. And that'll fix the trees?"

"It's not just the clovers," I say, trying to keep the explanation simple while my mind races with the actual science. "There's more to it. You'll need a few other… magical materials to fully restore balance to the orchard."

"Like what?" Applejack asks, her brow furrowing as she leans closer, clearly eager for a solution.

I take a deep breath, mentally organizing what I know about soil health and deciding how to frame it in a way she'll accept. "First, you'll need crushed shells—eggshells, oyster shells, anything like that. They'll infuse the soil with… uh, grounding energy. It helps the roots absorb magic and keeps the soil structure stable."

"Crushed shells," she repeats, nodding. "Alright. What else?"

"Wood ash," I say. "It's full of magical warmth that the trees need. Think of it as a way to balance out their energy flow, especially after a rough harvest."

"Wood ash," she murmurs, her expression thoughtful. "I reckon we've got some o' that lying around."

"Good," I say, building momentum. "You'll also need bone meal or fish remains—anything that's rich in… deep earth magic. It strengthens the connection between the trees and the soil, giving them the foundation they need to thrive."

Applejack wrinkles her nose slightly. "Bone meal? Fish remains? That don't sound too pleasant."

"Maybe not," I admit, shrugging, "but it works. It's like feeding the soil directly."

She nods slowly, still listening intently. "Anything else?"

"Mulch," I say. "Straw, leaves, whatever you've got. It locks in moisture and keeps weeds from stealing the trees' magic. Plus, it keeps the soil cool during hot days and warm during cold nights."

Applejack tilts her head, her expression shifting to something like admiration. "Y'know, I never thought magic could be so practical. Sounds like it's a lotta work, but if it'll save the orchard, we'll do it."

I nod, relieved she's buying into the explanation. "It will take some time, but if you stick with it, the orchard will recover. You'll see bigger apples, healthier trees, and fewer pests."

"And this'll all work?" she asks, her voice tinged with hope.

"Absolutely," I say, keeping my tone steady. "Just trust the process. The magic in the soil needs time to rebuild, but once it does, you'll have the best apples in Equestria again."

Applejack grins, her veiny eyes glinting in the sunlight. "Thank ya kindly, Kinetic Flux. I can tell ya know what you're talkin' about. I'll round up what we need and get started right away."

She offers a hoof for a shake, and I hesitate for half a second before meeting it with my own. "Glad I could help," I say, forcing a small smile.

As we walk back toward the farmhouse, I can't help but feel a strange mix of pride and guilt. Pride because I might've actually saved her orchard—and guilt because I didn't tell her the truth. It's not magic. It's science. But if calling it magic gets the job done, I'm not going to argue. After all, keeping my job means keeping this act up.

And besides, if it works, who's to say it isn't a little bit magic?

AN:
What the ponies look like (roughly):

 

[caspian1a]

Snip.

Click to shrink...

Forgot to threadmark.

 

[Kencord]

That picture in the third chapter is appropriately fucking horrifying and should keep the 'boink the pony' crew far away, even in the SFW section.

Found Dumpstat, found this, liking your stuff in general. Hope to see more as it progresses.

Oh, and good luck on establishing yourself in town before the magic pony with the college degree rolls up and gets pissy for you stealing jobs from properly trained ponys.

 

[Riddlest]

As we near the farmhouse, a thought strikes me—one that wipes the small glimmer of pride right off my face. The method I suggested, while solid, isn't a quick fix. Soil doesn't just bounce back overnight. Clovers take time to grow and do their thing. The crushed shells, wood ash, bone meal, and mulch all need weeks, if not months, to start showing noticeable effects.

I'm not going to get paid for this, I realize, my stomach sinking. Applejack's not going to see results right away. How am I supposed to stay afloat when I've just spent a good chunk of my energy on a job that won't pay out for weeks—maybe even years?

The realization gnaws at me as I glance at Applejack. She looks determined, her pace brisk as she leads the way. For a moment, I consider trying to explain. Tell her that this is a long-term solution and I can't guarantee immediate results. But before I can figure out how to phrase it, she stops abruptly, turning to face me.

"You're lookin' awful quiet back there," she says, her sharp gaze locking onto mine. "Somethin' on your mind?"

I hesitate, rubbing the back of my neck with a hoof. "Just… thinking about the timeline," I admit. "This kind of thing takes time to work. Months, maybe even years, before the soil fully recovers."

Applejack raises an eyebrow, her mouth curling into a faint smile. "Well, sure, long-term fixes always take time. But I'll be able to tell if this is workin' in a week."

"A week?" I echo, disbelief creeping into my voice.

She nods, her expression unwavering. "Yup. That's the beauty of Earth pony magic. We've got a connection to the land, y'see. I'll be able to feel it in the soil—whether it's startin' to come back to life, if the trees are respondin'. Might not see the full results right away, but I'll know if we're on the right track."

I blink, trying to process her words. She says it with such confidence, like it's the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, in this place, it is. I don't fully understand how Earth pony magic works—hell, I barely understand my own magic—but if she believes it, that's good enough for me.

"Well," I say after a moment, forcing a small smile, "that's… convenient."

Applejack chuckles, tipping her hat back. "Sure is. Don't you worry, Kinetic Flux. You've done good work here, and you'll be seein' your pay soon enough."

The knot in my chest loosens slightly, but I can't help the flicker of doubt that remains. What if she doesn't feel any changes? What if I missed something? I shove the thoughts aside, reminding myself that I've done the best I can with what I know.

As we reach the farmhouse, Applejack pauses, turning to me with a firm nod. "Thank ya again for your help. I'll let ya know in a few days how things are lookin'. And don't worry—I always pay my debts."

"Thanks," I say, my voice quieter than I intend. "I appreciate it."

She grins, and for a moment, the grotesque edges of her too-realistic features soften into something almost comforting. "You're welcome back anytime," she says, tipping her hat before heading inside.

I watch her go, the door swinging shut behind her, and let out a long breath. One job down, and maybe a bit of hope for the future. I turn back toward the road, the weight of uncertainty still pressing on my shoulders but feeling just a little lighter.

The walk back to Ponyville feels longer than the trip out, my thoughts tangled in everything that just happened. Applejack's confidence in her Earth pony magic is reassuring, but it doesn't completely quiet the doubts swirling in my head. Still, there's a strange sense of satisfaction knowing I actually helped. Even if it wasn't really magic, it was good advice, and that has to count for something.

By the time I reach my office, the sun is high in the sky, and the village is bustling with activity. Ponies move through the streets, chatting and laughing, their grotesque but cheerful faces oddly familiar now. I push the door open with a hoof, half-expecting the room to be as empty and quiet as I left it.

Instead, I'm greeted by the sight of a pony sitting in the chair across from my desk. They're a light gray unicorn with a mane that's neatly combed but looks slightly frazzled at the edges, like they've been worrying about something. Their oversized eyes dart up as I enter, glistening faintly in the light filtering through the window.

"Oh, good," they say, their voice tinged with relief. "You're back. I was starting to think I missed you."

I blink, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. Just got back. Can I help you?"

They nod, sitting up straighter. "I hope so. I've got a bit of a problem, and everypony keeps telling me, 'Oh, just see the Town Mage—he'll know what to do.'"

I close the door behind me, my curiosity piqued despite my exhaustion. "Alright," I say, setting my bit bag on the desk and settling into my chair. "What's the problem?"

They hesitate, fidgeting with their hooves. "It's my bakery," they say finally. "I run a small place just off the square. Lately, my bread hasn't been rising properly. Cakes come out flat, and cookies don't have the right texture. It's been driving me crazy."

I lean back slightly, trying to mask my confusion. "And… you think it's a magic problem?"

"Well, it has to be, doesn't it?" they say, their tone pleading. "I've been using the same recipes for years. My oven's in perfect working order. I even tested a batch with some flour from a friend, just to rule out a bad bag. Nothing worked."

I nod slowly, filing away the details. This doesn't sound like a magic issue—it sounds like a baking issue. But the pony is looking at me with such desperation that I can't just brush them off.

"Alright," I say, sitting up straighter. "Tell me everything. Have you made any changes recently? New ingredients? New tools? Anything at all?"

They shake their head firmly. "Nothing. Everything's exactly the same as it's always been. That's why I'm so sure it's magic."

I bite back a sigh, my mind racing for a plausible explanation. "Okay. How's the humidity in your bakery? Have you noticed it being higher or lower than usual?"

The pony blinks, their expression shifting to confusion. "Humidity? What does that have to do with anything?"

I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to rub my temples. "Humidity can affect how ingredients interact. It's the moisture in the air. When it's too high, it can mess with things like flour and leavening agents."

They tilt their head, their oversized eyes narrowing slightly. "Leavening agents?"

"You know, yeast," I say, leaning forward. "The stuff that makes your bread rise. It's really sensitive to its environment—temperature, moisture, even air pressure. If any of those are off, it can mess up your dough."

The pony gives me a blank stare, their confusion as plain as the dull sheen of their expression. "Yeast?" they repeat slowly, like it's the first time they've heard the word. "What's yeast?"

I blink, taken aback. "What's—" I cut myself off, my jaw tightening as I feel the flicker of frustration rising. How do you run a bakery without knowing what yeast is? Don't blow this, Flux. Don't blow it.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. "Okay," I say, choosing my words carefully. "Yeast is… a magical ingredient. It works by creating bubbles of magic inside the dough, making it rise and giving bread its fluffy texture."

The pony's expression brightens slightly, and they nod. "Oh! You mean barm!"

"Barm?" I echo, frowning.

"Yeah," they say, their tone eager now. "The frothy stuff from brewing beer. We use that for leavening—it's what we've always used."

I stare at them for a moment, my mind racing to catch up. "Right," I say slowly, piecing it together. "Barm. That's… basically the same thing. It's a byproduct of fermentation, and it's full of magical properties that make dough rise. The magic in the barm interacts with the dough to create… uh, energy bubbles that expand during baking."

They nod enthusiastically, finally seeming to follow. "That makes sense! So, you're saying the magic in the barm might be off because of the humidity?"

"Exactly," I say, relieved they're on board. "Too much moisture in the air can weaken the magic, making it less effective. You'll need to adjust your process—use less water in the dough to balance things out. And if you can, try storing your ingredients in a cooler, drier place."

They sit back, their expression thoughtful. "Alright. I'll give that a try. Anything else?"

I hesitate, then add, "If the problem keeps happening, you might want to look into getting fresh barm. The magic in it can degrade over time, especially if it's not stored properly."

They nod again, their confidence growing. "Got it. Thanks, Kinetic Flux. I really appreciate this."

"Of course," I say, forcing a small smile. "Let me know how it works out."

They fish a few bits out of their satchel and place them on the desk. "I'll be back if I need more help. Thanks again!"

As they leave, I lean back in my chair, staring at the coins. Another client helped, another problem solved—without a single real spell. The lie about magic is starting to feel like second nature, but the guilt still lingers. Magic, science—whatever works, I tell myself, tucking the bits into the drawer. For now, it's enough.

As the day wears on and no more clients come by, I decide to take a break and head into town. The streets are lively, ponies bustling about with their usual energy. It's almost easy to forget how unsettling their appearances are when they're all so cheerful. Almost.

My stomach growls as I pass a bakery, the warm scent of freshly baked bread wafting out and making my mouth water. I sigh, rubbing a hoof over my grumbling belly. The five bits from the baker, combined with the ten from the watch guy, give me a total of fifteen. It's not much, but it's something.

I glance at the inn as I approach it, its sign swinging gently in the breeze. The building is modest, with warm yellow walls and a welcoming glow from the windows. Inside, I know there's a soft bed waiting, the kind of comfort I haven't felt in days.

Steeling myself, I step through the door. The innkeeper, a sturdy earth pony with a chestnut coat and a no-nonsense demeanor, looks up from the counter.

"Good evening," she says, her voice brisk but not unkind. "Need a room?"

"Yeah," I say, forcing a small smile. "How much?"

"Ten bits a night," she replies, her expression unreadable. "Includes breakfast."

Ten bits. I do the math quickly in my head, my chest loosening a bit. I can swing that. A warm bed and a meal in the morning. It's worth it. "Alright," I say, reaching for my coin pouch.

But then my stomach growls again, loud and insistent. I freeze, my hoof hovering over the pouch. Ten bits for a room leaves me with five. Five bits won't get me far for food, especially if I don't get any more clients tomorrow.

I glance at the innkeeper, her expectant gaze making my chest tighten. I could spend the money on the room, sure—but then what? Go hungry? Or spend the night under my desk again and save the money for food?

The thought of curling up on the hard floor again sends a wave of frustration through me. But hunger has a way of gnawing at you, wearing you down in a way discomfort can't match. You can't eat a bed, I think bitterly.

"Actually," I say, pulling my hoof back, "never mind."

The innkeeper raises an eyebrow but doesn't press. "Suit yourself," she says, turning her attention back to her ledger.

I step back out into the cool evening air, the sounds of Ponyville filling the quiet ache in my chest. Fifteen bits, and it's still not enough. I sigh, my legs heavy as I head back toward my office. Looks like it's another night under the desk and another day of hoping for clients tomorrow.

As I make my way back through the town square, the gnawing hunger in my stomach becomes impossible to ignore. The smells of food—fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and sugary treats—hang heavy in the air, mocking me with their tantalizing warmth. I glance down at my pouch, feeling the weight of the remaining fifteen bits.

You have to eat, I tell myself. Otherwise, what's the point of anything else?

I stop at a small food stand run by a cheerful earth pony with a green mane tied in a loose bun. The menu hanging above her is simple: sandwiches, salads, and a few soups. It's all vegetarian, of course—no meat anywhere in sight. The idea makes my stomach churn, but not because I'm nauseous. I miss meat. Real food. The kind that sticks to your ribs and feels like a proper meal.

"What'll it be?" she asks, her oversized eyes locking onto mine.

"Just… a sandwich," I say, scanning the menu and choosing the cheapest option: a daisy and cucumber sandwich for seven bits. Seven bits for this? Seriously?

She nods, sliding a plate across the counter with practiced ease. The sandwich looks decent—fresh bread, crisp cucumbers, and a handful of daisies sprinkled on top like garnish. But the sight of it makes me wince. I grab it with a mumbled thanks, dropping the bits onto the counter before walking to the nearest bench to eat.

I sit down heavily, staring at the sandwich like it's a personal insult. "This is fine," I mutter, trying to psych myself up. "It's food. It'll keep you alive."

I take a bite, and the bread is soft, the cucumbers are cool and crisp, and the daisies… well, they taste like flowers. Because they are flowers. My jaw tightens as I chew, swallowing the bland, plant-filled mouthful with effort. It's not bad, exactly, but it's not satisfying either. It's like eating the garnish off a real meal.

"You're eating plants," I grumble under my breath. "Like a rabbit."

Each bite feels like a chore, but I force myself to finish the sandwich. It's not enough to banish the hunger completely, but it dulls the edge. I stand up, brushing crumbs off my chest, and glance at the sky. The sun is dipping lower, the golden light fading to a cooler gray.

With eight bits left, I trudge back toward my office. The sandwich sits heavy in my stomach—not because it's filling, but because it's a reminder of how little control I have in this world. No meat, no comfort, just survival.

By the time I reach my office, the faint warmth of the sandwich is gone, replaced by the familiar chill of uncertainty. I push open the door, step inside, and let it swing shut behind me. Another night under the desk awaits, along with the hope that tomorrow will bring another client—and maybe a better meal.

I wake up to the pale gray light of dawn filtering through the window, my back stiff and my neck sore from another night under the desk. The floor's unforgiving surface didn't do me any favors, and I groan as I stretch, wincing at the sharp ache in my muscles. Still better than the forest, I remind myself, though the thought doesn't bring much comfort.

I crawl out from under the desk, shaking off the lingering grogginess, and glance around the office. The room feels just as empty and lifeless as it did yesterday. No knocks on the door yet, no eager clients waiting for my supposed magical expertise. Just silence and the faint creak of the floorboards as I settle into my chair.

For a while, I just sit there, staring at the blank parchment on the desk, tapping a hoof against the wood in a restless rhythm. My thoughts drift, swirling with everything that's happened since I woke up in this strange world.

What's the plan, Flux? I think bitterly. You've got eight bits to your name, no tools, no proper magic, and no real place to stay. You're barely scraping by here.

The idea of heading back into the forest flashes in my mind, but I dismiss it immediately. No way am I going back there, not after what I've seen. But staying here isn't much better. I can't keep living under my desk, surviving on vegetarian sandwiches and hoping for the occasional client to wander in.

I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. What's the endgame here? It's not like I can just pack up and leave. This is my life now, for better or worse. And if I want to make it work, I need a real plan.

The problem is, I don't know what that plan looks like. Do I keep pretending to be a mage, solving mundane problems and spinning science into magic? Do I try to learn more about how this world works, figure out a way to fit in better? Or do I aim higher—figure out how to make real magic work for me, not just the scraps of telekinesis I can manage now?

The thought of learning real magic sends a flicker of hope through me, but it's quickly overshadowed by doubt. I don't even know where to start. Books? Teachers? Would anyone even take me seriously if I asked?

I sigh, running a hoof through my mane as my stomach growls faintly. Eight bits. Enough for another sandwich, but not much else. If I don't get another client today, I'll be in the same spot tomorrow. Hungry, broke, and stuck.

You need to think long-term, I tell myself. Figure out how to make this job sustainable. Maybe I could advertise more, put up signs around town or offer discounts for first-time clients. Or maybe I should focus on building relationships, like with Applejack. If I word gets out that I solved her farm's problem, that could lead to more work—and maybe even a steady income.

The sound of hoofsteps in the hallway pulls me from my thoughts, and my ears perk up instinctively. I sit up straighter, the rhythm of the steps growing louder as they approach my door. A flicker of hope rises in my chest.

Looks like the day's about to start, I think, forcing a neutral expression as the hoofsteps stop just outside. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever new problem walks through the door.

The knock at the door startles me, breaking the silence that's been hanging over the office all morning. I sit up straighter, brushing off my mane with a hoof and trying to look somewhat presentable. Alright, Flux, time to see what's next.

"Come in," I call, keeping my tone steady.

The door swings open, and in steps a well-groomed earth pony stallion with a light tan coat and a slicked-back mane the color of dark chocolate. His sharp blue eyes scan the room briefly before settling on me. His tailored vest and polished demeanor scream wealth, and I instantly recognize him: Filthy Rich, Ponyville's resident business mogul.

"Well, good morning," he says, his voice smooth and confident. "I take it you're the new Town Mage?"

"That's me," I reply, gesturing toward the chair across from my desk. "What can I do for you, Mr. Rich?"

He steps forward, his hooves clicking softly against the floor as he takes the offered seat. "You've been making a bit of a name for yourself already," he says, his tone polite but measured. "I've heard from a couple of ponies around town—Applejack and that baker over on Mane Street. Seems you've got a knack for solving problems."

I nod, trying not to let the sudden pressure show on my face. "I do what I can."

"Well, I've got a problem that could use your attention," he says, leaning back slightly. "It's about my supply chain. Lately, the goods coming in from my distributor have been showing up in terrible condition—crates broken, products damaged. It's causing delays and costing me money. I need to know what's going on."

I blink, caught off guard. "Your supply chain?" I repeat. "That doesn't sound like… a magic issue."

His sharp eyes narrow slightly. "Doesn't it? Everypony I've spoken to says there's no obvious cause. The distributors insist they're doing everything right, and I've even replaced a few of the delivery ponies, but the problem persists. If it's not bad luck, then it must be something magical."

I resist the urge to groan. Of course, it must be magic. Still, he's here, and if I can figure out what's going on, this could lead to bigger opportunities—or at least a decent payday.

"Alright," I say, leaning forward and resting my forelegs on the desk. "Tell me everything. When did this start? How often is it happening? And do you have any other details—locations, specific times, anything unusual?"

Filthy Rich leans forward, his polished demeanor showing a hint of frustration as he explains. "It started about a month ago. At first, it was just one or two deliveries, but now it's happening almost every other shipment. The crates arrive splintered, products damaged beyond salvage. I've inspected the goods before they're packed—everything's fine on the distributor's end. It's during transport that things go wrong."

I nod, taking in the details. "Same distributor every time?"

He shakes his head. "No, I use a few different suppliers. It's the transport that's consistent—all the deliveries are handled by the same courier company."

"And the routes?" I ask. "Are they consistent, or do they vary?"

"They're consistent for the most part," Filthy Rich says. "But I've checked the roads myself—there aren't any obvious issues. No new potholes, no damaged bridges."

I rub my chin, already forming an idea. "Alright. I'll need to take a look at the carts they're using."

He raises an eyebrow. "The carts?"

"Yeah," I say, standing up. "If it's happening during transport, the carts are the common factor. Maybe there's something off with them. I'll need to inspect a few."

Filthy Rich nods, though his expression remains skeptical. "Very well. The courier company keeps their carts at a depot just outside town. I can have one of their supervisors meet you there."

"That works," I say, grabbing my bit bag. "Let's head over."

---

The depot is a simple setup on the edge of Ponyville, a large open yard with carts of various sizes lined up in neat rows. Ponies bustle about, loading and unloading goods, while a supervisor—a stout earth pony with a thick mustache—greets us with a nod.

"Mr. Rich," the supervisor says, tipping his hat. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"I'm here with the Town Mage," Filthy Rich says, gesturing toward me. "He's looking into the issues with our shipments."

The supervisor glances at me, his massive eyes narrowing slightly before he nods. "Alright. What do you need to see?"

"The carts," I say simply. "I need to inspect a few of the ones used for recent deliveries."

The supervisor nods again, motioning for us to follow. He leads us through the yard, stopping beside a row of well-worn carts. "These are the ones that've been in use for the past month. Take your pick."

I step forward, examining the first cart closely. Its wooden frame is sturdy enough at first glance, but as I move around to inspect the wheels, something catches my attention. There's no suspension—nothing to absorb shocks or stabilize the load during travel. It's just a simple wooden bed resting directly on the axle.

I glance at the next cart, then the one after that, finding the same issue. No suspension, no damping. Each cart's frame is slightly different, likely from wear and tear or hasty repairs. Some are clearly in better condition than others, while a few look downright unfit for heavy loads.

Filthy Rich watches me silently, his expression unreadable. "Well?" he finally asks. "What are you thinking?"

I take a step back, my mind racing as I try to piece together how to explain this. The carts are the problem—that much is clear. But how do I present this in a way that doesn't sound completely mundane? "It's... an interesting setup," I say slowly, buying time to form my explanation.

The real problem here isn't magic—it's basic mechanics. But judging by Filthy Rich's expression, he's expecting something far more dramatic. I decide to hold off on conclusions for now, focusing on gathering more information.

"I need to see how these perform under load," I say. "Can you arrange for one of these to be loaded and driven along its usual route?"

The supervisor nods. "Can do. Give me a few minutes to set it up."

As they get to work, I step back, folding my legs under me as I sit and wait. My gaze lingers on the carts, the lack of suspension glaringly obvious now. This is going to be fun to explain, I think, already bracing for the inevitable questions.

The controlled test doesn't take long. The supervisor arranges for two carts to be loaded with identical crates—one in decent condition and the other one of the more beat-up models. They're sent along a bumpy section of the usual delivery route, with a few couriers reporting back after each leg of the trip.

By the end of the test, the results are painfully clear. The cart in better condition arrives with its cargo intact, while the older, poorly constructed cart returns with its load damaged—splintered crates, crushed corners, and loose goods rattling around inside.

"Well," I say, standing beside Filthy Rich as the damaged goods are unloaded. "There's your problem."

He frowns, his expression a mix of annoyance and confusion. "The carts?"

"Exactly," I say, gesturing toward the offending vehicle. "They're not built to handle the loads you're putting on them. No suspension, uneven construction—it's all contributing to the damage."

"Suspension?" Filthy Rich repeats, raising an eyebrow. "What in Celestia's name is that?"

I hesitate, realizing I'm going to have to explain this in a way they'll understand. "It's… a system that helps absorb shocks and keep the cart stable," I say. "Without it, every bump in the road gets transferred directly to the cargo, causing damage."

The blank looks from both Filthy Rich and the supervisor make my stomach sink. I try again, this time adding a bit more detail. "Think of it like… a cushion for the cart. It reduces the force of impacts and keeps the load from bouncing around."

Filthy Rich tilts his head, clearly still not getting it. "And how does that work?"

I rub the back of my neck, thinking quickly. "I'll show you. Can someone bring me some paper and a quill?"

The supervisor nods, trotting off to fetch the supplies. A moment later, I'm seated at a nearby table with a blank sheet of paper in front of me. I light my horn, gripping the quill awkwardly with my telekinesis, and start sketching.

"This," I say, drawing a simple rectangle to represent the cart, "is the cart." I add two circles underneath for the wheels. "When it moves over uneven terrain, the wheels hit bumps, right?"

They both nod, leaning in slightly.

I draw an exaggerated bump on the ground beneath the cart, showing how the force travels upward. "Now, without suspension, that force goes directly into the cart—and the cargo." I scribble some arrows to show the direction of the force. "Newton's Second Law—"

"Newton?" Filthy Rich interrupts, his tone baffled. "What's a Newton?"

I stop mid-sentence, clenching my jaw as I realize I've already lost them. "Newton's a… uh, theoretical mage," I say quickly, switching gears. "He discovered that for every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction."

Filthy Rich and the supervisor exchange confused looks. I sigh, putting the quill down. "Forget Newton. Just think of it like this: the cart needs a magical artifact to absorb those forces. Something to cushion the impact and protect the cargo."

"Ah," Filthy Rich says, his expression brightening slightly. "A magical artifact. That makes more sense."

I nod, relieved to see them following along. "Exactly. I can design one for you—something that'll work with the carts and make sure your goods arrive safely.

As Filthy Rich and the supervisor lean closer, I start sketching the "artifact." It's a simple design: a few coiled springs and a set of dampers to absorb shocks and keep the cart stable. I add some exaggerated swirls and lines to make it look more "magical," because apparently, that's what sells here.

"The artifact," I say, pointing at the drawing, "would sit between the cart's body and the axle. These coils—uh, magical conduits—will absorb the energy from impacts and spread it out, while these dampening runes"—I tap the dampers—"will prevent the cart from shaking too much."

Filthy Rich nods thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as he studies the sketch. "I see. And you're saying we can attach this to every cart?"

"Exactly," I say, trying to sound confident. "It's a quick fix, but you'll need to make one for each cart. The materials might take a little effort to gather, but once you have them, the rest is straightforward."

"What kind of materials?" the supervisor asks, his tone cautious.

"Well…" I trail off, thinking quickly. "Something durable for the coils. It needs to handle the weight of the cart and the cargo without breaking."

The supervisor's brow furrows. "Steel?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "Strong, springy metal. You'd need—wait." I pause, my mind catching up to the conversation. "You have steel?"

"Of course we do," Filthy Rich says, his tone almost offended. "What kind of backwater do you think this is?"

I stare at him, momentarily stunned. Steel. Real, actual steel. For a moment, I'm overwhelmed by the possibilities—suspension systems, stronger tools, even basic mechanics that I thought were out of reach in this world. My mind races with ideas, but I force myself to focus.

"Great," I say, recovering quickly. "Steel will work perfectly. You'll need to shape it into coils, like springs, and then attach them to the carts using bolts or rivets. If you don't have the tools for that, I can help design those too."

Filthy Rich studies the diagram again, his expression thoughtful. "And you're certain this will work?"

"Positive," I say. "It's designed to handle impacts and reduce damage to the cargo. Once you install these artifacts, you'll see an immediate improvement."

He nods slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Alright, Kinetic Flux. I'll get my smiths on this right away. What do we owe you for the design?"

I pause, caught off guard. Pricing something like this is tricky. Too high, and he'll balk. Too low, and I'll regret it later. "Let's call it… thirty bits for the design," I say, holding my breath.

Filthy Rich raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he nods decisively. "Thirty bits per cart? That seems fair."

I blink, momentarily stunned. Per cart? Wait—no, that's not what I meant. My brain scrambles to come up with a response, but before I can correct him, the supervisor chimes in.

"That'll add up quickly," he says, his tone cautious. "We've got a lot of carts in rotation."

"And it'll be worth every bit," Filthy Rich replies, waving a hoof dismissively. "If it saves me the cost of damaged goods and missed shipments, it's a bargain."

I glance between them, my heart racing. Do I clarify? If I do, I risk looking incompetent. But if I don't… thirty bits per cart could mean a huge payday.

I clear my throat, trying to sound as professional as possible. "Uh… yes. Thirty bits per cart. That includes the design and the enchantment framework."

"Good," Filthy Rich says with a satisfied nod. "I'll have my team get started on the first batch immediately. Once we see the results, I'll have you consult on scaling it up for the entire fleet."

"Of course," I say, forcing a calm smile even as my mind reels. Entire fleet? How many carts does he own?

Filthy Rich turns to the supervisor. "Make sure to have the smiths work closely with Kinetic Flux if they run into any issues. I want this implemented as quickly as possible."

The supervisor nods, and Filthy Rich pulls out a small pouch of bits, setting it on my desk. "Here's your initial payment for the first few carts. I'll pay the rest as we roll out the upgrades."

I glance at the pouch, the weight of it immediately noticeable. It's more money than I've seen since arriving in Ponyville. "Thank you," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll make sure to be available if your smiths need any help."

"Good," Filthy Rich says with a sharp nod. "I'll relay the results soon." With that, he turns and strides out of the office, the supervisor following close behind.

As the door swings shut, I slump back in my chair, letting out a long breath. Thirty bits per cart. This could either be the biggest break I've had since I got here—or the biggest disaster waiting to happen.

I glance at the pouch of bits again, the weight of responsibility settling in alongside the coins. No pressure, Flux. Just hope your hastened reinvention of the suspension systems works in a world that barely understands the concept. And make it magical, too.

Despite the stress, I can't help but feel a flicker of excitement. If this works, I might finally be on the path to something sustainable—something bigger than just scraping by. For now, though, there's a lot of work to do.

---

Back at my office, I sit at the desk and open the pouch Filthy Rich left behind. The glint of gold inside is enough to make my breath catch. Carefully, I count out the coins, stacking them into neat piles. Ten bits, twenty, thirty... by the time I finish, I'm staring at 120 bits.

"Holy shit," I mutter under my breath, leaning back in my chair. It's more money than I've had since I got here. With the eight bits I already had, that puts me at 128 bits total. My mind immediately starts running the math.

The inn charges ten bits a night, which means this could cover twelve nights of a proper bed and a roof over my head. Twelve nights of not sleeping under my desk. But then there's food. The inn provides breakfast, but lunch and dinner are on me, and those sandwiches run seven bits a pop. If I eat two meals a day outside the inn, that's fourteen bits. Add ten for the room, and I'm looking at twenty-four bits a day.

Alright, let's break this down. I start scribbling numbers on a scrap of parchment, the calculations helping me feel a little more in control.

Daily Expenses:
Inn room: 10 bits
Two meals: 14 bits
Total: 24 bits

My Funds:
Current total: 128 bits
Number of days: 128 ÷ 24 ≈ 5 days

"Five days," I say aloud, staring at the math. If I stick to this budget, I can make it work for five days before I run out. That's assuming no new clients come in and no unexpected expenses crop up.

I lean back, rubbing my temples. It's better than nothing, but it's tight. Too tight. If Filthy Rich keeps his word and pays me for every cart, I could turn this into something sustainable. But until then, I'm five slow days away from being back under the desk.

The thought of spending another night on that hard floor sends a shiver through me. You've got the bits now. Go enjoy a bed for a few nights. Figure out the rest as you go.

Resolving to head to the inn, I gather my things, sticking the pouch of bits to my side with my telekinesis. It's not much of a plan, but it's better than sitting here stressing over what-ifs. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm going to sleep in a real bed—and that's worth something.

I step into the inn, the warm glow of the interior a stark contrast to the cool evening air outside. The smell of something baking wafts through the room, and for a moment, I let myself savor it. It's the kind of cozy atmosphere that I've been missing—soft chatter from a few ponies in the corner, the faint crackle of a fire in the hearth. It almost feels… normal.

The innkeeper, the same chestnut-coated mare from before, looks up from her ledger as I approach the counter. Her oversized eyes glance briefly at the pouch of bits floating in my magic before meeting mine.

"Changed your mind, have you?" she asks with a faint smirk.

"Yeah," I say, setting the pouch down on the counter. "One night, please."

"That'll be ten bits," she says, pulling out a key from beneath the counter.

I count out the coins carefully, dropping them into her waiting hoof. She inspects them briefly before nodding, sliding the key toward me. "Room three, just up the stairs to your left. Breakfast is served from seven to nine in the morning."

"Thanks," I say, picking up the key with my magic.

She watches me for a moment, her gaze softening slightly. "First time staying in town?"

"Something like that," I reply, not wanting to get into the details.

"Well, welcome to Ponyville," she says with a small smile. "If you need anything, just let me know."

I nod, murmuring a quick thanks before heading toward the stairs. The key floats in front of me, and I tighten my magical grip on the bit pouch, the faint hum of my horn buzzing in the back of my mind. It's not heavy, but I'm hyper-aware of its presence—my lifeline for the next few days.

The stairs creak under my hooves as I climb to the second floor, and I quickly find room three. The door is plain, with a simple brass number nailed to its surface. I slide the key into the lock, twisting it with a satisfying click, and push the door open.

The room is small but clean. A single bed with a neatly made quilt sits against the wall, a small wooden desk and chair tucked into the corner. There's a window overlooking the street, and the faint sound of ponies chatting below drifts through the glass. It's nothing fancy, but after days of sleeping under a desk and on forest floors, it might as well be a luxury suite.

I close the door behind me, locking it out of habit, and set the pouch of bits on the desk. For the first time in what feels like ages, I let out a long, slow breath. This is mine, even if only for one night.

My stomach growls, and I glance toward the window, debating whether to grab something to eat. But the thought of leaving this quiet, comfortable space makes me hesitate. For now, I decide to stay, savoring the simple joy of not being on the move.

Tomorrow will bring its own challenges, but tonight, I'll finally have a chance to rest.

 

[Riddlest]

The morning light filters through the thin curtains, casting a faint glow over the small room. I stir under the quilt, groaning as the stiffness in my back and legs reminds me that even a proper bed can't erase days of sleeping on hard surfaces. Still, it's better than the floor, and for that, I'm grateful.

My stomach growls, a sharp reminder of why I need to get up. Breakfast is included, and there's no way I'm skipping a free meal. Forcing myself out of bed, I stretch, yawning loudly before fumbling my way to the door. The air in the hallway is cool, carrying the faint scent of something cooking—bread, maybe, or oatmeal. My mouth waters as I follow the aroma, hooves clopping softly on the wooden floor.

The inn's common room is already lively, with a few ponies scattered at tables chatting over steaming cups of tea and plates of food. The cheerful murmur of voices is almost enough to make me turn around, but hunger wins out. I shuffle toward the serving area, still half-asleep, and grab a plate from the stack at the end of the counter.

The spread is simple: bread, fresh fruit, and a pot of porridge with a ladle sticking out of it. Nothing fancy, but it's enough. I scoop a generous portion of porridge onto my plate, adding a slice of bread and a few apples for good measure. Balancing the plate in my hooves, I find an empty table in the corner and sit down, letting out a tired sigh as I dig in.

The porridge is warm and hearty, the bread soft and fresh. It's not much, but it fills the void in my stomach and gives me a moment of peace. As I eat, I let my mind wander, half-listening to the conversations around me. Most of it is mundane—weather talk, plans for the day—but it's comforting in its normalcy.

For the first time in a while, I feel like I can breathe. No clients, no forest, no immediate crises—just a quiet morning and a warm meal. It won't last, I know that much, but for now, I'll take it.

After finishing the last bite of porridge, I push the plate away and let out a small sigh of satisfaction. It's not the best meal I've ever had, but it's warm, filling, and more than I've had in days. As I stand up, the dull murmur of the inn's common room fades into the background. Time to head back to the office and see what the day has in store.

I retrieve my coin pouch from the table, glancing around to make sure no one's paying me too much attention. With a faint hum from my horn, I lift the pouch and press it against my side as I always do, holding it there with a subtle nudge of telekinesis on the side facing in. To anyone watching, it looks like the pouch is tied securely in place, but really, it's just me keeping it there with an awkward amount of focus.

Stepping out of the inn, the crisp morning air hits me like a splash of water, chasing away the last bits of grogginess. Ponyville is already bustling, the streets filled with ponies going about their routines. It's as cheerful as ever, their distorted faces somehow more tolerable in the daylight. I keep my head down, my hooves clicking softly against the cobblestones as I make my way toward Town Hall.

The pouch shifts slightly as I walk, and I tighten my magical grip on it, my horn buzzing faintly with the effort. Need to figure out a better solution for this, I think. Maybe I can justify buying a real bag soon.

The town square is lively, with vendors setting up stalls and ponies chatting in small groups. I weave through the crowd, keeping to the edges where it's quieter. The towering spire of Town Hall comes into view, and I quicken my pace, eager to get out of the chaos.

As I approach the familiar wooden doors, I let out a small breath of relief. The coin pouch stays firmly pressed to my side, but the effort is starting to grate on my concentration. I push open the door with a hoof, stepping into the quiet interior of the building. The warmth inside is welcoming, and the faint creak of the floorboards feels oddly comforting.

I make my way to my office, finally letting my magic release the pouch as I step inside. The pouch drops onto the desk with a soft thud, and I sit down heavily in my chair, glancing at the blank parchment waiting for me.

Time to see if today brings any new challenges—or clients.

I barely have time to settle into my chair before the sound of hurried hoofsteps echoes in the hallway. I straighten up, my ears swiveling toward the noise. A few moments later, there's a sharp knock at the door, and before I can even call out, it swings open.

Standing in the doorway, bouncing on her hooves like she's powered by some unseen spring, is none other than Pinkie Pie. Her curly mane bounces with every movement, and her massive, veiny eyes are wide with excitement, making her unsettling appearance even more intense. She grins at me, her too-wide smile somehow managing to radiate warmth.

"Hiya, Kinetic!" she says, her voice as energetic as ever. "Remember me? We met the other day—well, I saw you, and you saw me, so we technically met, even if it wasn't a full introduction introduction. But now it's time for the real introduction!"

I blink, caught completely off guard. "Uh… yeah, I remember," I say cautiously. "What can I do for you, Pinkie Pie?"

She gasps dramatically, her hooves flying to her cheeks. "You remembered my name! That's amazing! I mean, of course, it's my name—it's hard to forget—but still, yay! Anyway, I need your help."

"My help?" I repeat, already bracing myself for whatever chaos she's about to unleash. "With what?"

She bounces closer, her movements impossibly fluid and energetic. "I'm planning a super-duper-awesome party, and I need a magician! Somepony who can add a little razzle-dazzle, a little pizzazz! And everypony in town says you're the pony to go to for magic stuff."

"A magician?" I ask, my brain struggling to keep up. "Pinkie, I'm not exactly—"

"Oh, don't be modest!" she interrupts, waving a hoof. "You're the Town Mage! That means you're perfect for the job. You can do some spells, maybe make things float, pull a bunny out of a hat—ooh, do you have a hat? I can get you a hat! And bunnies! How do you feel about bunnies?"

I stare at her, my mind spinning. She's like a whirlwind of energy, and it's impossible to get a word in edgewise. "Pinkie, I'm not a performer," I finally manage to say. "I don't—"

"That's okay!" she chirps, undeterred. "You don't have to be a performer—you just have to be you. Trust me, everypony's going to love it."

I rub a hoof over my face, trying to process what's happening. "Alright," I say slowly, realizing there's no way I'm getting out of this. "When is this party?"

"Tonight!" she says, beaming. "I'll come by and get you when it's time. Oh, this is going to be so much fun! You'll love it, I promise."

Before I can protest, she spins around and bounces out the door, humming to herself. The sound of her hoofsteps fades down the hallway, leaving me alone in the office.

I sit back in my chair, staring at the door. "What just happened?" I mutter to myself.

The quiet of the office settles back in after Pinkie Pie's whirlwind visit. For a moment, I let my head rest against the back of my chair, staring at the ceiling. A magician? Really? But it's Pinkie Pie, and saying no to her feels like trying to stop a runaway cart.

I resolve to push the worry aside. That's tonight's problem, I tell myself. Right now, I need to focus on my actual job.

Not long after, there's another knock at the door. This one is slower, more measured, but firm. I sit up straighter. "Come in," I call, bracing myself for whatever odd request might walk through.

The door creaks open, revealing an earth pony stallion with a deep brown coat and a short, shaggy mane. His eyes, while still unsettlingly large, have a tired look about them. He carries a wooden tankard, the surface scuffed and stained, as if it's been handled a thousand times.

"Uh, good day," he says, stepping inside. His voice has a rough edge, like he's been shouting or arguing recently. "You're the Town Mage?"

"That's me," I reply, gesturing toward the chair across from my desk. "What can I do for you?"

The stallion hesitates, his hoof lingering on the tankard's handle as he sits down. "It's my brewery," he says finally. "Somethin's gone wrong with the beer."

I blink, trying to process what he just said. "Your beer?"

"Aye," he says, his voice low. "It's… well, it's cursed. Has to be. There's no other explanation."

Here we go. "Alright," I say, keeping my tone neutral. "Tell me what's been happening."

He sets the tankard on my desk, his hoof tapping nervously against the wood. "It started last week. The batches were comin' out sour—bitter in a way they shouldn't be. And the foam… it smells wrong, almost rotten. We've been brewin' the same way for years. The same barrels, the same water, the same barm. Nothin's changed. But now…"

He trails off, his expression grim. "Now the beer's undrinkable. It's ruinin' my business. If it's not fixed soon, I'll have to shut down."

I frown, leaning forward to inspect the tankard. The faint smell of sour yeast wafts up from it, sharp and unpleasant. "And you're sure it's not a problem with your ingredients?" I ask. "The water, the grain, the barm?"

He shakes his head, his movements jerky. "Everything's the same as it's always been. It has to be magic—some kind of curse. I need you to lift it."

I sit back, tapping a hoof against the desk as I think. It doesn't sound like a curse—it sounds like something's gone wrong with the fermentation process. But explaining that to him might be tricky, especially if he's already convinced it's magic.

"Alright," I say slowly. "I'll need to take a closer look at your brewery—your barrels, your barm, and your process. That's the only way I can figure out what's going on."

The stallion nods quickly, relief flashing in his eyes. "Of course. Whatever you need, just… fix it."

"I'll do my best," I say, standing up and grabbing the tankard in my magic. "Lead the way."

The brewery isn't far, just a short walk on the outskirts of Ponyville. As the stallion leads me through town, I try to piece together what I already know and what I need to ask. He's clearly desperate, which means I'll need to tread carefully if I want him to listen to me.

We arrive at a modest building made of dark wood, its roof sloped and weathered by time. A faint smell of hops and malt lingers in the air, mingling with something sour that makes my nose wrinkle. The stallion pushes open the heavy wooden door, motioning for me to follow.

Inside, the space is dimly lit, with large wooden barrels lining the walls and a series of copper kettles dominating the center. The air is thick, damp, and carries the unmistakable tang of fermentation gone wrong.

"This is where the magic happens," the stallion says, his voice hollow. "Or where it used to happen."

I nod, stepping further into the room. The barrels are well-worn, their surfaces etched with years of use, and the kettles have a dull sheen that speaks to countless batches brewed within them. But there's also grime—a faint layer of residue clinging to the edges of the barrels and the joints of the kettles.

"So," I say, turning back to him, "walk me through your process. From start to finish, what do you do to make the beer?"

The stallion rubs the back of his neck, clearly uneasy. "Well, we start with the water—drawn fresh from the well out back. It's always been good, clean water. Then we add the grain and boil it in the kettle over there." He points to one of the larger copper vessels. "Once it's ready, we transfer it to the barrels, add the barm, and let it ferment."

"And the barm?" I ask, tilting my head. "Where do you get it?"

"We keep it from the last batch," he says. "Always have. It's tradition. Everypony does it that way."

I nod slowly, filing that away. "How often do you clean the barrels and kettles?"

He hesitates, his ears flicking back. "We, uh… rinse 'em out after every batch."

"Just rinse?" I press, my tone staying even.

"Yeah," he says defensively. "They don't need more than that. The flavors from the old batches stick to the barrels—it's part of what makes the beer good."

I bite back a sigh, glancing at the barrels again. "And the well water—you're sure nothing's changed with it? No odd smells or tastes?"

He shakes his head firmly. "The well's fine. It's the same water we've been using for years."

"And the grain? Same supplier, same quality?"

"Yes," he says, his voice growing more agitated. "Everything's the same. That's why it has to be magic."

I nod, turning back to the barrels and kettles. Everything's the same, I think, my eyes narrowing. Except for the cleaning—or lack of it.

"Alright," I say, my voice calm. "I'm going to take a closer look at your equipment. If there's a curse, it might be lingering there."

The stallion nods quickly, stepping aside to give me space. As I approach the nearest barrel, the sour smell intensifies, making my stomach churn. I force myself to focus, my horn buzzing faintly as I lift the lid. Inside, the faint remnants of the last batch cling to the wood, a slimy film coating the surface.

This isn't a curse. It's contamination. But convincing him of that without breaking his belief in magic is going to take some careful explaining. For now, I keep my expression neutral and continue my inspection, piecing together the story this equipment is trying to tell me.

I inspect the barrels and kettles thoroughly, my horn buzzing faintly as I lift lids, peer into cracks, and scrape at the slimy residue clinging to the wood. It's poor maintenance. The barm they're reusing is a breeding ground for microorganisms, and the barrels are practically teeming with them.

Still, explaining that to a pony who doesn't know what microorganisms are—or what yeast actually does—is going to be a challenge.

I step back from the barrels, turning to face the stallion. He's watching me intently, his oversized eyes filled with a mix of hope and desperation. "Alright," I say, keeping my voice steady. "I know what's wrong, and I have a solution."

"You do?" he asks, leaning forward. "What is it? Is it a curse?"

"No," I begin, but I catch myself. Ease into it. "Not exactly. It's more like… an imbalance. Your brewing equipment has been… influenced by forces you can't see."

His brow furrows. "Forces I can't see?"

"Exactly," I say, nodding. "Tiny… creatures, so small you can't see them, live on the barm and in your barrels. Normally, they help with the brewing process—they're what make the beer ferment. But if things aren't clean enough, the wrong kind of… magical influences can take over. That's what's causing the sourness and the bad smell."

He stares at me, his expression shifting to skepticism. "Tiny creatures? You mean, like mites?"

"No, not mites," I say, rubbing my temples. "Smaller than that. So small they're invisible. They—"

"Sounds like nonsense," he interrupts, shaking his head. "Invisible creatures ruining my beer? Come on, Mage. Just tell me how to get rid of the curse."

I sigh, biting back a sharp retort. Fine. Curse it is. "Alright," I say, switching tactics. "It's a magical contamination. It's clinging to your barrels, your kettles, and especially your barm. To fix it, you'll need to purify everything and start fresh."

"Purify?" he echoes. "How?"

"You'll need to scrub everything down with a cleansing agent—vinegar works best," I say, keeping my tone firm. "The vinegar will break the magic's hold and reset your equipment. Then, you'll need to get new barm from another brewer. Fresh barm will carry the right kind of magical essence to restore balance."

He looks uncertain. "But the barm we use—it's from the same batch we've been using for years. You're saying it's no good?"

"It's too saturated with the curse," I say, folding my forelegs. "Reusing it will just bring the problem back. You'll need fresh barm to ensure the next batch is clean."

He frowns, clearly reluctant, but the desperation in his eyes wins out. "Alright," he says finally. "I'll clean everything with vinegar and get new barm. Where do I get it?"

"Try another brewer in town," I suggest. "One who isn't having the same problem. And make sure they understand you need it for a fresh start."

He nods slowly, his expression grim but determined. "Alright, I'll do it. And if it works, you'll have my thanks—and my coin."

"Good," I say, stepping back. "Let me know how it goes. And remember: no cutting corners. Clean everything thoroughly, or the curse will just come back."

He nods again, already muttering about finding enough vinegar and a willing brewer. As he starts organizing his plan, I step outside, letting the fresh air wash over me.

Another crisis averted, I think, shaking my head. But the day is far from over, and I've got a party to prepare for—whether I want to or not.

After leaving the brewery, I decide to wander for a while. The morning air is crisp, and the streets of Ponyville are lively but not overwhelming. It feels good to walk without an immediate destination, letting my mind wander as I take in the strange mix of quaint charm and unsettling details that make up this town.

I pass by the market square, where vendors call out their wares, their grotesquely cheerful faces almost blending into the chaos of chatter and movement. My coin pouch feels heavier at my side, not physically, but with the weight of responsibility. I've solved two problems today, but Pinkie's party looms over me like a storm cloud. How am I supposed to play "magician" when I barely know what I'm doing as a mage?

Lost in thought, I barely notice the pink blur barreling toward me until it's too late.

"There you are!" Pinkie Pie's voice cuts through the noise like a bell, and before I can react, she's bouncing up beside me, her veiny eyes gleaming with excitement. "I've been looking all over for you!"

I stop in my tracks, blinking at her. "Pinkie? What's going on?"

She gasps dramatically, her grin somehow stretching even wider. "What's going on? What's going on?! It's party time, silly! You didn't think I forgot, did you?"

"Party time already?" I repeat, my voice laced with dread. "I thought that was later."

"It was later," she says with a giggle, "and now it's later! Come on, you've got to see what I've set up! It's going to be the best party ever!"

Before I can protest, she hooks a hoof around my foreleg and starts dragging me down the street. I stumble after her, my attempts to explain that I'm not ready falling on deaf ears. Pinkie's energy is a force of nature, and resisting her feels as futile as trying to stop a river with a bucket.

"Pinkie, I—"

"Nope! No time for talking!" she interrupts, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "You're going to love this. Trust me!"

As we weave through the streets, I catch glimpses of ponies glancing our way, their odd, oversized eyes following us. A mix of curiosity and excitement seems to ripple through the crowd, and my stomach churns. Whatever Pinkie's planned, it's going to be big. And there's no backing out now.

Pinkie drags me through Ponyville with the enthusiasm of a foal pulling their favorite toy cart. Her bouncing hooves are surprisingly steady, considering the speed she's moving, while I'm half-stumbling, trying to keep up. The streets blur past, the chatter of ponies mingling with Pinkie's endless stream of bubbly commentary.

"You're gonna love it, I promise! There's music, games, and snacks—oh, you have to try the cupcakes! I made them myself, and they're extra super-duper special for you!"

"Pinkie," I manage to gasp between breaths, "what—what's this party even for?"

She slows just enough to give me a beaming smile, her massive eyes sparkling. "You, of course! You're new in town, and everypony deserves a big, warm welcome when they come to Ponyville. Especially if they're the new Town Mage! It's a combo 'Welcome to Ponyville' and 'Congrats on Your New Job' party!"

My stomach sinks as the realization hits me. "You're throwing a party… for me?"

"Duh!" she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And trust me, it's gonna be legendary!"

Before I can argue, we round a corner, and suddenly we're standing in front of Sugarcube Corner. The bakery is decked out in streamers, balloons, and banners, all proudly declaring, WELCOME KINETIC FLUX! in bright, glittering letters. The colors are so loud they practically shout at me, and the sound of cheerful music drifts from inside.

I stare at the decorations, my throat dry. "Pinkie, this is…"

"AMAZING, I know!" she finishes, bouncing in place. "Now come on, everypony's waiting!"

Before I can even process the situation, she pushes me in the door, revealing a room packed with ponies. The sight hits me like a wave—dozens of huge, veiny eyes, grotesque smiles, and colorful fur crammed into one space. The cheerful chatter dies down as heads turn toward us, and suddenly, I'm the center of attention.

"Everypony," Pinkie announces, her voice cutting through the room like a bell, "meet Kinetic Flux, Ponyville's new Town Mage!"

A chorus of cheers erupts, and I feel my face flush as the crowd surges toward me. Hooves reach out to shake mine, voices shout greetings and congratulations, and I'm caught in a whirlwind of energy that's somehow even more overwhelming than Pinkie herself.

"Uh, hi," I say awkwardly, forcing a small smile. "Nice to meet you all."

The ponies don't seem to notice my discomfort, their enthusiasm washing over me like a tidal wave. Pinkie nudges me forward, her grin practically glowing. "Go on! Mingle! Have fun! Oh, and don't forget to save room for cupcakes—they're my specialty!"

As the crowd swirls around me, I realize there's no escape. This party is happening, whether I'm ready or not. For now, all I can do is brace myself and try to survive the onslaught of Ponyville's bizarre yet relentless hospitality.

As the party whirls around me, I do my best to keep up. Ponies keep introducing themselves—names I vaguely recognize from what I remember about the show: Lyra, Bon Bon, Carrot Top, Cheerilee. Their voices blur together as they smile and congratulate me on my "big, magical job," their eyes twinkling with excitement.

But something feels off. As much as I'm being bombarded with introductions and conversations, there's one face I haven't seen. One pony who, in my mind, should've been front and center at something like this.

Where's Twilight?

I shake a few more hooves, trying to discreetly scan the room. There's no sign of her purple coat, no streaks of pink in her mane, no calm and analytical presence that would stand out in this sea of manic enthusiasm. I lean toward the nearest pony, a mint green mare with a lyre cutie mark—Lyra, I think.

"Hey," I say, keeping my voice low. "Quick question."

She tilts her head, her too-large eyes blinking at me. "Yeah?"

"Where's Twilight Sparkle?" I ask. "I figured she'd be here."

Her brow furrows, and she gives me a puzzled look. "Twilight Sparkle? Who's that?"

I blink, taken aback. "You don't know her?"

Lyra shakes her head, her confusion deepening. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell. Is she a friend of yours or something?"

I hesitate, the realization dawning on me. "Uh… not exactly. Never mind."

She shrugs and goes back to chatting with Bon Bon, leaving me standing there, my mind spinning. This is before Twilight came to Ponyville. The thought settles over me like a heavy blanket. No Twilight. No Elements of Harmony. no library to turn into a magical nexus.

I glance out the window, needing a moment to anchor myself. That's when I spot it: the Golden Oaks Library, its branches stretching toward the sky, adorned with the iconic lantern I remember. It's there, standing quietly amidst the chaos of the town. Twilight doesn't live there yet, but the library still exists. A small sense of relief washes over me. At least I know where to find information if I need it.

Before I can dwell on the thought, Pinkie Pie's voice cuts through the crowd like a firecracker. "Alright, everypony! It's time for the main event!"

The room falls silent, all eyes turning to her. My stomach twists. Main event? Please don't—

She points a hoof directly at me, her grin as wide as ever. "Our new Town Mage is going to show us a magic trick!"

The room erupts into cheers, and I feel every pony's oversized, veiny eyes lock onto me. My mouth goes dry. "Wait—what? But it's my—"

"Come on, Kinetic Flux!" Pinkie says, bouncing in place. "You can do it! You're the Town Mage! Show us something amazing!"

I stand there, frozen. I didn't prepare anything. Hell, I don't even know enough magic to fake my way through a trick. My mind races, but the crowd's expectant stares leave me no room to escape. Think, think, think.

My eyes dart around the room, landing on the punch bowl sitting on the refreshment table. An idea—half-formed and absolutely reckless—pops into my head. "Alright," I say, swallowing hard. "Give me some space."

The ponies eagerly back away, creating a wide circle around me. My horn buzzes faintly as I focus on the punch bowl, my mind grasping at the physics I know. What I can do and what I can wing. Water is just a collection of molecules, bound together in a liquid state. If I can excite those molecules again, they'll break apart into vapor—evaporation.

Basic, we already know it works, I think, channeling my magic.

The punch bowl glows faintly as my telekinesis wraps around the water inside. I focus on agitating the molecules layer by layer, picturing them vibrating faster and faster as I feed energy into the liquid. The buzzing in my horn intensifies, and I feel a bead of sweat roll down my forehead.

At first, nothing happens. Then, slowly, steam begins to rise from the bowl. The water level drops as the liquid turns to vapor, disappearing into the air. The crowd gasps, and I feel a surge of panic. That's only half the trick—now its up to luck.

I reach out with my telekinesis, grabbing at the scattered water vapor. It's harder than I expected—like trying to herd smoke—but I manage to gather the molecules into a small, swirling cloud. I grab some dust from a corner of the bakery and sprinkle it in to act as a condensation nuclei. My magic hums as I compress the vapor, attempting to condense it into tiny droplets.

"just… do it," I mutter under my breath, willing the droplets to coalesce further. The cloud hovers above the circle of ponies, dark and faintly shimmering. For a moment, it hangs there, and I think I've failed.

Then, a single drop falls. Then another. The cloud releases a soft drizzle, the droplets pattering gently on the floor. The ponies gasp, their eyes wide with wonder.

"It's raining!" Pinkie shouts, bouncing in place. "Inside!"

The crowd bursts into applause, their enthusiasm almost drowning out my thundering heartbeat. I step back, releasing the spell as the tiny cloud dissipates. My legs feel like jelly, and my horn aches from the effort.

"That… was amazing!" Pinkie says, rushing up to me. "You're like a real weather wizard!"

"Yeah," I say, forcing a shaky grin. "Magic." Inside, I'm screaming. I can't believe that actually worked.

The applause continues as ponies crowd around to congratulate me, their excitement palpable. For the first time, I don't feel completely out of place—just exhausted. And maybe a little proud.

The applause finally dies down, and the crowd disperses, though a few ponies linger to pat me on the back or murmur their amazement. I nod along, trying to keep my shaky smile in place. My horn still throbs from the effort of the "magic trick," and my legs feel like they could give out at any moment.

Pinkie Pie bounces up to me, her grin practically glowing. "That was amazing, Kinetic Flux! You're officially the coolest Town Mage ever!"

"Thanks, Pinkie," I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just… did what I could."

"You did great!" she says, shoving a cupcake into my hooves. "Now you have to celebrate properly. Eat up! There's plenty more where that came from!"

I glance down at the cupcake—a pink frosted monstrosity with enough sprinkles to blind a pony—and force a small laugh. "Right. Thanks."

Taking a bite, I'm hit with a wave of overwhelming sweetness. It's like someone condensed pure sugar into frosting form. Still, I chew and swallow, grabbing a glass of cider to wash it down. As I move through the refreshment table, I help myself to some bread and a slice of carrot cake, keeping my focus on the food and trying to avoid more conversations. The bread is plain but hearty, the carrot cake surprisingly well-spiced. Not bad for party fare.

The room buzzes around me, ponies chatting and laughing, their distorted faces glowing with joy. It's a lot, even without the lingering ache in my horn. I glance toward the door, weighing my options. I've done the trick, eaten the food, and mingled enough to keep up appearances. Slipping out wouldn't be too hard.

Pinkie's back is turned as she chats animatedly with a group of ponies near the punch table. Seizing the opportunity, I quietly make my way toward the door. My hooves are light against the floor, the noise of the party masking my movements.

Once outside, the cool night air washes over me, a stark contrast to the heat and noise of the party. I let out a long breath, my shoulders sagging with relief. The town is quieter now, the streets mostly empty except for a few ponies heading home.

I glance back at Sugarcube Corner, the colorful lights and sounds spilling out into the dark. Thanks for the welcome, Pinkie, but I've had enough for one day.

I turn away from Sugarcube Corner, the distant hum of the party fading into the cool night air as I make my way toward the inn. The cobblestones beneath my hooves feel uneven, but I focus on the simple rhythm of walking, letting it drown out the lingering buzz in my head. The streets are mostly deserted, and the silence is a welcome change after the chaos.

The inn comes into view, its warm light spilling through the windows. The familiar smell of wood and faint traces of food drift out as I push the door open. The innkeeper looks up from her ledger, her oversized eyes glinting in the low light.

"Back again?" she asks with a knowing smirk.

"Yeah," I say, stepping up to the counter and setting my pouch of bits on the worn wood. My horn buzzes faintly as I count out the coins, careful not to lose track. "One more night."

She nods, taking the ten bits and sliding another key toward me. "Same deal as before. Room three. Breakfast starts at seven."

"Thanks," I mutter, picking up the key with my magic. The pouch feels lighter as I place it back against my side, holding it there with a faint telekinetic grip as I head up the stairs.

The room is just as I left it: plain, quiet, and mercifully clean. I lock the door behind me and set the pouch of bits on the desk, taking a moment to count what I have left. One hundred and six bits. Enough for a few more nights, but I'll need another job soon if I want to keep this up.

I let out a slow breath, glancing toward the bed. My body aches from the day—walking all over Ponyville, pulling off that ridiculous magic trick, and dealing with more ponies than I care to think about. I flop onto the bed, the thin mattress creaking beneath me.

The quiet hum of the town outside lulls me, and before I know it, sleep pulls me under, leaving the thoughts of tomorrow for when the sun rises again.

The faint light of dawn filters through the thin curtains, pulling me from sleep. My muscles are still stiff from the day before, but the promise of breakfast is enough to drag me out of bed. I rub the sleep from my eyes and shuffle toward the door, grabbing my coin pouch and key on the way.

Downstairs, the inn's common room hums with the low murmur of early risers. The air smells of fresh bread and warm porridge, the kind of simple food I've learned to appreciate. I help myself to a plate and sit at a corner table, chewing methodically as I watch the other ponies go about their mornings.

The bread is crusty but fresh, and the porridge is plain but filling. I wash it all down with a cup of lukewarm tea before returning the empty plate to the counter with a nod to the innkeeper. Another day, another round of pretending I know what I'm doing.

By the time I reach Town Hall, the morning sun has fully risen, casting golden light across the cobblestones. The building is quiet as usual, the air inside cool and still. I push open the door to my office and settle into my chair, setting the coin pouch on my desk with a soft thud. I lean back, savoring the brief moment of quiet.

But it doesn't last long. There's a polite knock at the door. I straighten up. "Come in."

The door opens, revealing Mayor Mare, her gray mane impeccably styled as usual and her expression calm but purposeful. "Good morning, Kinetic Flux," she says with a small smile. "I hope you've settled into your position well."

"As well as I can," I reply, trying to sound confident. "What can I help you with today?"

She steps inside, holding a small stack of papers in one hoof. "There's a matter that requires your unique expertise," she says. "A minor crisis, but one I believe you can resolve."

I nod, my curiosity piqued. "Alright. What's the problem?"

Mayor Mare sets the papers on my desk, her eyes meeting mine. "The town's weather supply has been disrupted. Our scheduled rainstorm from the weather factory hasn't arrived, and the fields near the Everfree Forest are drying out. The local farmers are getting worried."

I frown. "The weather factory messed up?"

"Something like that," she says, adjusting her glasses. "I'm hoping you can either investigate or, if possible, provide a temporary magical solution."

I suppress the urge to groan. "Weather magic, huh?"

She gives me a knowing smile. "Yes. I've seen you conjure a raincloud before."

I rub the back of my neck. Of course, she saw that party trick. "Alright," I say finally. "I'll look into it."

I glance at the stack of papers Mayor Mare left behind, filled with notes about the drought and complaints from worried farmers. The problem gnaws at me as I turn the situation over in my head. The weather factory is in Cloudsdale, a literal city in the sky made of clouds—an architectural impossibility and a logistical nightmare for a unicorn like me. By the time I look up she's gone.

I stand and quickly step out of my office, catching up to Mayor Mare in the hallway. "Mayor," I call, and she stops, turning back with a polite smile. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, but Cloudsdale is… well, I'm not exactly built for clouds."

Her brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"It's a Pegasus-only city," I explain, trying to keep my tone even. "The whole place is made of clouds, and only pegasi can walk on them. Unicorns like me would fall straight through."

Her expression shifts to concern. "I see. That complicates things."

"That's putting it lightly," I mutter, running a hoof through my mane. "So, what exactly can I do about a Pegasus problem when I can't even get there?"

Mayor Mare adjusts her glasses, her thoughtful gaze turning back to me. "You've already shown that your magic has… creative potential," she says. "If the rainstorm isn't coming, perhaps you could do something to keep the fields watered until the weather factory gets back on track?"

I let out a slow breath, my mind racing through what little I know about weather and evaporation. Sure, I managed a tiny raincloud as a party trick, but scaling that up to cover actual farmland is an entirely different challenge. Not to mention, I'd be doing it without any formal knowledge of weather manipulation—or real magic, for that matter.

Still, she's looking at me with a hopeful expression, and turning her down doesn't feel like an option. "Alright," I say finally, rubbing my temples. "I'll see what I can do. But I'm going to need more help. Maybe some pegasi willing to lend a hoof?"

"Of course," Mayor Mare says with a nod. "If you need assistance, let me know, and I'll do my best to rally the town. Thank you, Kinetic Flux."

I give her a half-hearted smile as she turns to leave, my stomach twisting with unease. Conjure a rainstorm? I barely managed a drizzle at the party. Still, there's no time to waste. If I'm going to figure this out, I'll need a plan—and maybe a bit of luck to keep my façade of competence intact.

I head out to the fields near the Everfree Forest. The dry ground crunches under my hooves, the once-vibrant soil now cracked and hard. Rows of crops droop under the oppressive heat, their leaves curling and yellowing. It's obvious the farmers are getting desperate, and the sight sends a pang of guilt through me. Alright, Flux, time to think.

The weather team has managed to gather a few clouds in the sky above the fields—fluffy, unassuming, and frustratingly useless. I squint up at them, trying to recall what little I know about cloud seeding. If I can find a way to introduce particles to these clouds, I might be able to coax them into releasing rain.

Problem is, I have no access to the chemicals used for modern cloud seeding. And even if I did, I wouldn't know how to explain them here. But there are natural alternatives—substances that could mimic the process.

I think back to my conversation with Mayor Mare about supplies. "Salt," I mutter to myself. "And maybe fine ash, like from wood. Both could work as condensation nuclei." My mind flickers to the medieval tools available. I might need to grind the ash finely or dissolve the salt in water and mist it into the air. Either way, I'll need help—and some serious improvisation.

I return to the town square, where the Pegasus weather team is gathered near the edge of the fields. Among them, a cyan blur zips back and forth, leaving a rainbow trail in her wake. Even before she lands, I know exactly who she is.

Rainbow Dash touches down with a confident grin, her magenta eyes gleaming. "You must be the new mage everypony's been talking about," she says, tilting her head. "What's the plan, magic guy?"

I take a steadying breath, trying not to let her energy throw me off. "Alright," I start, addressing the whole group. "Here's the deal: the clouds you've gathered aren't charged like the ones from the weather factory, but we can still use them. With the right… magical additions, we can get them to produce rain."

"Magical additions?" Rainbow Dash echoes, raising an eyebrow.

"Exactly," I say, forcing confidence into my voice. "But it's delicate work. I'll need salt—finely ground—and wood ash. Can you help me gather those?"

The Pegasi exchange confused glances, but Rainbow Dash shrugs. "Sure, we can grab some supplies. What's the ash for?"

"It's part of the spell," I lie smoothly. "The salt and ash act as catalysts to harmonize the clouds' moisture with the ground's energy."

She nods slowly, her skepticism showing through. "Alright. If it gets us rain, I'm in."

With the supplies gathered, I set up near the edge of the field, using a mortar and pestle borrowed from the town apothecary to grind the ash into a fine powder. The salt is easier to handle, though I have to dissolve some of it in water to make a crude misting tool using a repurposed watering can. It's primitive, but it should work.

The Pegasi hover above me, their wings kicking up faint breezes. Rainbow Dash leans down, watching me work with a curious expression. "So, uh, how's this 'magic' supposed to go?"

I glance up, my mind scrambling for a magical explanation. "The salt and ash will bond with the moisture in the clouds," I say, motioning toward the fluffy shapes above. "Once they're seeded, the clouds will be able to release their rain. You'll need to fly through them to spread the materials evenly."

Rainbow Dash smirks. "Sounds easy enough."

"Good," I say, standing up and brushing ash from my hooves. "But remember—it's a precise process. No rough flying. We need these clouds intact."

"You got it, magic guy," she says, saluting with a playful grin.

Rainbow Dash and her team start to take off, muttering to herself, "Yeah, sure, 'magic salt and ash.' Sounds totally legit." Her tone drips with doubt, but she does as I ask, grabbing the pouch of finely ground ash with her hooves while another Pegasus takes the watering can of saltwater mist. The rest of the team hovers above, waiting for instructions.

"Alright!" Rainbow Dash calls down. "Ready to make it rain, oh mighty mage?"

Her sarcasm isn't subtle, and I can feel my jaw tighten, but I force a calm tone. "Just follow the plan. Spread the ash and mist evenly across the clouds, no rough flying, and we'll see results."

She gives a lazy salute, her wings flicking with impatience. "Got it. Let's do this!"

The Pegasi ascend, the saltwater misting and ash sprinkling as they crisscross the clouds. I stand below, focusing hard on the clouds with my telekinesis. Come on, Flux. It's just molecules. Moisture condenses around nuclei, gravity does the rest. Just keep them from scattering.

At first, nothing happens. The clouds hang there, stubbornly fluffy and useless. Rainbow Dash zips down, her expression skeptical. "So, uh, when's the 'magic' supposed to kick in?"

"Give it a minute," I snap, the effort of manipulating the clouds making my horn buzz painfully.

She groans but flits back up, helping the team spread the materials. I grit my teeth, focusing on nudging the moisture particles toward each other, creating denser clusters. Slowly, very slowly, the clouds start to darken.

Then, finally, a single droplet falls.

Another follows, then another, until a light drizzle begins to fall. The Pegasi pause, their eyes wide with shock as the rain intensifies, soaking the dry fields below. The soil eagerly drinks up the water, darkening with moisture, and I hear a few relieved cheers from the farmers watching in the distance.

Rainbow Dash zips down to me, her face lit up with an enormous grin. "No way! It's actually raining!" She darts back up into the clouds, spinning through them with a triumphant yell. "Did you see that? It's working! You're not a total fraud, magic guy!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I mutter under my breath, though a small part of me can't help but feel proud.

As the rain continues to fall, Rainbow Dash loops through the sky, laughing and shouting encouragement to her team. "Keep spreading it! More clouds, more rain! Let's get this whole field soaked!"

Her energy is infectious, and soon the Pegasi are working with renewed enthusiasm, spreading the remaining ash and mist until the entire area is covered in a steady downpour. The fields glisten under the rain, the once-dry crops standing a little taller.

Rainbow Dash lands next to me, her mane dripping but her grin as bright as ever. "Okay, that was awesome," she says, nudging me with her hoof. "You're officially cool in my book, Kinetic Flux."

So she does know my name. "Glad to hear it," I reply, suppressing a relieved laugh. "And… thanks for helping. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah, yeah, team effort and all that," she says, waving a hoof. "But seriously, this was great. You really pulled it off, magic guy."

The Pegasi gather around, their spirits high as the rain continues to fall. For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself relax a little.

As the rain continues to fall steadily over the parched fields, a few farmers approach, their faces glowing with relief and gratitude. One, a burly earth pony with a mud-streaked coat, tips his hat to me.

"Thank ya kindly, Mr. Mage," he says, his voice thick with sincerity. "We've been prayin' for rain, and you delivered. You've saved our crops."

Another farmer nods, her mane plastered to her face by the rain. "We didn't think it'd happen, but you pulled through. Thank you, truly."

I wave a hoof dismissively, though their thanks do spark a warm feeling in my chest. "Just doing my job," I say, trying to keep my tone even. "Make sure to keep an eye on the fields for runoff. Don't want all this water going to waste."

They nod eagerly, their gratitude plain as they turn back to check on their crops. I watch for a moment, then shake the rain from my mane and start the trek back to town.

By the time I reach Town Hall, the rain has eased up, leaving a damp freshness in the air. I push open the door to my office, water dripping from my hooves, and find Mayor Mare already waiting for me. She's at my desk, flipping through some papers, but she looks up as I enter.

"Oh, you're back," she says, standing up and brushing off her glasses. "How did it go?"

"It's done," I reply, shaking the moisture off my tail before stepping inside. "The fields are watered, and the farmers are happy."

She blinks, her eyebrows shooting up. "You mean… you actually made it rain?"

"Yes," I say, a little sharper than intended. "You said it was urgent, so I figured it out."

Her mouth opens, then closes again as if searching for words. Finally, she adjusts her glasses and lets out a laugh. "Well, color me impressed. I wasn't sure it could be done, to be honest."

I freeze, my ears twitching. "Wait. You didn't think it was possible?"

"It was a long shot," she admits, her tone apologetic. "The weather factory issue seemed insurmountable, and I thought… well, maybe a mage might surprise us. And you did! Wonderfully, I might add."

I stare at her, my annoyance building. "You gave me an impossible task, thinking I'd fail?"

She waves a hoof quickly. "Not fail, just… I thought it might be beyond reach. But you've proven me wrong, Kinetic Flux! Ponyville is lucky to have you."

I sigh, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile. She's technically my boss, and I'm broke. Picking a fight won't get me anywhere. Instead, I decide to pivot to something more productive.

"Well," I say, sitting down behind my desk and pulling out a blank sheet of parchment. "It's done, and the farmers are satisfied. Now we need to settle payment."

Mayor Mare blinks, looking surprised. "Payment?"

"Yes," I reply, keeping my tone even. "This was an urgent job, and I handled it. I also had to procure materials—salt and finely ground ash—which involved costs and labor. Not to mention I had to rely on the weather team for implementation."

"Oh, of course," she says quickly, adjusting her glasses. "What are we looking at?"

I dip the quill into the inkwell and start writing, my magic steady despite my exhaustion. "One hundred bits for the job itself," I say, jotting down the total. "It wasn't easy coordinating everything and ensuring the rain reached the fields without any mishaps."

She nods slowly, and I continue, "Additionally, the materials cost another hundred bits. That'll go directly to the apothecary for the ash and the weather team for their effort."

Mayor Mare leans closer to glance at the parchment as I slide it toward her. Her lips purse as she reads, but she doesn't argue. "That seems… fair," she says after a moment. "It was an urgent request, after all."

I nod. "I'll make sure the materials payment is distributed appropriately. The apothecary and Pegasi deserve their due."

"Agreed," she says, reaching into her saddlebag and pulling out a pouch of bits. She counts them carefully, separating the payment into two stacks. "Here's one hundred for you, and one hundred for the materials."

I take the bits in my magic, slipping one pouch into my drawer and setting the other aside. "Thank you, Mayor Mare. I'll ensure the second payment reaches the right ponies."

She smiles warmly. "You've done excellent work, Kinetic Flux. Ponyville is fortunate to have such a capable mage."

Her praise feels a little hollow given the circumstances, but I nod politely. "I'll do my best to live up to the title."

With that, she leaves, her hoofsteps echoing down the hall. I glance at the pouch of bits on my desk, relief washing over me. I'm still exhausted and frustrated, but at least I'll have enough for another few nights at the inn and some decent meals.

Maybe this whole mage thing will work out after all.

With the payment from Mayor Mare safely tucked into my telekinetic grip, I head straight for the apothecary. The quaint shop sits on the edge of Ponyville's marketplace, its weathered wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. Inside, the air is thick with the earthy scent of herbs and dried flowers hanging from the rafters.

The apothecary, a pale green unicorn with a short, frizzy mane, looks up from behind the counter as I step in. Her eyes narrow slightly before recognition sparks, and she smiles.

"Kinetic Flux, right? The new mage?" she says, setting down a bundle of lavender she'd been sorting.

"That's me," I reply, floating a section of bits the onto the counter. "Here's payment for the ash and salt I used during the rain job."

Her eyebrows lift, and she takes the pouch in her own magic, counting the bits quickly. "Oh, well, thank you. Didn't expect such prompt payment."

I shrug. "Figured it's best to settle these things while I can. Thanks for helping out."

She nods, slipping the bits into a drawer beneath the counter. "Anytime. Let me know if you need anything else for your spells."

I mutter a quick thanks and step out, heading toward the weather team's usual gathering spot near the edge of the town square. The team is lounging on a low cloud, chatting and laughing. Rainbow Dash spots me first, swooping down with her usual energy.

"Hey, magic guy! What's up?" she says, grinning. "Here to congratulate us on a job well done?"

"Actually, I'm here to pay you," I say, levitating another section of bits. "This is for the rain job—your share."

Rainbow Dash blinks, momentarily surprised. "Wait, really? You didn't have to do that!"

"I did," I say, giving her a flat look. "You helped, and you deserve it."

She shrugs, taking the bits with a satisfied grin. "Well, thanks! I'll make sure the rest of the team gets their cut."

"Good," I say, nodding. "And thanks again for the help."

"Anytime," she says, zipping back up to the cloud. "Catch you later, Kinetic!"

---

With my obligations settled, I find myself wandering the town square, the buzz of activity providing a strange kind of comfort. Ponies move between stalls, their cheerful chatter filling the air as merchants hawk their wares. I take my time, weaving through the crowd and glancing at the various booths—baskets of fresh produce, handmade trinkets, and even a stand selling quills and parchment.

Eventually, my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven't eaten since breakfast. Spotting a cozy café with outdoor seating, I step inside and order a simple meal: a vegetable stew with a side of crusty bread. It costs me seven bits, but it's worth it for the hearty flavors and the chance to sit down for a while.

The server—a pale orange mare with a kind smile—brings my food promptly, addressing me by name. "Here you go, Mr. Flux. Enjoy!"

I nod my thanks and dig in, savoring the warmth of the stew. It's filling, and the bread is fresh and perfectly chewy. As I eat, I let myself relax for the first time all day, the weight of the morning's work finally easing from my shoulders.

206 bits down to 199, I think, doing the math absently. Still enough for a few nights at the inn and meals to get by. For now, at least, things are stable.

 

[Riddlest]

After finishing my meal, I take a leisurely route back toward the inn, letting the food settle as I stroll through Ponyville. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the bustling square, and for a moment, I actually feel... content. Strange, but I'm not complaining.

As I turn a corner, I hear the sound of hushed giggles and whispering. A trio of fillies sits nearby, huddled together by a wooden crate stacked with art supplies. One of them, a yellow-coated earth pony with a red bow in her mane, Apple Bloom, points at me, and the whispering gets louder.

"Hey, mister!" she calls, trotting over with a big grin. Her two friends—a white unicorn with a curly mane, Sweetie Belle, and an orange Pegasus with stubby wings, Scootaloo,—follow close behind. "What's yer cutie mark mean?"

I stop mid-step, blinking at her. "My… cutie mark?"

The filly nods eagerly. "Yeah! We've been tryin' to figure it out for a while now. It looks all complicated, but it's gotta mean somethin' cool, right?"

The other two chime in. "It's so weird!" says Sweetie, her voice high and curious. "Like, what even is it supposed to be?"

"Yeah," adds Scootaloo, narrowing her eyes at my confused look. "You do know what it means, right?"

I feel my face flush. "Of course I do," I say quickly. "I mean, I haven't really, uh, thought about it in a while."

"Wait," the Apple Bloom says, her grin dropping into a frown. "You don't know what yer own cutie mark means?"

"That's not what I said," I reply, a little too defensively. "I've just been busy. Haven't looked in a while, that's all."

They exchange skeptical glances, and I can feel my dignity crumbling under their unimpressed stares. With a resigned sigh, I turn in place, craning my neck to finally get a look at my flank.

The mark is… complicated. It's not a simple symbol or an image like I expected. Instead, complex formula, derivatives with variables I don't immediately recognize. For a moment, it feels like staring at an abstract painting.

But then, like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place, it clicks.

"Oh," I say, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "I get it now."

"What do ya mean, 'you get it'?" the Apple Bloom asks, clearly exasperated. "Ain't it supposed to be your cutie mark?"

"Yeah!" the Sweetie adds, her brow furrowing. "You're supposed to know what it means already!"

Scootaloo shakes her head, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "How do you even get a cutie mark and not know what it's for?"

"I do know," I say, turning back to face them. "It just means I'm... really good at magic," I say smoothly, pasting on a confident smile.

The three fillies exchange doubtful glances.

"Magic?" the Sweetie asks, tilting her head. "But… it looks all math-y. Are you sure?"

"Positive," I reply, leaning into the lie. "Magic isn't just about waving your horn around. There's a whole layer of precision to it—calculations, balance, that kind of thing. My cutie mark just reflects that I've mastered the… technical side of magic."

Apple Bloom frowns, clearly not convinced. "So yer sayin' all that scribblin' means yer good at spells?"

"Exactly," I say, nodding emphatically. "You saw the rain spell at the party, didn't you? That's not just anypony's magic—that's precision magic. It's all connected."

The orange Pegasus squints at me. "Huh. So you're, like, some kind of nerd wizard?"

I can't help but laugh at that, despite the mild sting of the word nerd. "Yeah, something like that."

Sweetie's skepticism fades slightly, replaced by a glimmer of awe. "So, do you know all kinds of spells?"

"Loads of them," I say, crossing my hooves casually. "But, you know, they're complex. Not really party tricks."

"Aw," the earth pony groans. "Guess we were hopin' fer somethin' flashier. Like a fireball or somethin'."

I shake my head with a small chuckle. "Flashy isn't always better. You'd be surprised how useful precision magic is."

The fillies exchange glances again, this time with less skepticism and more curiosity. Sweetie steps forward. "Can you teach me some day? I wanna learn magic like that!"

"Maybe," I say, brushing off the question with a half-smile. "If you stick with your studies."

"Okay!" she chirps, beaming.

"Alright, then," Apple Bloom says, nodding firmly. "Come on girls, lets go try to get our buggin' ponies cutie mark. Ah' feel like we were close last time."

"Uh, bye then," I reply, watching as the trio trots off, chattering among themselves.

Once they're out of earshot, I let out a long breath and glance back at my cutie mark. The sight still makes my head spin a little, but the implications are clear. Good at magic, huh? More like good at physics, but it's not like anyone here would understand the difference.

I shake my head as I continue down the street. "Sure, let's go with that."

The rest of the day passes in a quiet haze. After the encounter with the fillies, I find myself wandering Ponyville aimlessly, soaking in the sights and sounds of this strange but vibrant town. The marketplace is bustling as usual, with merchants shouting over one another to advertise their wares. I don't buy anything—I'm still nursing my bits carefully—but it's nice to just exist in the flow of life here.

I pass by the Golden Oaks Library at one point, the towering tree catching my eye again. The idea of stepping inside tugs at me, but I push it aside for now. Maybe another day. Instead, I head to a quiet spot near the edge of town, a small hill overlooking the surrounding countryside. It's peaceful here, the sounds of Ponyville fading into the background as I sit beneath a tree, letting the cool breeze ruffle my mane.

The horizon stretches out before me, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. For a moment, the weight of everything—the bizarre turn my life has taken, the constant improvisation to survive—feels a little lighter. I let myself relax, if only for a while.

---

As night falls, the town quiets down, the streets lit by the soft glow of lanterns. I make my way back to the inn, the familiar warmth of its interior greeting me as I step through the door. The innkeeper gives me a nod, and I nod back, heading straight for the stairs. My body aches with a pleasant kind of tiredness, the kind that comes from a day of walking and thinking but not scrambling to solve impossible problems.

Once in my room, I drop onto the bed with a satisfied sigh, the soft mattress a welcome relief after the day. The coin pouch sits on the bedside table, a comforting reminder that I'm not completely broke—for now, at least. I kick off the blanket, too tired to worry about anything else, and close my eyes.

As sleep pulls me under, I can't help but feel a faint sense of accomplishment.

---

The morning sunlight filters through the thin curtains, rousing me from sleep. I groan and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my limbs from the previous day's wandering. For a moment, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting the comforting weight of the blanket hold me in place. But the day waits for no one, so I force myself out of bed.

After a quick rinse in the small basin provided in the room, I grab my coin pouch and key, heading downstairs to the inn's common room. The faint hum of morning activity greets me, along with the now-familiar scent of fresh bread and porridge. The innkeeper smiles as I approach the counter, sliding a plate toward me without needing to ask.

Breakfast is the same as always: a slice of crusty bread, a bowl of plain porridge, and a cup of lukewarm tea. It's filling enough, but the monotony is starting to wear on me. I chew methodically, staring out the window as the town begins to stir. Ponies move about their morning routines, their conversations muffled by the glass. It's peaceful, in its own way, but I can't shake the growing itch for something more.

After finishing my meal, I place the empty dishes back on the counter with a small nod to the innkeeper. "Thanks," I say, though my tone lacks enthusiasm.

"Of course, Mr. Flux," she replies cheerfully. "Have a good day."

I step out into the crisp morning air, the town already coming to life around me. The cobblestones are damp with dew, the scent of earth and greenery hanging in the air. The short walk to Town Hall is uneventful, and I take my time, enjoying the quiet moments before the day's chaos inevitably finds me.

When I reach my office, the familiar creak of the door greets me. Everything is as I left it: the simple wooden desk, the stack of blank parchment, and the small window letting in a beam of golden light. I drop my coin pouch on the desk and settle into the chair, exhaling deeply.

Another day as Ponyville's so-called Town Mage. Whatever that means. I lean back, waiting for the first knock at the door, knowing it's only a matter of time before somepony comes in with a problem they're sure only magic can solve.

The morning stretches on in quiet stillness. I idly doodle on a scrap of parchment, the quill wobbling slightly in my telekinetic grip. The hum of activity outside filters in faintly, a reminder that Ponyville doesn't stop moving, even if I'm stuck here waiting for the next "magical emergency."

Then, as if on cue, there's a knock at the door.

"Come in," I call, sitting up straighter and setting the quill aside.

The door creaks open, revealing a frazzled-looking earth pony stallion with a scruffy brown coat and a mane that looks like it hasn't been combed in weeks. He steps inside hesitantly, his wide, veiny eyes darting around the room before settling on me.

"You're the mage, right?" he asks, his voice a little too loud.

"That's me," I reply, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. "What seems to be the problem?"

He plops down, his hooves fidgeting on the armrests. "It's my tools. They've stopped workin'. Every time I use 'em, somethin' goes wrong. Nails bend, wood splits, screws won't catch. It's gotta be some kind of curse."

I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "A curse?"

"Yeah," he insists, nodding vigorously. "I've been a carpenter for twenty years, and I've never seen anything like it. It's like they're fightin' me. Ain't no explanation other than magic."

I resist the urge to groan. "And you're sure it's a magic issue?"

"What else could it be?" he asks, throwing his hooves in the air. "Tools don't just go bad on their own."

I take a deep breath, "Alright. Let me see these tools."

The stallion hesitates, then reaches into his saddlebag and pulls out a hammer, a saw, and a few nails, setting them on the desk. I pick up the hammer in my magic, turning it over carefully. The handle is cracked near the base, and the metal head is loose, wobbling slightly as I move it.

"And you've been using this?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"'Course I have," he says, sounding defensive. "It's my hammer. Always worked fine before."

I set it down and pick up the saw. The teeth are dull, barely sharp enough to cut butter. The nails he brought are bent and rusty, their tips blunted from overuse. I glance back at the stallion, my patience thinning.

"These aren't cursed," I say plainly. "They're just old."

"What?" He blinks, looking genuinely confused.

"Look here," I say, holding up the hammer. "The handle's cracked, and the head's loose. That's why it's not working right. The saw's dull, and these nails are rusted and bent. You need new tools."

"But they've always worked fine before," he protests.

"Yeah, well, they've probably worn out over time," I reply with a bite. "Tools don't last forever. It's not magic—it's wear and tear."

He stares at the tools, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You're sure it ain't a curse?"

"Positive," I say, leaning forward and looking him in the eye. "Go get some new tools, and you'll see the difference. And keep them in better shape this time. A little care goes a long way."

The stallion reluctantly hands over ten bits, mumbling something about "fancy unicorn nonsense" under his breath. I pocket the coins with a polite nod, watching as he gathers his tools and leaves the office. Barely a second passes before another knock sounds at the door.

"Come in," I say, bracing myself for whatever's next.

The door opens, and in steps a pristine white unicorn with a perfectly coiffed purple mane. Rarity. I recognize her instantly, even before she speaks. She glides into the room with the kind of grace that makes me feel immediately nervous, her veiny blue eyes shimmer, scanning the office with mild curiosity.

"Good morning," she says in a melodic tone, her head held high. "You must be Kinetic Flux, Ponyville's esteemed Town Mage."

"That's me," I reply, forcing a neutral expression. "What can I do for you, Miss…?"

"Rarity," she says with a dazzling smile. "Owner of the Carousel Boutique, purveyor of fine fashions, and elder sister to Sweetie Belle."

Ah. The name Sweetie Belle sets off an immediate alarm in my mind. What now?

"Right," I say cautiously. "And what brings you here today?"

"Well," she begins, taking a dainty seat across from me, "it seems you've made quite the impression on my dear little sister."

"Oh?" I ask, though I already have a sinking feeling about where this is going.

"She mentioned that you offered to teach her magic, should she stick to her studies," Rarity continues, her tone light and pleasant. "I must say, I was thrilled to hear it. Sweetie Belle has struggled with her spells, and a proper tutor would do wonders for her confidence."

I freeze, my mind scrambling for a response. "Uh… well, I might've said something like that—"

"Which is why I'd like to formally hire you," she says, cutting me off. "Your expertise would be invaluable, and I'm more than happy to compensate you for your time."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I force a smile, my heart pounding in my chest. "That's, uh… very generous of you. But you should know that magic instruction can be… complex."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she says, waving a hoof dismissively. "Sweetie Belle is eager to learn, and I trust you'll be able to guide her."

I swallow hard, my mind racing. I don't actually know magic—at least, not in the way they think. All of what I've done so far has been improvisation with physics and basic telekinesis. Teaching an eager filly magic sounds like a one-way ticket to disaster.

"Well," I start, trying to find the most polite way to decline, "I'm not sure I'm the best fit for—"

"Fifty bits an hour," Rarity interjects, her tone smooth and confident.

I freeze. My mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. Fifty bits an hour? That's five nights at the inn for every hour of work. My mind races through the math. Even a few sessions could pad my wallet nicely, and with the way my luck's been, turning down fifty bits an hour feels like madness.

"I… uh…" I stammer, the words catching in my throat.

"Oh, don't be modest," Rarity says, her smile widening. "Sweetie Belle told me about your precision magic. She needs a tutor who understands the intricacies, and you're clearly the pony for the job. Consider it an investment in her future—and yours."

I force a tight smile, my brain screaming at me to back out before I dig myself into a deeper hole. But fifty bits is fifty bits.

"Well, when you put it like that," I say slowly, "how could I refuse?"

"Splendid!" Rarity beams, clapping her hooves together. "I'll bring her by tomorrow at three o'clock sharp. She's so excited to begin."

"Looking forward to it," I say, my voice strained as she stands and gracefully heads for the door. She pauses before leaving, turning to give me one last dazzling smile.

"Thank you, Kinetic Flux. You're doing a wonderful thing." And with that, she's gone.

As the door clicks shut behind Rarity, a wave of panic hits me like a freight train. I stare at the desk for a moment, the weight of my impulsive decision sinking in. Fifty bits an hour might be great, but teaching Sweetie Belle magic? What the hell am I supposed to do?

I need help. I need… knowledge.

The image of the Golden Oaks Library flashes in my mind, and I groan. I've been putting off visiting it for days, but now? Now I don't have a choice. If I'm going to bluff my way through tutoring Sweetie Belle, I need to at least sound like I know what I'm doing.

Without wasting another second, I grab my coin pouch and head out the door. The walk to the library is quick but tense, my mind racing with thoughts of what I'll need: basic magic theory, spell exercises, maybe something on teaching methods. The sun beats down on me as I weave through Ponyville's streets, dodging carts and ponies going about their day.

When I reach the Golden Oaks Library, I pause at the door. The massive tree looms above me, its windows glowing faintly in the sunlight. For a moment, I hesitate. The idea of walking into a library and rifling through books feels bizarre after my time just making it up as I go. But there's no time to waste.

I push the door open and step inside. The air is cool and faintly musty, the scent of old paper and wood filling my nose. The space is cozy, with shelves carved directly into the walls of the tree, each one crammed with books of various sizes and colors. A small desk sits near the entrance, a sheet of parchment pinned to it with a quill resting in an inkpot. The honor system, I assume.

"Well, here goes nothing," I mutter to myself, stepping further inside.

The shelves are labeled, albeit haphazardly, with wooden signs dangling from the edges. History of Equestria, Cutie Marks, Magical Creatures, and—finally—Basic Magic Theory. I make a beeline for the section, scanning the spines of the books for anything remotely helpful.

After a few minutes, I pull out a book titled The Fundamentals of Unicorn Magic, its cover worn but intact. Another book, Teaching Magic to Foals: A Practical Guide, catches my eye, and I grab it too. I browse a little longer, adding Practical Spells for Beginners and The Art of Magical Focus to the pile.

Balancing the stack precariously, I head to the desk near the entrance and pick up the quill. The parchment is a simple log, with columns for the book titles and borrower names. I carefully write my name—Kinetic Flux—next to the titles, feeling slightly ridiculous as I do.

With the books in tow, I glance around the library. The cozy, quiet atmosphere is perfect for what I need. The tables here are larger than the cramped surface of my office desk, and I'm going to need the space if I want to figure out what I'm doing.

I pick a table near the back of the library, setting the books down with a satisfying thump. After arranging them in a neat stack, I open The Fundamentals of Unicorn Magic and start flipping through the pages. The first few chapters are dry—history lessons and philosophical musings about magic's place in the world—but eventually, I hit a section that catches my eye: "How to Cast a Spell."

The page is dense, but I force myself to read every word. The text reads:

---

How to Cast a Spell
Unicorn magic relies on the precise combination of mental focus, verbal invocation, and intent. While basic telekinesis requires only concentration, more complex spells demand the caster to visualize specific patterns while reciting a spell in Ancient Equestrian. This spoken component acts as a conduit, harmonizing the caster's intent with the magical energies around them.

To cast a spell:

Prepare your focus. Picture the result you wish to achieve in your mind's eye. Clarity is key.

Recite the incantation. Ancient Equestrian phrases channel magic effectively. Below is an example for a basic light spell:

Lux vera, domina luminis,
Ignem sacrum invoco.
Illumina tenebras,
Fiat lux, nunc et semper!

Maintain the pattern. While reciting, visualize the magical pattern for the spell. Imagine light flowing from your horn like ripples on a pond, dispersing the darkness.

---

I stare at the incantation, my eyes narrowing. The text continues to explain how specific patterns and words influence the outcome, but my attention is stuck on that block of Ancient Equestrian.

"Are you kidding me?" I mutter, running a hoof down my face. Latin. It's basically Latin. And not only do I not know Latin, but the idea of chanting this kind of thing while keeping an intricate mental image and the desired result in mind is… daunting.

I glance at the example for the light spell again. Lux vera, domina luminis... Yeah, no. There's no way. Not a chance. I shake my head, closing the book for a moment as I process.

"I'm so screwed," I say quietly to myself, the words echoing faintly in the empty library.

But as much as I want to give up, I can't. Sweetie Belle is expecting a tutor, and Rarity's expecting me to deliver. I reopen the book, skimming for shortcuts or anything that might make this process simpler. Maybe if I simplify the incantation, or fake my way through with basic telekinesis...

I sigh, grabbing Practical Spells for Beginners next. There has to be a way to make this work—or at least look like I know what I'm doing.

I pull the book closer, flipping through its pages. At first glance, it seems less dense than the last book, with diagrams and step-by-step instructions sprinkled throughout the text. Maybe this will be easier to follow.

My optimism is short-lived.

About halfway through, I come across a section titled "Basic Beam Spells." Intrigued, I stop and start reading. The introduction explains that beam spells are a foundational part of unicorn magic, useful for everything from clearing debris to self-defense. A footnote mentions that even foals can master the basics with enough practice.

Sure. Sounds simple enough.

Then I see the incantation.

---

Basic Beam Spell Incantation:
Ignis caelestis, fulgur mortis,
Percute inimicum meum!
Vis tua devastet,
Fiat ruina, nunc et semper!

---

I blink at the words, my brow furrowing. Ignis caelestis? Fulgur mortis? What the hell does any of this mean? I don't speak Latin—Ancient Equestrian, whatever—and I'm pretty sure just trying to pronounce it would tie my tongue in knots. The chant is accompanied by a diagram labeled "Visualization Pattern," but while less intricate it makes my head hurt just thinking about the mental multitask.

I stare at the page for a long moment, my hoof hovering above it as if that'll help the words make sense.

"Nope," I mutter, slamming the book shut. "Absolutely not."

I lean back in the chair, letting out a frustrated sigh. These spells are ridiculous. Chanting in a language I don't understand while mentally juggling patterns while imagining the effect? There's no way Sweetie Belle—or anyone, for that matter—could pick this up easily.

"How the hell did they discover this?" I mutter, rubbing my temples. "What's next? Expecting me to recite the entire periodic table in rhyme?"

I glance at the stack of books, my annoyance bubbling over. It's clear that if I'm going to teach Sweetie Belle anything, it won't be from these overcomplicated rituals. I don't even know how much of this is necessary and how much is tradition. What I do know is physics—and maybe that's enough.

I shove the books aside and rest my head on the table, staring at the carved ceiling of the library. Teaching Sweetie Belle magic is starting to feel less like a task and more like an elaborate game of bluffing my way through the impossible.

"Alright," I say quietly, more to myself than anything. "If the books won't help, we'll do this my way."

I gather up the books in one telekinetic sweep, stacking them carefully on the table. For a moment, I hesitate, the guilt nagging at me. Am I really about to teach Sweetie Belle how to hack magic with physics? A grim chuckle escapes my throat. At this point, I don't see any other option.

Sliding the pile of tomes into the crook of my foreleg, I head for the door. I've already signed them out, so there's no harm in taking them with me. I'll bring them back... eventually. The sun outside is lower in the sky than I expect, painting the library's interior with deep orange light. A reminder that time's running short.

Stepping onto Ponyville's streets, I make my way back toward the inn. The bustle of the day has died down to a mellow buzz, ponies finishing their final errands or heading home for supper. My hooves feel heavy with each step, the stack of books pressing against my chest like the weight of my half-baked plan.

It's not that I'm proud of conning Sweetie Belle—or anypony else. But at the end of the day, I'm not some arcane wizard who can chant Latin phrases and make energy beams shoot out of my horn. I'm a guy who fiddles with atoms by brute force and calls it "magic," and so far, I've managed to stay afloat.

At the inn, the familiar smell of bread and porridge greets me as I slip inside. The innkeeper offers a polite nod, and I return the gesture, heading straight upstairs without a word. My room is dim, the curtains drawn against the setting sun. Perfect for the mood I'm in.

I set the books on the small desk in the corner, staring at them for a moment. You're really gonna teach her this half-assed approach? She deserves the real thing, right? My conscience nags. But survival instincts roar back: You don't know the real thing. And you can't afford to look incompetent.

"Right," I mutter, kicking off my hooves to peel away the day's tension. "This'll have to do."

I collapse onto the bed, ignoring the faint creak of the mattress. My eyelids feel heavy as I think of tomorrow—of telling Sweetie Belle that magic doesn't have to be all chants and patterns if you understand the underlying rules of the universe. Sort of. The thought tugs at my guilt again, but the exhaustion wins out.

Show must go on, I remind myself, letting my eyes drift shut. And with that, I sink into uneasy sleep, the looming task of faking magic mastery never quite leaving my mind.

---

The next morning, I drag myself out of bed, the remnants of a restless night clinging to my mind. I'm already anxious about the upcoming lesson with Sweetie Belle, even though I know I'm probably overthinking it. I force myself to get dressed, grab my books and coin pouch, and head downstairs to breakfast.

The same bland porridge and stale bread greet me. I force down the food, but it feels like lead in my stomach. My mind is buzzing with thoughts of what I'm about to do, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm walking into a mess of my own making. What if she doesn't get it? What if I screw it all up? What if she starts asking questions I can't answer?

"Stop it," I mutter under my breath. "You've got this."

But the doubts won't go away. I finish my breakfast in silence, paying the innkeeper, and then make my way back to my office. The walk feels longer than usual, the weight of what's coming pulling at my every step.

As I approach Town Hall, I can't help but feel like an imposter. I've been faking it this whole time, and now I'm about to teach a filly how to do something that's supposed to be the realm of experts. I'm not an expert. Hell, I don't even understand magic the way these ponies do.

I open the door to my office and step inside, trying to shake off the nervous energy. The desk is as empty as I left it, but it feels like the room is closing in around me. I glance at the clock—still a little bit of time before Sweetie Belle is supposed to arrive.

I sit at my desk, staring at the stack of books I checked out yesterday. I can't help but wonder if I should just throw in the towel, give her a refund, and walk away. But then I remind myself of the fifty bits an hour. That's too much money to pass up, and if I don't at least try, I'll regret it.

I rub my temples, taking a deep breath. "Focus, Flux. You can do this."

I glance at the door as it opens. It's almost time.

I sit behind my desk, tapping a hoof against the wood in a feeble attempt to steady my nerves. The morning sunlight filters through the window, highlighting the neat stack of books I borrowed from the library. I've already flipped them open and skimmed random pages, pretending I'm doing last-minute prep. But really, I'm just hoping things won't fall apart the moment we start.

My ears perk up at the sound of soft voices outside the door. A moment later, the doorknob turns, and in steps Rarity, her mane styled to perfect coils, followed by a bright-eyed Sweetie Belle. The filly's gaze sweeps the room, and her face lights up with excitement. I notice, with a touch of relief, that the younger ponies don't have those unsettlingly large, veiny eyes. Hers look downright normal in comparison.

"Kinetic Flux," Rarity says, offering a polite nod. "I've brought Sweetie Belle for her first lesson. She's been absolutely buzzing about it all morning."

Sweetie Belle bounces on her hooves, her smile nearly splitting her face. "Hi, Mr. Flux! I'm so excited to learn magic from you!"

I force a reassuring grin. "Good morning, Sweetie Belle. Happy to have you here." My pulse throbs in my temples as I glance at Rarity. "Thanks for bringing her by. You can, uh, leave her with me now if you want."

Rarity tilts her head, a touch of concern in her eyes. "Are you certain you don't need any assistance? I've studied spellcraft myself—"

"No, no," I cut in, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I appreciate the offer, but I've got a lesson plan ready. She's in good hooves."

She hesitates for a moment, clearly torn between her protective instincts and her faith in my so-called expertise. But Sweetie Belle is practically vibrating with excitement, and I think that sways Rarity's decision.

"Very well," she says, pressing a gentle hoof to her sister's shoulder. "Behave yourself, Sweetie. Listen closely to everything Mr. Flux says."

"I will!" Sweetie Belle chirps. "Thanks, Rarity!"

Rarity offers a final nod to me and glides out the door, shutting it softly behind her. The instant she's gone, I let out a long, silent exhale and turn my attention back to Sweetie Belle.

Sweetie Belle all but vibrates with excitement once Rarity leaves. She's practically bouncing on her hooves, her eyes sparkling in the morning light. I can almost feel her enthusiasm crackling in the air.

"So," I say, trying to sound confident. "You want to learn some spells?"

She nods so hard her curly mane bobs around her face. "Uh-huh! But not just light spells, or beam spells. I wanna do…" She frowns in thought, then brightens. "Illusions! Like, I want to cast real illusions—fake objects and shapes and stuff that can move around. Wouldn't that be cool?"

I blink, my mind scrambling for a response. Illusions, of course. Because a simple glowing orb wasn't intimidating enough. "Illusions, huh?" I echo, forcing a small smile. "That's… an interesting choice. What kind of illusions?"

She hops in place, eyes shining. "I dunno! Maybe I can make little creatures appear and run around, or make a big scary dragon that roars!" She rears up on her hind legs, trying to look fierce, then giggles. "I just think illusions are super fun. It's like drawing, but with magic!"

Drawing with magic. Right, I think, ignoring the weight in my stomach. Illusions in the books I'd skimmed were covered by several pages of complicated incantations and very meticulous visualization patterns. Not exactly a beginner's challenge. And definitely not something I can whip up with half-baked "atom manipulation." But I can't just say no, not now.

"Okay," I say slowly, tapping a hoof on the desk. "Illusions. That's our goal. But illusions can be tricky—"

"I know," she interrupts, her voice earnest. "But I really, really wanna learn."

I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. At least she's got heart.

"Alright," I say, trying to keep my smile steady. "Illusions are the goal, but we're going to start with something simpler—something that'll help you build up to that."

Sweetie Belle tilts her head, her ears perking up. "Like what?"

I glance around the office, searching for inspiration. My eyes land on the empty glass sitting on the edge of the desk. "Water," I blurt, grabbing the glass with my magic and setting it in front of her. "We're going to start with water."

"Water?" she repeats, her nose scrunching. "How's that supposed to help with illusions?"

"Trust me," I say, though even I'm not convinced. "It's about understanding how magic interacts with, uh, the physical world."

She blinks up at me, clearly confused. I sigh inwardly and press on. "Okay, so, here's the thing. Magic can… influence stuff. Objects, the air, even the water in this glass. But to do it, you have to understand what that stuff is made of."

"What it's made of?" she asks, leaning closer. "It's made of water!"

"Right, but water's made of even smaller things," I explain, my words stumbling as I try to break down physics for a filly who probably thinks the world runs on enchantments and fairy dust. "Imagine, uh, tiny little pieces so small you can't see them. They're called atoms. Everything—water, air, even you and me—is made of them."

Sweetie Belle stares at the glass like it's suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world. "Atoms?"

"Yep," I say, nodding. "And they're always moving. In water, the atoms kind of slide around each other, like a big dance. When you heat water, the atoms move faster, and when you cool it, they slow down and stick together to form ice."

Her eyes widen. "Whoa. So you can use magic to make them move?"

"Exactly," I say, seizing the opportunity. "Here, let me show you."

I focus on the glass, my horn buzzing faintly as I reach for the water inside. My magic wraps around it, nudging the atoms into faster motion. The glass begins to fog slightly as the water warms, and a thin wisp of steam curls upward.

"See that?" I say, trying to keep my tone steady even as my horn starts to ache. "That's me making the atoms move faster. Now watch this."

I release the heat and focus instead on slowing the atoms down, nudging them into a tighter arrangement. The surface of the water shimmers, and a thin layer of ice begins to spread across the top.

Sweetie Belle gasps, clapping her hooves together. "That's amazing!"

"Not bad, right?" I say, leaning back and shaking off the effort. "Now, this isn't a spell you'll find in a book—it's more about understanding how things work and using your magic to nudge them the way you want."

She looks up at me with wide, sparkling eyes. "Can I try?"

I hesitate, glancing at the glass. "Alright," I say finally. "Just think about the atoms dancing, and try to make them move faster."

Sweetie Belle nods eagerly, her horn lighting up with that soft green glow. I watch as the light flickers and pulses, the water trembling slightly. It doesn't warm—not yet—but the focus on her face tells me she's giving it her all.

"Good," I say, keeping my tone encouraging. "Just keep trying. It's all about practice."

As she works, my mind spins with ideas. If I can teach her to manipulate the basics—temperature, motion, even patterns in water or air—it might just be enough to keep her occupied long enough to figure out physics based illusions.

Sweetie Belle's horn flickers, her face scrunched in determination as she stares at the water. The surface trembles faintly, the faintest ripple spreading across it, but nothing more happens. Her jaw tightens, and the glow around her horn flickers dangerously close to sputtering out.

"Ugh!" she finally groans, stomping a hoof against the floor. "It's not working! I'm trying to make the atoms dance, but they're just sitting there like a bunch of lazy lumps!"

I bite back a laugh, not wanting to make her feel worse, but it's clear she's starting to get frustrated. "Alright, hold on," I say, raising a hoof to stop her. "Let's take a step back."

Her ears droop, and she looks up at me, her big green eyes filled with disappointment. "What am I doing wrong?"

"You're not doing anything wrong," I assure her quickly. "This is tricky stuff. Honestly, I should've explained something important earlier."

Her ears perk up slightly, but she still looks skeptical. "What? There's something else?"

I levitate a quill from my desk and grab a blank sheet of parchment. "Okay," I begin, sketching a quick rectangle to represent the glass. "The water in the glass isn't just one solid block—it's made up of lots of tiny layers, all stacked on top of each other."

Sweetie Belle leans closer, watching intently as I add lines to divide the rectangle into thin sections. "Layers?"

"Right," I say, nodding. "And when you're trying to make the water heat up, you can't just focus on all of it at once. It's too much to handle. Instead, you work on one tiny bit at a time—just a thin slice—then move on to the next."

Her brow furrows. "So I have to do it piece by piece?"

"Exactly," I say, tapping the quill against the parchment for emphasis. "You're kind of like an artist, adding a little color here, a little there, until the whole thing comes together. In math terms, it's called integration—basically adding up all the little parts to make a whole."

Sweetie Belle blinks, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Integration?"

I grin. "It sounds fancy, but really, it just means taking small steps. Focus on heating one thin layer of the water, then move to the next. Your magic is like a paintbrush—you don't have to cover the whole canvas at once."

Her eyes light up, and she nods quickly. "Oh! I think I get it now! Can I try again?"

"Of course," I say, motioning toward the glass. "Just remember: small steps. One layer at a time."

She takes a deep breath, her horn glowing faintly once more. This time, the glow is steadier, more focused, and the water ripples slightly under her magic. It's not much, but I can tell she's getting the hang of it.

"Good," I say, keeping my voice calm and encouraging. "Just keep at it. You're doing great."

Sweetie Belle grits her teeth, her tongue poking out in concentration as she continues to work. I lean back in my chair, watching her progress, and make a mental note: Next time, explain the fundamentals before jumping into the hard stuff. This actually be harder than I thought.

As Sweetie Belle sits hunched over the glass, her horn glowing faintly as she focuses on heating the water layer by painstaking layer, I lean back in my chair. My mind drifts, partly out of boredom, but mostly out of sheer panic about what I've gotten myself into. Illusions.

The word echoes in my head, taunting me. How the hell am I supposed to teach illusions when I don't know how to cast them myself? The books made it look like an art form, requiring a deep understanding of spell patterns, and fluency in some ancient language I can barely pronounce.

But then there's my magic—half-science, half-spite, and no ancient incantations required. If I can manipulate atoms to heat or cool water, could I… manipulate light itself?

I grab a pinch of dust from the desk, my telekinesis holding it aloft. It dances in the faint glow of my horn, particles drifting aimlessly. My thoughts turn to the Doppler effect—a concept I learned back in my mechanical engineering days. Light changes color when its wavelength is compressed or stretched. If I can move these dust particles fast enough, maybe I can shift the colors of the light scattering off them.

The problem? Speed. To shift something from green to blue, I'd need the dust particles to move toward the observer at around 33,000 meters per second. That's fast. Too fast for comfort.

I glance at Sweetie Belle, still engrossed in her task, then back to the dust. No harm in experimenting, right? I focus, wrapping the particles in a tight telekinetic field. With the faintest nudge, I start oscillating them, pulling some forward and pushing others back.

At first, nothing happens. The dust just vibrates faintly, like an unimpressive shimmer in the air. I grit my teeth and increase the speed. The particles hum, a faint flicker of light catching my eye. A tiny patch of the brown dust glows a dark yellow, then shifts toward a greenish yellow.

"Holy crap," I mutter under my breath. The light wave compression is working, though the effect is faint.

But then, I push a little too hard. The particles oscillate wildly, and a sharp hiss fills the air as the dust heats up. I jerk my magic back, letting the particles scatter harmlessly onto the desk. My heart pounds as I glance at Sweetie Belle, hoping she didn't notice.

No reaction. She's still focused on the water.

Okay, I think, wiping sweat from my brow. Lesson learned. Vibrating particles at that speed isn't just tricky—it's dangerous. If anyone touched something like that, they'd probably end up with a nasty burn or worse.

Still, the principle is sound. By carefully oscillating the particles, I could theoretically create a spectrum of colors, blending them into an illusion. The image wouldn't be solid—it'd be nothing more than light and dust—but it'd look convincing enough. The only downside? It'd take intense focus to pull off without frying the particles—or myself.

My horn tingles faintly from the exertion as I lean back in my chair, staring at the scattered dust. Sweetie Belle sighs, drawing my attention. She's made some progress—the water ripples faintly, and there's a small wisp of steam curling from the surface.

"I think I'm getting it," she says, glancing up at me with a determined smile.

"Good," I say, forcing myself to sound encouraging. "Keep at it. You're doing great."

As she goes back to work, I stare at the dust and let out a slow breath. Alright, Flux. You've got a rough idea for illusions. Now you just have to flesh it out and figure out how to explain it to a kid without blowing yourself—or her—up in the process.

The faint hum of my horn fills the office as I focus on the dust particles, trying to push them into a more stable oscillation. Sweat beads on my forehead as I carefully manipulate the tiny grains, aiming for a larger, more solid figure. The faint green light flickers and shifts, threatening to stabilize into something more defined.

Then, a small hoof nudges my side.

"Mr. Flux?"

"Not now," I mutter, gritting my teeth as the dust quivers under my telekinetic grip. But the nudge comes again, firmer this time, and my concentration wavers. The flickering light vanishes in an instant, and the dust scatters harmlessly onto the desk.

"What?" I snap, turning to Sweetie Belle. She's staring at me with wide, innocent eyes, and a sheepish smile on her face. I immediately regret my tone. "Sorry, Sweetie. What's up?"

She points to the glass on her desk. "I did it! Look!"

I glance over, expecting to see a small wisp of steam or maybe a faint ripple in the water. Instead, the glass is empty. Not a single drop remains. The faint smell of scorched minerals lingers in the air, and the glass itself feels warm to the touch.

"You… evaporated it?" I ask, blinking in surprise.

She nods, her smile widening. "Yeah! I think I got the hang of it. It was tricky, but once I started thinking about layers—like you said—it just worked!"

I glance at the clock on the wall. Two hours have passed since we started. My stomach sinks as I realize how much time I've spent fumbling with my own experiments. Rarity is due back any minute, and I don't have much to show for it.

"Great work, Sweetie," I say quickly, trying to mask my panic. "But, uh, we need to set this up again before your sister gets here."

Her smile falters. "Why? I thought we were done."

I raise an eyebrow "Don't you want to show off what you've learned to your sister?" I say, trying to sound encouraging. "You've worked really hard for this."

Sweetie Belle brightens instantly. "Oh! Yeah, I do! She's gonna be so impressed!"

I give her a quick nod and step back as she refocuses on the glass. Her horn glows faintly as she walks to the well just outside town hall. By the time the door creaks open and Rarity steps into the office, the glass is already full and Sweetie is waiting impatiently.

"Good afternoon!" Rarity announces, her tone cheerful. She glances at Sweetie Belle, then at me. "I trust the lesson has gone well?"

Sweetie grins, practically bouncing on her hooves. "Rarity, look! Watch this!"

I stand off to the side, doing my best to look casual while internally praying this goes smoothly. Sweetie Belle's horn brightens, and the water in the glass begins to bubble. In a few moments, it's evaporated into thin air, leaving behind only the faintest wisp of steam.

Rarity's eyes widen. "Sweetie Belle!" she gasps, stepping closer. "That's—why, that's incredible! I can't believe it!"

Sweetie beams under the praise. "Mr. Flux taught me how to do it! It's a warming spell!"

Rarity turns to me, her expression a mix of surprise and gratitude. "I must admit, I had my doubts when Sweetie told me she wanted to start learning under you. You're not the first tutor I've hired for her, you know."

I blink, caught off guard. "I'm not?"

She shakes her head, her perfectly styled mane swaying with the motion. "No, you're the third—or is it the fourth? Either way, none of the others managed to get her past basic levitation." She glances at Sweetie Belle with a soft smile. "But now look at her! A proper spell!"

I stare at Sweetie, who's still grinning ear to ear, and feel a pang of guilt. I didn't know she'd struggled so much, and here I've been teaching her a workaround. Still, a spell's a spell, right? And it's not like I can back out now.

"Well," I say, scratching the back of my neck. "She's a quick learner. Once she understood the fundamentals, the rest just clicked."

"Quick learner, indeed," Rarity says, turning to Sweetie. "Darling, I'm so proud of you! This is a marvelous step forward."

Sweetie blushes, her smile stretching even wider. "Thanks, Rarity!"

Rarity turns back to me, her expression serious but kind. "You've done more than I'd hoped, Mr. Flux. Sweetie Belle couldn't have found a better tutor."

I force a modest smile, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in my chest. "Just doing my job."

For now, at least, it seems to be working. But as Rarity gathers Sweetie Belle to leave, her praise ringing in my ears, one thought keeps nagging at me: how long can I keep this act going?

The office grows quiet again after Rarity and Sweetie Belle leave, the faint sound of their hoofsteps fading into the distance. I exhale, letting my posture sag as the weight of the past few hours presses down on me. Sweetie's enthusiasm is great and all, but the stakes feel like they're climbing higher with every moment.

I glance at the stack of books on my desk, then at the floating speck of dust in my telekinetic grasp. The illusion spell still nags at me. If I'm going to teach Sweetie anything remotely close to what she wants, I need to figure this out.

The idea of color manipulation keeps swirling in my mind, and I decide to take another crack at it. Pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment, I start scribbling notes. The concept of treating oscillations like pixels keeps coming back to me. Each oscillating particle could act as a single "pixel," with its frequency determining the color. If I think of the dust cloud as a screen, then shifting its oscillations in coordinated patterns might produce a recognizable image.

At least, that's the theory.

I set the parchment aside and refocus on the speck of dust. My horn hums faintly as I extend my telekinetic field, gathering more particles into a small, loose cloud. The faint smell of disturbed dust fills the air, tickling my nose, but I press on. I divide the cloud into a mental grid, each section representing a "pixel," and try to control their oscillations individually.

"Alright," I mutter to myself. "Let's start simple. Just one color shift."

I focus on a single "pixel," increasing the frequency of its oscillation to push its light toward the blue spectrum. The change is faint, barely perceptible, but it's there, a pale greenish hue. Encouraged, I try to do the same for a cluster of pixels, coordinating their oscillations to create a uniform color.

The buzzing in my horn intensifies as I scale up the effort. My mind races to keep track of each "pixel," dividing my focus into dozens of tiny threads. It's overwhelming, like juggling far too many balls at once, but the visualization of a screen helps keep me grounded. Slowly, the dust cloud begins to shimmer faintly, a gradient of faint green rippling across its surface.

"Progress," I whisper, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Emboldened, I try to add a second color. The process is painstaking—adjusting the oscillations, keeping the grid in mind, and ensuring the transitions between colors are smooth. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my horn throbs with effort, but I keep going. The green fades into blueish green, then back again, the dust cloud rippling like a shifting aurora.

For a moment, I lose myself in the work. The world outside the office fades away, replaced by the mental grid of oscillations and colors. The particles dance in my telekinetic field, responding to my every adjustment. It's mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. And not giving off as much heat as expected.

The sound of hoofsteps outside breaks my concentration, and the shimmering cloud collapses into a dull, unremarkable puff of dust. I glance at the door, straightening up as I prepare for whatever comes next.

"Alright," I mutter, brushing dust from my desk. "Let's see who's next."

The hoofsteps grow louder, and a moment later, the door swings open to reveal a broad-shouldered stallion with a scruffy orange coat and a mane that looks like it's seen better days. His reflective vest and tool belt leave little doubt about his profession. The stallion hesitates in the doorway, his bloodshot eyes darting nervously around the room.

"Uh… you the Town Mage?" he asks, his deep voice rumbling like a distant thunderstorm.

"That's me," I reply, gesturing for him to come in. "What's the problem?"

The stallion steps inside, his movements stiff, like he's trying to carry the weight of the world on his back. He takes a seat across from me, his hooves fidgeting against the edge of the desk.

"It's my crew," he says after a long pause. "They think we've been… hexed."

I barely manage to suppress an eye roll. Hexed. Of course. It's always a hex, a curse, or some kind of ancient magic gone awry. At this point, it's almost routine.

"Go on," I say, keeping my tone neutral. "What makes them think that?"

The stallion shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "It's the accidents," he says, lowering his voice. "We've had more than a few lately. Ponies falling, tools breaking, wagons overturning… It's bad. Real bad."

"How bad?" I ask, though I already have a suspicion this has less to do with magic and more to do with common sense.

"Bad enough," he mutters, not meeting my eyes. "We've lost a few ponies. Injuries, too. Everypony's spooked. They're saying it's a curse."

"Uh-huh," I say, leaning back in my chair. "And you're sure it's a magic issue?"

The stallion looks up, his expression equal parts frustration and desperation. "What else could it be? We've been building for years, and this kind of thing never happened before."

I nod slowly, forcing a thoughtful look. "Alright," I say, trying not to sound too skeptical. "I'll take a look. Where's the site?"

"Just outside town, near the riverbank," he says, visibly relieved that I'm taking him seriously. "I can show you the way."

"Fine," I reply, standing up and grabbing my pouch of bits. "Lead the way."

As we step out into the sunlight, I fall into step beside him. He starts explaining bits and pieces of the site's history—how they've been trying to finish a new bridge for months, how things started going wrong a few weeks ago, how the workers are convinced something unnatural is at play.

I listen, nodding along at the right moments, but my mind is already racing ahead. Hexes and curses, huh? Let's see what's really going on.

The walk to the construction site isn't long, but the atmosphere changes as soon as we approach the riverbank. The sounds of hammering, sawing, and shouted instructions fill the air, accompanied by the occasional thud of something heavy hitting the ground. The bridge looms ahead—a skeletal structure of wood and stone spanning the river, its incomplete frame stark against the clear blue sky.

As we draw closer, I start to notice the workers. Or rather, what they're not wearing. No hardhats, no protective gear, no sign of safety measures whatsoever. Ponies scramble up wooden scaffolding that looks like it was thrown together in a hurry, balancing precariously on beams with no harnesses or guardrails. Tools dangle from belts without lanyards, swinging wildly as their owners move. A pony pushes a wheelbarrow along a narrow plank, wobbling dangerously close to the edge.

I blink, my stomach tightening. It's not a construction site—it's a disaster waiting to happen.

The stallion beside me gestures toward the activity. "That's the bridge. We're trying to get it done before the rainy season, but… you see what I mean, right? Ponies keep falling, things keep breaking. It's like something doesn't want this bridge finished."

I scan the area, watching as a unicorn levitates a massive stone into place over two earth ponies wrestle with ropes to stabilize it. The stone tilts precariously, and my breath catches until it finally settles into position.

"Yeah," I mutter, forcing my tone to stay neutral. "I see what you mean."

In the back of my mind, though, I'm screaming. This isn't a hex. It's a complete lack of safety precautions. No wonder they're having accidents—half these ponies look like they're one misstep away from disaster.

I step closer to the bridge, my hooves crunching against the gravel. A pony perched on a high beam glances down at me, then immediately shifts his focus back to his precarious task. I spot a ladder propped up against the side of the bridge, its base balanced on uneven ground. Another pony climbs it with a hammer clenched in his teeth, the whole structure wobbling dangerously under his weight.

"Alright," I say, turning to the stallion who brought me here. "Give me a second to think. Let's start with the basics."

He nods eagerly, clearly expecting me to whip out some kind of magical diagnosis. Meanwhile, I'm already trying to figure out how to explain "this is all your fault" without getting run out of town.

I clear my throat, gesturing toward the precarious mess of activity on the bridge. "Alright," I say, keeping my tone even. "Here's what I'm seeing. These accidents? They're not just bad luck or a curse. It's… a disruption of the natural magical balance."

The stallion beside me squints. "Disruption of what now?"

I resist the urge to rub my temples. "Look, when you're working on something this big, especially something that spans a river—a liminal space, if you will—it's crucial to maintain a set of, uh, magical rituals to ward off bad energy."

"Rituals?" he echoes, his brow furrowing.

"Yes," I say, nodding firmly. "I call them the Four Pillars of Safety Magic: Oathbinding, Shielding, Hexproofing, and Ascension. Together, they create a protective barrier against misfortune. Or OSHA for short."

The skepticism in his eyes deepens. "That sounds… complicated."

"It's really not," I insist, stepping closer to the bridge. "Let me explain."

I point to the scaffold where a worker is wobbling on a beam, balancing a precarious stack of tools. "Oathbinding is the first step. It's a ritual to ensure every worker is dedicated to their task—like tying their tools to their belts so they don't fall and invite bad energy. Simple, but critical."

The stallion tilts his head, watching the wobbling worker. "Alright… what about Shielding?"

"That's the second ritual," I say, pointing to the scaffolding itself. "Shielding is about protecting the body. Hardhats, for example, are enchanted barriers against curses falling from above. You've got ponies up there with no protection. That's practically begging for trouble."

He frowns. "Hats, huh?"

"Yes," I say, biting back my frustration. "Hats. And then there's Hexproofing." I motion toward the ladder leaning against the bridge. "That's about stabilizing your foundations. Ladders, scaffolding, anything you climb on—it needs to be properly blessed. No wobbles, no loose planks. Otherwise, you're amplifying the negative energy."

He eyes the ladder skeptically. "And the last one?"

"Ascension," I say, lowering my voice like I'm revealing some ancient secret. "This is the most important ritual. It's about creating a safe passage to higher ground. Ropes, harnesses—anything that prevents a pony from falling. If you don't complete Ascension properly, the whole structure is vulnerable to chaos."

The stallion stares at me, his face a mix of confusion and reluctant belief. "So… you're saying these rituals will stop the curse?"

"Absolutely," I say, nodding gravely. "But they only work if you follow them consistently. Half measures won't cut it. You need to implement all four pillars for the magic to take effect."

He rubs his chin, looking back at the bridge. "Alright, Mr. Flux. If you say so. But how do we start?"

I suppress a smirk. "Leave that to me. First, go get some hardhats and ropes. You can't cast magic without the proper tools."

---

I stand at the edge of the construction site, doing my best to look like I know what I'm doing. The workers glance at me with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, their eyes darting to their forepony for confirmation. The stallion gives a short nod, and they reluctantly start paying attention.

"Alright, everypony," I say, raising my voice over the noise of hammering and sawing. "First things first—Oathbinding. This ritual ensures that no tools are lost to the void—uh, or the river."

I grab a length of rope from a nearby pile and hold it up with my telekinesis. "Every tool needs to be tied securely to your belts. If it falls, it takes your focus and the structure's energy with it. That's how bad luck gets in."

One of the workers, a gray-coated stallion with a scuffed mane, raises a hoof. "Uh, you're saying my hammer's cursed if I drop it?"

I nod solemnly. "If it falls and disrupts the ritual, yes. Curses thrive on carelessness."

The workers exchange uneasy glances but start tying their tools with the ropes I pass around. One mutters something about "fancy unicorn nonsense," but I let it slide. Progress is progress.

"Next up—Shielding," I say, turning to the forepony. "This one's critical. Everypony needs a hardhat. No exceptions."

"What's a hardhat?," the forepony says, frowning. "Like a stone hat?."

This time I do actually groan. "If you don't know, then let's make them. Find some sturdy material—wood, metal, anything that can deflect falling debris—and fashion something protective for you're head. It doesn't have to be pretty, but it has to work."

The forepony grumbles but gestures for a couple of workers to start scrounging for materials. I turn to the rest of the crew.

"Hexproofing is next," I say, pointing to the scaffolding and ladders. "Check every plank, every joint, every rung. If it wobbles or creaks, it's inviting disaster. Secure it with nails, ropes, or whatever you have. This ritual is all about stability."

A few workers nod and begin inspecting the structure, their hooves knocking against the wood to test its strength. One finds a loose plank and hammers it down, muttering something about "keeping the magic happy."

"And finally," I say, gesturing to the workers climbing up the scaffolding, "Ascension. This is the ritual of safe passage. Ropes and harnesses for everypony working above ground. No exceptions. If you don't secure yourself, you're leaving the structure open to chaos."

The forepony raises an eyebrow. "We've never used ropes or harnesses before."

"And that's probably why you're cursed," I reply bluntly. "Trust me, you'll feel a lot less cursed when you're not dangling by a hoof."

The forepony glares but doesn't argue, which I take as a small victory. Slowly but surely, the site begins to transform. Tools are tied, scaffolding is reinforced, and makeshift hardhats appear on heads. It's far from perfect, but it's a start.

I step back, watching the workers move more cautiously, their actions deliberate and measured. "See?" I say, addressing the forepony. "The rituals are already taking effect. You're stabilizing the energy of the site."

The forepony scratches his head, eyeing the workers as they follow my instructions. "I don't know about energy, but I'll admit… things do look a bit safer."

"It's not just about looking safer," I say, keeping my tone steady. "It's about building a foundation of trust between the structure and the ponies working on it. That's how you ward off bad luck."

The forepony nods slowly, the skepticism in his eyes giving way to reluctant belief. "Alright, Mr. Flux. We'll give it a shot."

"Good," I say, stepping away. "Keep up the rituals, and I guarantee you'll see fewer… disruptions."

The forepony approaches me after the workers have started getting into the swing of the "rituals." His gruff expression softens slightly as he reaches into a small pouch tied to his belt and pulls out a handful of bits. "Here," he says, holding them out to me. "For your time."

I glance at the coins—a neat stack of fifty bits. It's more than I expected, and honestly, more than I feel I deserve for turning basic safety into a magical charade. Still, I take the coins with a small nod, slipping them into my pouch.

"Thanks," I say, keeping my tone professional. "Remember, it's not just about the rituals. Consistency is key. If you stop following the practices, the bad luck might come back."

The forepony frowns slightly but nods. "Yeah, yeah. We'll keep it up. Just hope it works."

"It will," I assure him, though part of me cringes at the dishonesty. "Good luck with the rest of the project."

He grunts in acknowledgment and turns back to the site, barking orders at the workers to keep the "magic" going. I watch for a moment longer, then turn and make my way back toward town.

---

As I walk, the weight of the bits in my pouch is a comforting reminder of my progress. I still feel a twinge of guilt for essentially duping them, but at least they're safer now. If calling it magic keeps them from breaking their necks, it's worth it, right?

The mid-morning sun glints off the cobblestones as I approach the town square, my thoughts drifting to lunch. With fifty more bits, I'm sitting at a respectable 349. Maybe I'll splurge on something better than the usual sandwich. Or maybe I'll just hold onto it—Celestia knows what kind of expenses might come up next.

For now, though, it's time to get back to the office. No doubt another "magical emergency" is waiting just around the corner.

 

[Kencord]

You know, if we want to go full grammar Nazi on this, Flux isn't technically lying.

Mage, comes from Magi. Magic is literally 'what the Magi know'. If it's based on Flux's unique knowledge, then he's fine.

Town Mage appears to be the job of 'the guy with 3 braincells against the locals shared 2'. In the old horror movie, 'we need a scientist'? Your the scientist

 

[TribuneAlpha]

I do wish he would accept that people are gonna call it 'magic' no matter what he does. He seems smart enough for that amount of pattern recognition(given a chance to calm down and de-stress, at least), so it's a bit strange. Also, his annoyance at the term 'magic' itself is a bit frustrating, given how they're a medieval society just entering the industrial age, and with a lack of the systematic education our world offers free of charge. For the ignorant, specific but incomprehensible rituals/actions to solve tangible problems is functionally 'magic'. Really, what we call 'magic' too often gets warped into preternatural ideals of definite, obvious mysticism at odds with modern understandings of 'science', forgetting that 'magic' is a word originally used to define the unknown. It is not a thing, but the absence of understanding of a thing.

Also, I find it very funny that in the process of trying to invent illusions, he instead created functional hypersonic weaponry first. A spec of paint moving at ~8000 meters per second can cause bullet-esque impacts on hardened glass (See the International Space Station), something more then three times the speed? it would probably have some bleed off due to atmospheric drag (maybe even evaporate entirely under the friction, leaving a vortex/atmospheric pressure wave of similar speeds and danger), but hardly enough to render it safe. No matter how small the projectile, at that speed anything is deadly. I lack the physics knowledge to judge if that would act more like a bullet(directed force) or a bomb(unidirectional/indiscriminate), but the fact such a thing is even a serious question shows how dangerous that is.

 

[JustAreader]

oh I was wondering y this isn't getting alot of attention,this is in SFW section lol, loving the story tho, wonder if kinetic would split a atom to nuke tf outta tirek or people like him

 

[Riddlest]

As I approach the office, I notice the door is already ajar. My ears perk up, and my steps slow. My stomach tightens as I push the door open fully.

Inside, Mayor Mare stands near my desk, flipping through a stack of papers with her usual air of authority. She looks up as I enter, her oversized eyes glinting in the morning light.

"Ah, Kinetic Flux," she says with a warm smile. "Perfect timing. I've been meaning to speak with you."

I force a neutral expression, my mind already running scenarios. "Mayor Mare," I reply, stepping inside. "What can I do for you?"

She sets the papers down and adjusts her glasses, her tone turning serious. "As you know, the Summer Sun Celebration is fast approaching. Princess Celestia herself will be attending this year's festivities here in Ponyville."

Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Summer Sun Celebration. Celestia.

Twilight Sparkle.

I keep my face carefully blank, though my heart pounds in my chest. This is it—the event that sets everything into motion. Nightmare Moon. Eternal night. And Twilight Sparkle, Celestia's star pupil, arriving to put it all in motion. If she shows up and takes one look at my so-called "magic," my entire charade could fall apart.

"I see," I say, trying to sound calm. "And what does this have to do with me?"

Mayor Mare smiles, stepping closer. "You're the Town Mage, of course. We'll need something truly special to impress the Princess and her entourage. A magical display—something memorable to showcase Ponyville's unique charm."

My mind races. A "magical display" in front of Celestia's personal student? I might as well sign my confession and pack my bags. This isn't just about pulling off a party trick; this is walking a tightrope with no net.

"That's, uh, quite the honor," I say, forcing a tight smile. "Do you have anything specific in mind?"

The mayor taps her chin thoughtfully. "Well, something elegant and refined. Light displays, perhaps. Or an illusion of Princess Celestia's cutie mark? I trust your judgment, Kinetic Flux. You've already proven yourself capable of great things."

I nod stiffly, my thoughts spiraling. "Of course. I'll, uh… get started on some ideas right away."

"Wonderful," she says with a satisfied nod. "Oh, and one more thing."

Her tone shifts, and I immediately sense that the other horseshoe is about to drop.

"Princess Celestia has sent her personal student, Twilight Sparkle, to oversee the preparations for the celebration," Mayor Mare continues. "She'll be checking in on all the major events, including yours, to ensure everything meets the highest standards."

My stomach twists into a knot. Of course. Of course Twilight Sparkle would be overseeing everything. It's not enough to just perform a magical display—I'll have to do it under the scrutinizing eye of one of the most talented unicorns in Equestria.

"That's… understandable," I manage, forcing a tight smile. "It makes sense to have someone of her caliber overseeing things."

The mayor beams. "I knew you'd agree. She's arriving on the day of, so I'd suggest preparing something impressive right away. I'm confident you'll make Ponyville proud."

She gives me one last approving nod before heading for the door, leaving me alone in my office with a mind full of panic and absolutely no plan.

---

I collapse into my chair, my hooves gripping the desk as I stare at the pile of library books I borrowed. Twilight Sparkle. The name echoes in my mind like a death knell. She's not just some talented unicorn; she'stheunicorn. The one who's practically an extension of Princess Celestia herself. And she's coming here to inspectmymagic?

I grab the nearest book, flipping through the pages with shaking hooves. Illusions, advanced transfiguration, elemental control—all of it is written in the kind of intricate spellwork that I can't even begin to fake. The Latin chants, the intricate focus patterns, the centuries-old magical theory… It might as well be written in another language. Oh wait, itis.

"What am I going to do?" I mutter, slamming the book shut. I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. I can't bluff my way through this like I've done with the townsfolk. If Twilight catches even a whiff of incompetence, she'll see right through me.

My mind drifts back to the light manipulation I've been working on—the rudimentary color-shifting Doppler effect illusion I've been tinkering with. Maybe I can scale it up. Maybe if I make it big and flashy enough, it'll pass for real magic.

But even as I think it, I know it's a gamble. I don't have much time, and I'm betting everything on a trick that could easily fall apart under scrutiny. Still, it's better than nothing.

"Alright," I mutter, standing up and pacing the room. "Let's make this work."

Twilight Sparkle may be a prodigy, but she hasn't met Kinetic Flux: master of overcomplication and shameless improvisation.

The walk to the apothecary feels longer than usual, every step weighed down by the growing pressure of the Summer Sun Celebration. The streets of Ponyville are alive with ponies preparing for the festival, their cheerful chatter a stark contrast to the storm brewing in my head.

When I push open the apothecary's door, the familiar scent of dried herbs and earthy minerals washes over me. The shelves are lined with jars and pouches of all shapes and sizes, each labeled in a neat but slightly faded script. The pale green unicorn stands behind the counter, her frizzy mane barely contained by the kerchief tied around her head. She's sorting through a tray of dried flowers, her horn glowing faintly as she arranges them.

She looks up when the bell over the door jingles. "Ah, Kinetic Flux," she says with a warm smile. "Back again? What's the Town Mage up to this time?"

I hesitate, momentarily thrown off by her friendly demeanor. We've crossed paths a few times, but I never caught her name. I clear my throat and offer a small nod. "Good to see you again. And, uh… you are...?"

She blinks, then chuckles. "Rosemary. But most ponies just call me Rosie."

"Rosie," I repeat, filing the name away. "I'm working on a display for the Summer Sun Celebration. Something magical to impress the princess."

Her eyes widen slightly. "For Princess Celestia herself? That's quite the honor. What do you need?"

I glance around the shop, my mind racing. The idea of using white as a base for the Doppler illusions has been bouncing around for a while, but I didn't want to spend bits on something I wasn't sure would work. Now, with the deadline looming, I don't have a choice.

"I need something white," I say, scanning the shelves. "Something fine, powdery, and reflective. It has to stand out when illuminated."

Rosie tilts her head, her frizzy mane bouncing slightly. "Powdery and white? Hmm… We've got ground bone, chalk, or fine limestone. Bone meal's usually for gardens, though, and limestone's a bit gritty."

Chalk. Perfect. I try to keep my expression neutral. "Chalk will do. How much for a good-sized pouch?"

She pulls a small burlap sack from under the counter, shaking it gently to show its contents. "ten bits for the bag."

"Sold," I say, sliding the coins across the counter. Her horn lights up as she levitates the sack into my saddlebags—or where saddlebags would be, if I had any. Instead, I grip it with my telekinesis, keeping my movements casual.

"Good luck with your display," Rosie says as I head for the door. "And let me know how it goes. I'd love to hear about it."

"Will do," I reply, stepping back into the bustling streets of Ponyville. The chalk pouch bobs slightly in my telekinetic grip as I make my way back to my office, my mind already piecing together how to make the illusions work.

Now, all I have to do is figure out how to make this "magic" impressive enough to fool Twilight Sparkle. No pressure.

Back in my office, the faint scent of chalk fills the air as I pour some of the powder onto a small dish I've set on the desk. The soft afternoon light filters through the window, highlighting the swirling particles as I lift a bit of the chalk dust with my telekinesis. The fine grains shimmer faintly in my magical grasp, a blank canvas waiting to be shaped.

I start small, isolating a tiny cluster of dust particles. My horn hums softly as I vibrate the atoms within the cluster, speeding them up gradually. The color begins to shift from white to a pale yellow, then to green. The process is slow, painstaking, but it works. Encouraged, I try reversing the effect, slowing the vibrations. The cluster reddens, then fades to a soft orange.

"Okay," I mutter to myself, releasing the dust and letting it settle back into the dish. "That's the easy part. Now I just need to scale it up—and not screw it up."

I pour more chalk onto the desk, creating a larger cloud of particles. My telekinesis wraps around the grains, lifting them into the air in a shimmering, shifting mass. This time, I divide the cluster into sections, each one vibrating at a slightly different frequency. The result is a gradient of colors, from violet at one end to red at the other.

The effect is mesmerizing but unstable. The colors flicker and shift, and maintaining the oscillations takes more effort than I'd like to admit. I focus harder, trying to smooth the transitions and align the colors with specific speeds:

As I work, the particles dance in the air, forming spirals, waves, and abstract patterns. Each motion stretches or compresses the light differently, creating dynamic color shifts. It's not perfect—some sections flicker unpredictably, and a few grains escape my control entirely—but it's progress.

After an hour of trial and error, I manage to create a simple "illusion": a glowing ribbon of light that oscillates between colors as it weaves through the air. It's rough and far from the elaborate displays I'll need for the Summer Sun Celebration, but it's a start.

I release the chalk cloud, letting it settle back into the dish, and rub my temple with a hoof. My horn aches faintly from the sustained effort, but I can't stop now. I grab a notebook and jot down the associations I've worked out, sketching rough diagrams of the oscillation patterns for each color.

"Just a little more," I mutter, ignoring the growing fatigue creeping into my limbs. I levitate another batch of chalk dust into the air, pushing the boundaries of what I can control. This time, I try to shape the particles into something recognizable—a simple cube. The structure flickers in and out of focus, the colors blending unevenly as my concentration wavers.

"Damn it," I hiss, releasing the particles and watching them drift lazily back to the desk. My vision blurs for a moment, and I shake my head to clear it. The clock on the wall ticks softly, marking the hours that have slipped by unnoticed.

The cycle repeats: lift the particles, vibrate them, adjust the colors, fail, and try again. My horn throbs with each attempt, the strain of maintaining precision taking its toll. The air in the room grows heavy, the faint smell of chalk mingling with the sharp tang of sweat. I lose track of time, my focus narrowing to the cloud of particles in front of me.

At some point, I stop noticing the little things—the ache in my back, the dryness in my throat, the faint rumble of hunger in my stomach. It's just me and the chalk dust, the illusion slowly taking shape in the space between failure and frustration.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I manage to create a small, stable figure: a crude sphere hovering in the air, glowing faintly with oscillating colors. It's imperfect, the edges rough and the transitions clunky, but it holds. I let out a shaky breath, staring at the tiny success as a flicker of pride cuts through the exhaustion.

"Alright," I whisper to myself, my voice hoarse. "Let's try something else."

I push the sphere into a more complex shape, sculpting it into a flattened circle, then elongating it. The colors shift erratically as I work, the vibrations refusing to synchronize. My frustration mounts, but I push through, tweaking the oscillations and stabilizing the structure.

When it finally stabilizes, I realize what I've made: a small, simple illusion of a burger. The "bun" glows a soft golden yellow, the "patty" a rich brown, with faint green and red hints for the "lettuce" and "tomato." It's rudimentary, more suggestive than realistic, but it's unmistakably a burger.

I stare at it, equal parts amazed and horrified. "A burger," I mutter, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. "After all that… a freaking burger."

The illusion flickers once, then collapses as my concentration finally gives out. The chalk dust settles back onto the desk, leaving me slumped in my chair, utterly drained. My horn feels like it's been put through a meat grinder, and my legs tremble as I stand.

"Enough," I say aloud, though there's no one to hear it. "I'm done for now."

I drag myself to the small corner of the office where I keep my pouches, gathering my notes and sketching out a few adjustments for tomorrow's attempts. The illusion wasn't much, but it's a step in the right direction. For now, it's all I can do to stumble out of the office and head back to the inn for some much-needed rest.

---

The next morning, sunlight filters through the thin curtains of my room, bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. I blink awake, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs. For the first time in what feels like days, I don't have an immediate pounding headache or an overwhelming sense of dread hanging over me. My horn still tingles faintly from yesterday's exertion, but it's manageable. Small victories.

After a few minutes of lying there, savoring the relative calm, I force myself to get up and prepare for the day. Breakfast is the usual spread of porridge and bread, which I've started to dread almost as much as my mounting responsibilities. Still, I eat quickly, the familiarity of the routine grounding me.

I bring my empty plate to the counter, I glance at the innkeeper. She's humming softly to herself as she wipes down the counter, her movements efficient and practiced.

The walk to my office is peaceful enough, with the crisp morning air helping to clear my lingering grogginess. Today is for preparation, focus, and making sure I don't screw this up.

At least, that's the plan.

As I round the corner to Town Hall, I spot two familiar figures waiting near the door to my office. My stomach sinks. Sweetie Belle stands beside her sister, Rarity, her smaller eyes bright with excitement and her curly mane bouncing as she talks animatedly. Rarity, as always, looks perfectly composed, her purple mane gleaming in the sunlight as she listens with a polite smile.

Fuck.

I completely forgot about Sweetie Belle.

My hooves falter for a second, but Sweetie Belle spots me before I can turn tail. "Mr. Flux!" she calls, waving eagerly. "You're here! I've been waiting for you!"

Rarity looks up, her smile widening as she steps forward. "Good morning, Kinetic Flux," she says smoothly. "Sweetie Belle has been talking about nothing but her last lesson. She insisted on coming by for another today."

My brain scrambles for a response. "Oh, uh… good morning, Rarity. Sweetie Belle. I wasn't expecting you."

"Well, we didn't want to impose," Rarity says, tilting her head in that elegant way she does. "But Sweetie was so enthusiastic, and I thought, why not keep the momentum going?"

Sweetie Belle bounces on her hooves, her enthusiasm practically radiating off her. "I practiced so much after the last lesson! I can't wait to learn something new today!"

I force a smile, my mind racing. Another lesson? Today? I need to work on my illusion project, not juggle atom manipulation lessons with a filly who thinks I'm an actual mage.

"Of course," I say, trying to keep the strain out of my voice. "I'd be happy to teach her again."

"Splendid!" Rarity says, her tone bright. "I'll leave her in your capable hooves, then. Sweetie, darling, remember to listen carefully and follow all of Mr. Flux's instructions."

Sweetie Belle nods eagerly. "I will!"

"Thank you," I say, nodding politely as Rarity turns to leave. The moment she's out of sight, I turn back to Sweetie Belle, who's already bouncing with anticipation.

"Alright, Sweetie Belle," I say, plastering on a smile while my brain scrambles for a way to both teach her and keep her occupied long enough for me to sneak in some work on the Doppler illusion. "Last time, we talked about heating things up with telekinesis, right?"

She nods so enthusiastically I worry her head might pop off. "Uh-huh! I practiced heating water all week! I even made tea for Rarity! She said it was 'passable,' but I think that's just her being fancy for 'really good!'"

"Great! Well, today, we're going to learn how to… cool things down," I say, carefully measuring my words. "Freezing, if you will. A vital skill for any aspiring mage."

Her eyes light up, and she hops in place. "Oh wow! Freezing stuff sounds so cool! Literally!"

I resist the urge to groan at the pun and usher her inside my office. As soon as the door closes, I quickly sweep away some papers on my desk to make space, then grab a small bowl of water from a shelf. "Okay, so freezing is… well, it's a little more complicated than heating."

Sweetie tilts her head, her big, curious eyes locking onto me like I'm some all-knowing sage. If only.

"To freeze something, you don't just slow down the particles—er, the little tiny pieces that make up everything," I begin. Her blank stare tells me I've already lost her. "It's like, uh, you have to convince the water to 'hold hooves' in a very particular way. When enough of them do it, they turn solid."

She blinks. "Water holds hooves?"

"Hooves. Uh, connections." I wave a hoof vaguely, wishing I'd thought this through better. "Look, the point is, there's something called hydrogen in water—"

"What's hydrogen?"

My jaw tightens as I try to figure out how to explain it without completely blowing her mind. Then an idea strikes me, and I grin despite myself. "You know what? It's better if I show you."

Her ears perk up. "Show me? Like an illusion?"

"Exactly. But…" I give her a serious look. "This is advanced magic, Sweetie Belle. It's not something you can touch or mess with, okay? It's dangerous."

She nods solemnly, her excitement barely contained. "I won't touch! Promise!"

I take a deep breath and focus my telekinesis, reaching into the core of the Doppler illusion I've been toiling over. It's not finished, but it's enough to make a point. The air shimmers as the illusion springs to life, a swirling, glowing representation of water molecules and their bonds. With precise effort, I manipulate the illusion to show the hydrogen and oxygen atoms linking together, slowly forming the lattice structure of ice.

Sweetie Belle gasps, her eyes sparkling as she watches the shifting colors and shapes. "That's amazing!" she squeals. "It's so pretty! And that's what water looks like?"

"In a way, yes," I say, gritting my teeth as the effort to maintain the illusion takes its toll. Sweat beads on my forehead, but seeing her awe-struck expression makes it worth it—for now. "This is what happens when water freezes. The connections between the… parts… lock into place, creating ice."

"Wow!" She practically bounces on her hooves, her tail swishing with excitement. "Can I try?"

"No!" I blurt, a little too sharply. Her ears droop, and I quickly soften my tone. "I mean, not yet. This magic is… unstable. It could hurt you if you're not careful."

She nods, her enthusiasm dimming only slightly. "Okay, I understand. But it's still the coolest thing I've ever seen! Can I at least watch you do it again?"

I chuckle nervously, letting the illusion fade before it drains me completely. "Maybe another time, Sweetie Belle. For now, why don't you practice freezing water the safer way I showed you?"

She beams. "You mean convincing the water to hold hooves? I can do that!"

"Exactly," I say, already half-turning to the stack of notes on my desk. "Why don't you try with this bowl while I, uh, prepare the next lesson?"

Sweetie Belle dives into her task with gusto, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least she's occupied—for now. As I scribble notes for the Doppler illusion, the thought of my 50-bit hourly rate creeps into my mind. This much effort just to keep the act going… is it even worth it?

I glance at Sweetie Belle, who's concentrating so hard her tongue sticks out slightly. She mutters under her breath about "hooves" and "connections," and I can't help but smile faintly. Maybe it is worth it—at least a little.

Sweetie Belle is thankfully still absorbed in her "hand-holding water molecules" exercise when I slip out the office door. She's concentrating so intently, eyes squeezed shut and horn glowing, that she barely notices my departure. Which is perfect, because I desperately need a moment outside to work on my own "lesson"—the one that's going to save my hide at the Summer Sun Celebration.

I inhale the crisp air, taking a few careful steps away from Town Hall. The sun's already pretty high, and a light breeze stirs the flags and banners overhead. Even that gentle wind has the potential to sabotage my illusion, considering how delicate it is on a larger scale.

Closing my eyes, I channel my magic through my horn, summoning the building blocks for the Doppler illusion I've been tinkering with for days. A faint, golden shimmer blossoms in the air in front of me, flickering and twitching as I push my telekinesis into shape. Piece by piece, it forms the vague outline of Celestia's cutie mark—a stylized (albeit more realistic) sun. Normally, I've only tested illusions the size of a serving platter. But Mayor Mare wants something that can be seen across the square, maybe even all the way down the main street.

The first problem: wind. Even the slightest puff can disrupt the shimmering shell of my illusions if I don't protect them. So I set up a thin telekinetic shield around the perimeter—a second invisible layer that, in theory, keeps stray gusts from messing it up. It's like juggling with one hoof while balancing on the other three, because I'm already dedicating a massive amount of mental energy to shaping each tiny point of light within the sun.

The second problem: size. Scaling this up is, frankly, brutal. My horn throbs as I carefully expand the illusion, each minuscule unit requiring constant adjustment. I'm effectively orchestrating a thousand moving parts, each one shifting color, brightness, and position—plus the intangible shell that needs to remain rock-steady against the wind.

Sweat beads along my forehead as the illusion slowly swells until it's about six feet across. The bright, swirling form flickers and pulses like a living flame, and if I squint just right, I can almost convince myself it's the real sun. A three-dimensional sun, no less, hovering a few hooves above the ground.

"Come on, hold together…" I mutter under my breath. My horn feels like it's got a clamp tightening around it, but for a moment, everything seems stable.

Then a slightly stronger breeze sweeps past, rustling my mane—and the flickering edge of the sun warps. I grit my teeth, redoubling my focus on the protective shell. It's a constant back-and-forth of pushing the illusion outward while reinforcing the invisible barrier. My breathing gets ragged as I hold it all in place.

Mayor Mare wants something show-stopping, but how long do I really have to maintain it? If my memory of the show's timeline is right, once Twilight Sparkle arrives, all Tartarus is going to break loose pretty quickly. Nightmare Moon will show up, Celestia will vanish, and… yeah, maybe this big fancy display won't even matter at that point. But I can't exactly bank on it failing—I need to be prepared if it doesn't.

I manage to hold the sun for a good thirty seconds before I have to let go. The illusion collapses into shimmering fragments that disperse in the wind. I stagger, panting, my horn numb from the effort. Another day of practice like this, and I might just pass out mid-spell.

Still, I got it bigger than before, and that's something. Maybe if I build up my stamina, I can hold it for the entire ceremony—whenever that is. I grimace. I should probably find out soon. But the less I know, the less I have to worry, right?

"Baby steps," I whisper to myself. "Just… baby steps."

I straighten up, massaging my temple with a hoof. A rush of fatigue washes over me.

I straighten up, massaging my temple with a hoof. A rush of fatigue washes over me, and I fight the urge to just slump against the wall and call it a day. For a moment, I close my eyes, reminding myself that I'm not done. I need to check on—

"Mr. Flux!" a shrill voice yells from behind me.

Sweetie Belle practically skids around the corner, a triumphant grin on her face. She's clutching a glass of water—well, ice now—like it's a trophy. "Look! I did it!" She hops up and down, the ice inside clinking like a tiny bell choir.

My stomach twists. That was… fast. "Wow," I manage, trying not to sound too astonished. "You really froze it, huh?"

Sweetie Belle thrusts the glass toward me, her eyes gleaming. "Look how solid it is! I did that 'hydrogen-hoof-holding' thing you told me about." She pauses, scrunching her nose. "Or… something like that. Either way, it worked!"

I force a smile, suppressing the little voice that wants to ask,Why am I such a good teacher?I was hoping she'd take a while—maybe the rest of the morning. More time for me to wrestle with my illusions in peace.

"That's… excellent progress," I say finally, clearing my throat. "So, you've mastered freezing water. Good job."

She perks up. "So what's next? Another lesson?" She practically bounces in place. "Do I get to learn illusions next? Pleeease?"

Her expression is so earnest it's almost painful. And of course, illusions areexactlywhat I'm trying to master myself. If she pulls some amazing feat before me, I'm toast. Or if she digs too deep into how itactuallyworks… I'm double toast. Still, I can't exactly brush her off without arousing suspicion, and we all know who pays me fifty bits an hour to keep her occupied.

My mind whirls, trying to stitch together a plan. "Right. Illusions. Sure." I swallow, nodding more confidently than I feel. "I guess we can move on to what's, uh… known as the Doppler Illusion Spell."

Her face lights up. "That's the one you showed me earlier! With the swirling colors, right?"

I wince inwardly. I really didn't want her payingtoomuch attention when I used it to demonstrate water molecules. But her recall is, as usual, better than I'd like. "Yes, that one. It's… complicated. Advanced. Even for me."

"Cool!" she chirps, rocking up onto her hind legs. "I'm ready!"

I let out a slow breath, scanning the area. A light wind ripples the nearby flags, not enough to ruin a smaller-scale test, but enough that I'll have to stay vigilant. "Alright. Let's go somewhere with a bit of space, but not too public. I don't want anypony—er, I mean, I don't want to cause a stir."

Sweetie Belle nods fiercely, and we head a short distance down the side of Town Hall to a little alcove shielded from the main street. I plant my hooves firmly and motion for her to stand beside me. My horn still throbs from my earlier attempt, but I gather my telekinesis again, feeling that familiar buzz behind my forehead.

"So the idea," I begin, eyes half-lidded in concentration, "is that you're going to manipulate the atoms in the air. You're essentially moving them toward and away from the observer—"

"What's an observer?" she interrupts.

"Anypony watching," I say, resisting the urge to sigh. "When the atoms moves toward them, it looks bluer. When it moves away, it looks redder."

She blinks owlishly. "Why?"

"Because due to—er, the spell—stretches or squishes the light waves as they move," I explain, keeping my voice calm even as I scramble to frame it in pony terms. "When the light waves are squished closer together, they look bluer. When they stretch out, they look redder. It's a natural effect of manipulating light with telekinesis."

Sweetie Belle tilts her head, her horn faintly glowing as if she's already trying to picture it. "So… the spell changes the colors by squishing and stretching light? Like stretching dough?"

"Uh, yes, exactly like dough!" I latch onto the metaphor, relieved she's buying it. "The harder you push or pull the 'magic dough,' the more dramatic the color changes."

Her eyes sparkle with understanding, and she nods enthusiastically. "Okay, that makes sense! So how do I do it?"

I clear my throat, stalling for just a moment. "First, you need to focus on a small amount of dust in your magic. That's your starting point. Once you've got that, you'll use your intent to 'push' and 'pull' the magic dough in a controlled rhythm very quickly."

Sweetie Belle narrows her eyes in concentration. "So… make it glow, then push and pull. Got it."

"Not so fast," I interject, raising a hoof. "You also need to visualize the pattern. This isn't just about moving light—it's about creating an illusion that flows smoothly. Imagine the atoms vibrating, shifting from blue to red and back again. The more precise your visualization, the smoother the effect."

Her horn glows brighter as she frowns in thought. "Okay, so… atoms, push-pull, and vibrating pattern. Is there a chant?"

Sweetie Belle's question stops me cold. My brain stutters for a moment as I try to think of an answer that won't expose me as a fraud.

"A chant?" I repeat, buying time. "Uh… well, no. Not formyspells."

Her ears perk up in curiosity, and her head tilts again. "Why not? Everypony says spells need a chant. Rarity told me it's like… the words give the spell its shape. If you don't have the chant, how does your magic work?"

I feel the metaphorical trap closing around me, and my mind races for an excuse. "Well, uh, you see… my magic is a little different," I start, my voice trailing off. "I, uh… use a more… intuitive approach."

Sweetie Belle blinks at me, her expression equal parts intrigued and confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means…" I cough awkwardly, suddenly very interested in the dirt at my hooves. "It means that my spells are… um, advanced. Really advanced. They don't need chants because they're, uh… self-contained! Yeah, self-contained. They pull the intent and visualization directly into the spell without needing words."

Her brow furrows. "So… you're saying your magic skips a step?"

"Exactly!" I say quickly, latching onto her interpretation like a lifeline. "That's why I've been able to teach you so quickly. It's, uh, a unique technique I've developed. Streamlined, you know?"

Sweetie Belle looks impressed, her eyes wide. "Wow! That's so cool! So you've invented your own magic?"

I laugh nervously, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. "You could say that, sure. It's, uh, not something just anypony can do, though. It takes a lot of practice. Years of… study."

She gasps. "So does that mean I can learn how to make spells like that too?"

My stomach does a flip. "Well… let's not get ahead of ourselves. that's, uh, very advanced. And honestly, it's not always practical for every spell. Most ponies are better off using chants—it's more reliable that way."

Sweetie Belle nods slowly, clearly deep in thought. "I guess that makes sense. But it's still amazing you can do it without chants. You must be one of the most powerful mages in Equestria!"

My heart skips a beat, and I force a shaky laugh. "Oh, I wouldn't gothatfar. I'm just… experienced. That's all."

She beams at me, completely oblivious to my internal panic. "I can't wait to tell Rarity about this! She's always saying how important chants are, but now I can tell her there's a better way!"

"Wait—no!" I blurt, a little too loudly. Sweetie jumps slightly, and I quickly soften my tone. "I mean, let's keep this between us for now, okay? It's… uh, part of your special training. We don't want to confuse anypony else."

Her eyes widen. "Oh! Like a secret spell technique?"

"Exactly!" I say, nodding emphatically. "A secret spell technique. Just for you."

Sweetie Belle nods solemnly, her little chest puffing out with pride. "Got it! I won't say a word, Mr. Flux. I promise!"

"Alright, Sweetie Belle," I say, pulling a small leather pouch from beneath my desk. Inside, the powdered chalk gleams faintly in the sunlight filtering through the window. It's not enchanted or special in any way—just plain, white chalk from the apothecary. But Sweetie doesn't need to know that.

"This is what you'll use to practice the Doppler Illusion," I explain, pouring a small mound of the chalk into my hoof. I blow on it gently, scattering a few particles to demonstrate how fine it is. "The chalk is important. It's light enough to move easily with your magic, and the white color ensures the spell works properly. Colored powders scatter light differently, and that could mess up the effect."

Sweetie Belle's eyes widen as she leans in, her curiosity palpable. "Wow! So it's like… special mage chalk?"

"Exactly," I say, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at my own lie. "It's delicate and precise, just like the spell itself. You'll need to control every particle carefully to get the illusion just right."

I hand her a single speck of chalk, barely visible against her pale hoof. "For now, I want you to focus on moving just this one. Start small—it's not about how big or flashy your illusion is. It's about precision."

Sweetie Belle frowns, clearly skeptical. "Just one speck? How's that supposed to look like an illusion?"

"Baby steps," I say with a shrug. "If you can't move one speck properly, how do you expect to move hundreds? This isn't about showing off. It's about learning properly."

She nods slowly, her horn already glowing faintly as she levitates the speck of chalk in front of her. It wobbles slightly in the air, the faint shimmer of her magic holding it in place.

"Good," I say, stepping back toward the open door. "Now, try shifting it forward and back. Imagine the vibrating pattern we talked about. Keep the motion steady."

Sweetie Belle bites her lip, her eyes narrowing in concentration. The speck of chalk moves a fraction forward, then jerks backward unevenly. She lets out a frustrated groan. "This is so hard!"

"Welcome to illusions," I say, suppressing a grin. "They're not supposed to be easy. Just keep at it. You'll figure it out."

She huffs but doesn't argue, her focus locked on the chalk. Satisfied that she's sufficiently occupied, I grab the pouch of powdered chalk and step outside to work on my own spell. The Summer Sun Celebration is looming, and I can't afford to waste any more time.

Out in the open, I scatter a generous handful of the chalk into the air, letting it form a faint cloud in front of me. My horn lights up, and I channel my telekinesis into the particles, pushing and pulling them in carefully measured patterns. The illusion begins to take shape—a three-dimensional sun, glowing faintly gold with ripples of red and blue shifting across its surface.

The wind picks up, scattering some of the chalk and disrupting the pattern. I grit my teeth and adjust the telekinetic barrier around the edges, reinforcing the shell to keep the particles contained. My horn aches with the effort, but the sun grows steadily larger, its glowing form flickering like a living flame.

It's not perfect—far from it. The edges waver, and the colors aren't as vivid as I'd like. But it's getting there. I can almost see it: the finished illusion hovering above Ponyville, awe-inspiring and majestic, just as Mayor Mare requested.

And then, finally, I can stop worrying about this spell and move on to the next. Sweetie Belle's eager questions and rapid progress are a constant reminder that I need to stay ahead of her. If she masters this before I do, my carefully constructed facade could start to crumble.

For now, though, I focus on the sun. One particle at a time, one oscillation at a time, I shape the illusion, determined to perfect it before the Summer Sun Celebration—and before Sweetie Belle catches up to me.

As I work on the shimmering illusion of Celestia's sun, I hear a frustrated groan behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see Sweetie Belle stomping her hooves, her horn still glowing faintly as she struggles with her speck of chalk.

"This is impossible!" she cries, her magic faltering. The chalk tumbles to the ground, and she glares at it as though it insulted her. "How do you make it look so easy, Mr. Flux? Your sun thing is amazing, and I can't even get one speck to move right!"

I wince internally but keep my expression neutral. Her frustration is understandable—she's a filly trying to replicate something I'm only barely managing myself. But the last thing I need is for her to start questioningwhyit's so hard. "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," I say, trying to sound reassuring. "I've been practicing this spell for months," I lie, "It takes a lot of time and effort to get it right."

Sweetie Belle looks up at me, her brow furrowing. "Months? Really?"

I nod, keeping my voice steady. "Absolutely. Illusions are some of the most advanced magic out there. You're doing great for your first try. Just keep practicing, and you'll get there."

Her ears droop a little, but she nods, her determination flickering back into place. "Okay… I'll keep trying."

"Good," I say, turning back to my illusion. I tweak the edges of the sun, smoothing out a ripple that threatened to distort the whole structure. The colors shimmer faintly, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of pride—before it's quickly swallowed by exhaustion.

The sound of hoofsteps approaching pulls me out of my focus, letting the chalk dust fall freely. I glance up to see Rarity strolling toward us, her perfectly styled mane gleaming in the sunlight. "Sweetie Belle! Kinetic Flux!" she calls, her tone as refined as ever. "I trust your lesson is wrapping up?"

Sweetie Belle immediately brightens, rushing over to her sister. "Rarity! You're here!"

Rarity smiles indulgently, her gaze flicking to me. "I hope she wasn't too much trouble, Mr. Flux. Sweetie can be quite… excitable when she's eager to learn."

"Not at all," I say, managing a polite smile despite the growing ache in my horn. "She's been very focused."

"Focused onfailing," Sweetie mutters, kicking at the dirt. "I couldn't do the illusion spell. It's way too hard."

Rarity raises an elegant brow. "An illusion spell? My, that does sound advanced. Perhaps a bit ambitious for a filly your age."

Sweetie Belle perks up. "But I did learn the freezing spell!" she blurts, holding up the glass of frozen water she's been carrying around. "Look! I can freeze stuff now!"

Rarity's eyes widen as she takes the glass, inspecting it with genuine surprise. "You learned a freezing spell?" She glances at me, her voice rising slightly. "You taught her this?"

I nod, feigning modesty. "She picked it up quickly. Sweetie Belle has a lot of potential."

Rarity's expression shifts from surprise to something closer to awe. "This is incredible! Sweetie, you just learned the heating spell the other day. And now freezing? Most unicorns take weeks—months, even—to master a single spell. The chant phonetics alone are a challenge, not to mention balancing the pattern and intent."

Sweetie Belle beams, puffing out her chest. "Mr. Flux is the best teacher ever! He said his magic is different—it's, like, more advanced or something. That's why I'm learning so fast!"

What the hell Sweetie.

I suppress a nervous gulp as Rarity's gaze lands on me again, her wide, glistening eyes unblinking. The sheer intensity of her focus makes my stomach churn.She knows.She has to know. My "magic" isn't special; it's smoke and mirrors—literal in some cases. I brace myself for the accusation, the judgment, the inevitable exposure.

But instead, Rarity's expression softens. Her lashes lower ever so slightly, and she takes a slow step closer. Too close.

"Well, Mr. Flux," she purrs, her tone suddenly lilting in a way that sets every alarm in my brain blaring, "you truly are a remarkable teacher. It's rare to find somepony so skilled, so…dedicatedto their craft."

My heart skips a beat, and not in the good way.No, no, no, this can't be happening.

"Oh, uh, it's nothing," I say, my voice cracking slightly. I take a small step back, only for her to close the gap with a graceful flick of her tail. "Just… doing my job."

"But what a job you're doing," she says, her smile widening to reveal those gleaming teeth that somehow manage to look predatory despite her lack of canines. "Sweetie Belle has struggled with her magic for so long, and yet in just two lessons with you, she's made more progress than with any other tutor. I must admit, I find myself quite… impressed."

Her eyes lock onto mine, huge and moist, the veins under her pale coat faintly visible in the harsh afternoon sun. I feel a cold sweat break out along my back. My legs twitch with the urge to run, but I can't just leave Sweetie Belle standing there.Focus, Kinetic. You're a professional. You can handle this.

"That's, uh… kind of you to say," I stammer, trying to keep my tone even. "But really, it's Sweetie Belle who deserves the credit. She's a quick learner."

"Hmm," Rarity hums, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "You're far too humble, Mr. Flux. Such talent deserves recognition."

I swallow hard, my stomach twisting into knots. The more she talks, the harder it is to look at her—those enormous, bulging eyes, the way the sunlight catches every little vein. My vision swims as I feel the bile rising in my throat.

"I should, uh, get back to preparing for the Summer Sun Celebration," I say quickly, taking another step back. "Lots to do, you know."

"Oh, of course," Rarity says, her voice dropping into a teasing lilt. "I imagine aTown Magelike yourself must have many important tasks. Perhaps we could… discuss them over tea sometime?"

I freeze, my brain grinding to a halt. Did she just—? No. No way.

"I—uh—tea? That's, um…" I trail off, my mouth dry as I desperately search for an escape. "I don't… really drink tea."

Rarity raises a brow, looking genuinely surprised. "No tea? How peculiar. Perhaps coffee, then? Or perhaps you'd prefer something… stronger?"

I force a laugh, though it comes out sounding more like a strangled cough. "Oh, no, I, uh… I'm not much of a drinks pony. Work keeps me… busy."

"Of course," she says smoothly, her smile never wavering. "Your dedication is admirable. But do let me know if you ever find a moment to relax. A pony like you deserves a little indulgence now and then."

I manage a weak nod, every instinct screaming at me to get out of this conversation. "Sure, I'll… think about it."

"Wonderful," she says, giving me a lingering look before turning back to Sweetie Belle. "Come along, darling. Let's leave Mr. Flux to his important work."

Sweetie Belle skips happily to her sister's side, oblivious to the tension in the air. "Bye, Mr. Flux! Thanks for the lesson!"

"Yeah," I croak, watching them walk away. "Anytime."

The moment they're out of sight, I collapse against the nearest wall, my legs shaking. My stomach churns violently, and I lean forward, dry-heaving into the grass.What just happened?Of all the things I've had to endure in this bizarre pony-filled world, this might be the worst yet.

I all but stumble back into my office, slamming the door shut behind me. The cool dimness is a relief, but it doesn't stop my stomach from churning or my brain from replayingthatconversation. Rarity. Flirting.Why?My whole body shudders at the memory of her unnervingly large eyes staring into mine, every vein under her coat seemingly magnified by the unforgiving sunlight.

I slump against the door, willing myself to stop thinking about it before I actually puke. "Okay, Kinetic," I mumble, dragging myself upright. "Bigger problems. Focus."

I shuffle to my desk, the pouch of powdered chalk still resting on it. It's comforting, in a way—something concrete to work with. Something I can control. My horn lights up as I pour a small amount of the chalk onto the desk, watching the fine particles scatter slightly in the faint breeze from the window.

My mind drifts back to the illusion of Celestia's sun I'd been working on earlier. Associating the color shift with a speed had made all the difference.

I summon a small handful of chalk into the air, focusing my telekinesis to keep the particles suspended in a perfect sphere. The faint shimmer of light catches the edges, and I begin to shift the sphere forward and back, imagining the red-to-blue pattern as the particles move. To my surprise, the effect is strikingly vivid. The reds glow with a warmth that seems almost alive, while the blues feel icy and sharp.

"Wow," I mutter, a genuine smile creeping onto my face for the first time all day. "That's… pretty good."

I tweak the sphere, adding a slow rotation to simulate the sun's movement. The colors shift seamlessly, rippling like waves on water. It's mesmerizing, almost hypnotic. For a moment, I forget my exhaustion, my panic, and the utterly bizarre conversation with Rarity.

Thisis what I'm good at. This is what I know.

I push the illusion a step further, shaping the sphere into the faint outline of Celestia's sun once more. The three-dimensional effect holds beautifully, the radiant colors rippling along the edges as though alive. The precision is better than I'd ever managed before, and I can't help but feel a surge of pride.

Maybe Sweetie Belle's right. Maybe Iamgreat at this.

The thought makes me pause, my horn faltering slightly. Sweetie Belle. She's picking up spells—or at least my versions of them—far faster than I expected. And Rarity's comments about how quickly she's learning only add to the pressure. If Sweetie keeps advancing like this, it's only a matter of time before she asks questions I can't answer or wants to try something I can't fake.

The sphere flickers and collapses into a faint cloud of chalk, and I groan, slumping onto the desk. "One thing at a time," I mutter to myself. "Get through the Summer Sun Celebration. Then you can panic about everything else."

I glance out the window, the banners of the upcoming celebration fluttering in the distance. Time is running out, but for the first time, I feel a flicker of confidence. If I can perfect this illusion, if I can pull off the show Mayor Mare is expecting, maybe I can keep this charade going a little longer.

With a deep breath, I gather the chalk again, forming a new sphere. "Alright," I say, steadying my focus. "Let's make it sharper."

---

As the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across Ponyville, I decide I've done all I can for the day. My head throbs from overexertion, and my hooves drag as I make my way back to the inn. The thought of a bed—even a lumpy one—feels like a distant dream.

Pushing open the inn's creaky front door, I'm greeted by the same pegasus mare who's always stationed behind the counter. Her coat is a soft yellow, her mane a nondescript brown, and I still don't know her name despite staying here for weeks. I've just been calling her "Miss" whenever we've interacted. It's… awkward.

She glances up as the bell above the door jingles, her wide, curious eyes locking onto me. "Good evening, Mr. Flux," she says, her voice carrying that same polite cheer as always. "Long day?"

"Something like that," I mutter, trudging over to the counter. "Hey, quick question. What's your name?"

Her ears perk up slightly. "Oh! I don't think I ever introduced myself. I'm Buttercup Breeze." She offers a small smile, tilting her head. "And you?"

"Kinetic Flux," I reply, though she clearly already knows. "Nice to officially meet you, Buttercup."

"Likewise!" she chirps. "Was there something you needed?"

I glance around, making sure nopony else is within earshot. "Yeah. When exactly is the Summer Sun Celebration?"

She blinks, looking mildly surprised. "You don't know? It's tomorrow night. Well, technically, it starts tomorrow night and ends at sunrise the next morning. It's a whole big thing."

"Of course it is," I mutter under my breath, rubbing a hoof against my temple. "Thanks."

"No problem," Buttercup says, her cheerful tone unshaken. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, I'm good," I say, already turning toward the stairs. "Have a good night."

"You too, Mr. Flux!"

I don't bother responding as I trudge up to my room, my mind racing despite my exhaustion. Tomorrow night.Tomorrow night?!Mayor Mare couldn't have told me thissooner?I've been scrambling, assuming I had at least a week to get this illusion perfect. Instead, I'm finding outnow—less than twenty-four hours before the event.

I throw open the door to my small, cramped room and flop onto the bed with a groan. The feathers depress under my weight, and the pillow feels like it's stuffed with hay—because it probably is—but I'm too tired to care.

"Alright, calm down," I mutter to myself, staring up at the ceiling. "You've got most of it down. The sun illusion is decent. You just need to tweak it a little. It's fine."

Except it isn't fine. The thought of the entire town watching me perform a grand magical display makes my stomach churn. The thought of Princess Celestia herself watching is even worse. And then there's Twilight Sparkle, the magical prodigy who's almost certainly going to see right through my tricks the moment she lays eyes on them.

But then I remember the timeline—the one thing keeping me sane. If the Summer Sun Celebration is tomorrow night, that means Nightmare Moon is showing up. Celestia's going to be captured, Twilight's going to go rushing off to the Everfree Forest, and Ponyville is going to descend into chaos. By the time I'm supposed to perform, there probably won't even be an audience left to see it.

The thought is oddly comforting. I let out a slow breath, my muscles relaxing slightly. "It'll all go to hell before I have to do anything," I mutter, almost convincing myself.

Still, I can't afford to slack off. If things don't fall apart like I'm expecting, I need to be ready. The sun illusion needs to be flawless. Perfect. I'll give it one more round of practice in the morning.

For now, though, I close my eyes and let exhaustion drag me into an uneasy sleep, my dreams filled with swirling lights and looming, veiny eyes.

Author's Note:

White dust doppler. (done with non relativistic formula)

1. Blueshift (Toward Observer)

When the dust moves toward the observer, the wavelengths shorten (shift toward violet/blue).

Target ColorStart WavelengthEnd WavelengthSpeed Required
Violet450nm (Blue) 380nm (Violet)~47,000 m/s (47 km/s)
Blue500nm (Green) 450nm (Blue)~33,000 m/s (33 km/s)
Green570nm (Yellow) 500nm (Green)~42,000 m/s (42 km/s)
Yellow620nm (Orange) 570nm (Yellow)~24,000 m/s (24 km/s)
Orange750nm (Red) 620nm (Orange)~52,000 m/s (52 km/s)

---

2. Redshift (Away from Observer)

When the dust moves away from the observer, the wavelengths stretch (shift toward red).

Target ColorStart WavelengthEnd WavelengthSpeed Required
Blue380nm (Violet) 450nm (Blue)~47,000 m/s (47 km/s)
Green450nm (Blue) 500nm (Green)~33,000 m/s (33 km/s)
Yellow500nm (Green) 570nm (Yellow)~42,000 m/s (42 km/s)
Orange570nm (Yellow) 620nm (Orange)~24,000 m/s (24 km/s)
Red620nm (Orange) 750nm (Red)~52,000 m/s (52 km/s)

 

[Riddlest]

I wake up to the sound of muffled voices and hoofsteps outside my room. Sunlight filters through the cracks in the shutters, and for a brief moment, I lie there, trying to convince myself I don't have to get up. But the Summer Sun Celebration is tonight, and I don't have the luxury of procrastinating.

With a groan, I roll out of bed and drag myself downstairs to the inn's small dining area. Buttercup Breeze is behind the counter, as cheerful as ever. "Good morning, Mr. Flux! Did you sleep well?"

"Like a rock," I mutter, which isn't entirely a lie. "What's for breakfast?"

She gestures to a modest spread: a steaming pot of oatmeal, a small platter of sliced fruits, and a pitcher of juice. Nothing fancy, but it's better than going hungry. I fill a bowl with oatmeal, grab a couple of apple slices, and sit at one of the tables near the window. The chatter of other guests filters in around me as I eat, the creamy oatmeal and sweet fruit doing a decent job of shaking off the last remnants of sleep.

Once I'm done, I thank Buttercup with a nod and head out into the bright morning sunlight. Ponyville is buzzing with activity. Ponies are hanging banners, arranging flowers, and setting up tables in the town square. The excitement is palpable, even for me.

When I reach Town Hall, the preparations are in full swing. Ponies scurry about, carrying decorations and supplies, while a few others rehearse songs and speeches. I weave through the crowd, eventually finding Mayor Mare near the stage, directing the setup with an authoritative air.

"Good morning, Mayor," I say, approaching her.

She turns, her expression lighting up. "Ah, Mr. Flux! I'm glad you're here. How are your preparations coming along?"

"Pretty well," I say, trying not to let my nerves show. "I've got the illusion mostly ready. It's a three-dimensional representation of Princess Celestia's cutie mark—the sun. I can unveil it whenever you need."

Her eyes widen, and she claps her hooves together. "Oh, that sounds marvelous! Just the kind of grand display we need to make this celebration unforgettable. Let's have it appear just as Princess Celestia is announced."

"Got it," I say, nodding. "I'll time it for the announcement."

She beams at me before turning to oversee more of the preparations. I take a deep breath, mentally running through everything I'll need for the illusion. It's all coming together—except for one glaring problem.

The celebration is happening just before dawn. My illusions rely on light to scatter and shift, and while there'll be some ambient light from the moon and stars, it won't be nearly enough for the sun illusion to look right. I'll need a light source.

I leave Town Hall, my mind racing. Lanterns. Paper lanterns should work. They're cheap, lightweight, and easy to set up. The apothecary carries them—I saw them when bought the chalk there.

I head to the shop, where the familiar scent of herbs and dried flowers hits me as soon as I step inside. The mare behind the counter greets me with a warm smile. "Welcome back! Need more chalk?"

"Not today," I say, glancing around the cluttered shelves. "Do you have any paper lanterns?"

Her ears perk up. "Oh, yes! We just got a shipment for the celebration. How many do you need?"

"Six," I say after a moment's thought. That should be enough to provide decent lighting for the illusion without overcomplicating things.

She ducks behind the counter and comes back with a bundle of folded lanterns and a small box of candles. "Here you go. Anything else?"

"No, this is perfect," I say, dropping a few bits onto the counter.

With the lanterns tucked under one foreleg, I head back to Town Hall and set about finding the best spots to hang them. A few curious ponies give me questioning looks as I fiddle with the placement, but they don't say anything. By the time I'm done, the area above the stage will be bathed in a soft, warm glow—enough to give my illusion the light it needs to really pop.

"Not bad," I mutter to myself, stepping back to admire my work. It's not perfect, but it'll do. Now all I have to do is wait for tonight—and hope everything goes exactly as planned. Or, failing that, hope it all goes so wrong that nopony notices my part in it.

As the day drags on and the buzz of preparation grows louder, I make my way toward the central spot where Princess Celestia is supposed to appear during the Summer Sun Celebration. The stage is set, the decorations are pristine, and ponies are bustling about, adding finishing touches to every corner of Town Hall.

I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me. If my illusion fails, I'll be exposed in front of the entire town. Worse, if Twilight Sparkle—the magical prodigy herself—catches on to my little scam, I might not even make it through the night.

Still, I cling to the faint hope that I'll avoid her entirely. She's supposed to oversee the preparations, but maybe she's too busy checking on the food, music, and decorations to bother with my part.Yeah, right,I think bitterly.

As I round the corner to the designated stage area, my hope dies a quick and painful death. Standing there, waiting, is none other than Twilight Sparkle. Her lavender coat gleams in the soft evening light, and her mane is perfectly in place despite the apparent stress she's under. Beside her is a baby dragon—Spike, if I remember correctly—holding a clipboard and looking equally busy.

"Oh, no," I mutter under my breath, stopping in my tracks. My pulse quickens as a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. I briefly consider turning around and running, but her sharp eyes lock onto me before I can move.

"You must be Kinetic Flux!" she says, striding toward me with a professional smile. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Uh… you have?" I ask, my voice cracking slightly.

"Yes!" she says, stopping a few paces in front of me. "I'm Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia's personal student. I'm overseeing the preparations for the celebration, and I've heard you're in charge of the magical display."

I force a smile, trying to steady my nerves. "That's right."

Her eyes narrow slightly, though her expression remains polite. "I'll admit, I'm curious. Illusions like the one you're planning typically require a lot of mana. I assumed there would be a team of unicorns working together, but Mayor Mare mentioned it's just you. How are you managing that?"

My stomach sinks. Of course, she'd know about the mana requirements for a proper illusion spell.

"Oh, well," I say, stalling as I desperately search for an explanation. "It's, uh, a unique technique. I've developed a method that… minimizes mana consumption by focusing on precision rather than brute force."

Twilight tilts her head, clearly intrigued. "Really? That's fascinating. Can you show me?"

My heart skips a beat. "Show you? Now?"

"If that's not too much trouble," she says, smiling politely. "I'd love to see how it works."

"Uh…" I glance around, trying to think of an excuse. "I was planning to save the full effect for the celebration."

"Oh, I understand," she says quickly. "You don't have to show me the whole thing. Just a demonstration would be fine. I'm always eager to learn about new magical techniques."

Her enthusiasm is almost palpable, and I can feel the noose tightening around my neck. She doesn't seem suspicious—yet—but if I can't sell this, it's game over.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "Alright," I say finally. "I can show you a small version. But keep in mind, it's still a work in progress."

Twilight nods eagerly, her eyes practically sparkling. "Of course! Take your time."

I suppress a groan as I pull a pinch of powdered chalk from my pouch and scatter it into the air. My horn lights up, and I channel my telekinesis into the particles, focusing on creating a small, simplified version of the sun illusion. The sphere forms slowly, its edges shimmering faintly as I manipulate the colors to shift.

Twilight's eyes widen as the illusion takes shape, the faint shimmer of color rippling across the small, glowing sphere. "That's… amazing," she says softly, leaning closer. "But—wait a second. That was so fast. Illusions usually require a chant, don't they? A really long one, and the visualization is incredibly complex. How did you manage it so quickly?"

My heart races as I try to come up with a plausible explanation.Big words, just use big words."Ah, well, you see, my method streamlines the process," I say, waving a hoof vaguely. "It eliminates the need for extensive verbal components by… uh… using a recursive cognitive loop to reinforce the visualization directly."

Twilight's brow furrows in thought, and my stomach drops. "Recursive cognitive loop…" she repeats, her voice trailing off. "You mean you're using a layered mental structure to reduce the mental load of the intent while allowing real-time corrections to the visualization?"

"Yes!" I say quickly, latching onto her interpretation. "Exactly! That's, uh, precisely what I meant."

She nods, her curiosity clearly piqued. "Fascinating. But wouldn't that still require a significant amount of mana to sustain? I didn't sense much magic at all when you cast it."

"Oh, that's because I… uh… use a resonance stabilization technique," I say, throwing out another vague term and hoping it sticks. "It minimizes the energy cost by aligning the magical field with the natural oscillations of the particles involved."

Her eyes light up with understanding. "Oh, so you're amplifying the inherent energy in the particles themselves to reduce the strain on your mana pool! That's brilliant! I've never heard of a unicorn doing that before. It must take incredible precision."

"Uh-huh," I say, nodding along like I totally understand what she's talking about. "Lots of precision. Years of practice."

Twilight leans in closer, studying the glowing sphere with an intensity that makes me nervous. "And why the chalk?" she asks, gesturing to the faint cloud of particles still lingering in the air. "Illusions don't normally require physical components. Is it some kind of focus for the spell?"

"Yes!" I blurt, grasping at the lifeline. "The chalk is a… catalytic medium. Its particulate nature allows for finer control over the refractive index, which is crucial for the color shifts."

She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "So, it's more like a conduit for the spell than a component of the illusion itself?"

I blink, caught off guard. "Uh… yes. That's exactly it."

She nods, seemingly satisfied, and reaches a hoof toward the illusion. "May I?"

"No!" I snap, stepping forward and extinguishing the illusion in a flash of light. Twilight jumps slightly, her hoof frozen midair as she looks at me in surprise.

"Why not?" she asks, her tone more curious than offended.

I force a chuckle, trying to cover my panic. "It's, uh, incredibly delicate. The slightest physical disruption could destabilize the entire spell matrix. It's not… safe."

Twilight frowns slightly but nods. "I see. That makes sense. A spell like this must be very fragile, especially with such precise particle manipulation."

"Exactly," I say, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. "It's not something you want to touch."

She smiles again, her enthusiasm returning. "Well, I can't wait to see the full display tonight. It's going to be incredible, I'm sure of it."

I nod stiffly, my nerves still frayed. "Right. Incredible. I'll, uh… make sure it's ready."

Twilight beams at me one last time before turning to Spike, who's still scribbling notes on his clipboard. "Come on, Spike. We've got a few more things to check before tonight."

"Got it," the dragon says, giving me a quick wave before following Twilight.

As they walk away, I let out a shaky breath, my legs nearly giving out beneath me. She bought it—barely. But her questions were way too close for comfort. I only skated by because she filled in the blanks herself. If she pushes any further, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up the act.

For now, though, I've dodged the bullet. And with any luck, by the time she realizes anything's off, it'll be too late for it to matter.

The festival slowly comes to life as the evening sets in. Stalls line the square, ponies chatter excitedly, and the scent of sweets and roasted treats wafts through the air. Lanterns flicker softly, casting warm, golden light over the crowd as I wander among the stands, trying to distract myself from the looming performance.

My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since breakfast. Spotting a stand selling caramel apples, I approach the vendor, a cheerful earth pony mare with a green coat and an apron dusted with sugar.

"One caramel apple, please," I say, pulling out a few bits.

"That'll be three bits," she says, setting one of the glossy, golden treats on the counter.

I nod and place the coins on the stand. She blinks at me, then shrugs, pocketing the money. I grab the caramel apple and turn away, already taking a bite. The sweet, sticky caramel and crisp apple are a welcome distraction, at least for a moment.

"Hey, magic guy!"

I nearly choke on my apple as Rainbow Dash drops out of the sky, landing in front of me with a cocky grin. Her mane is wild as always, her wings half-extended, and she has the air of someone who's been looking for trouble and found it.

"Oh, hey," I say awkwardly, trying to remember the last time we talked. It was when I made it rain using cloud seeding, which I had to frame as a magic spell. She'd been both impressed and skeptical at the time, which had made the whole charade even more nerve-wracking.

Rainbow's grin widens as she nods toward my caramel apple. "You just paid three bits for that?"

I blink. "Yeah? That's what she said it cost."

Her laugh is loud enough to make a few ponies glance our way. "What are you, new here? You're supposed tohaggle,dude. Nopony actually pays the first price!"

"Haggle?" I repeat, feeling stupid. "It's just a caramel apple. How much cheaper could it get?"

"That's not the point!" she says, rolling her eyes. "It's about, y'know, showing you're not a pushover. You're supposed to go back and forth a bit. Like, 'Three bits? How about two?' Then she says, 'Two and a half,' and bam! You save half a bit."

I stare at her, trying to process this. "You haggle… foreverything?"

"Well, yeah," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "What, you just pay whatever ponies tell you?"

"Uh… yeah," I admit, suddenly realizing how much this explains about my struggles with money in Ponyville. "I didn't know haggling was… normal."

Rainbow Dash raises an eyebrow, looking at me like I've grown a second head. "Where were you before you came here? Everypony haggles."

"That's… complicated," I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.

She narrows her eyes, the curiosity in her expression sharpening. "Complicated? What's complicated about it? You live under a rock or something?"

I force a laugh, trying to sound casual. "Something like that."

Rainbow doesn't buy it. "C'mon, where were you? Manehattan? Canterlot? Somewhere fancy where ponies don't have to think about bits?"

"No, nothing like that," I say quickly, shaking my head. "I just… moved around a lot. Didn't really settle anywhere until recently."

She tilts her head, studying me. "Weird. You don't sound like somepony who moves around a lot. You talk all, like, proper and stuff."

I shrug, trying to act indifferent. "I guess I just picked it up."

Rainbow doesn't look convinced, but before she can press further, she grins again. "Well, whatever. Next time you're buying something,haggle.You'll save yourself a lot of bits."

"Sure," I say, eager to end the conversation. "Thanks for the tip."

"No problem, magic guy," she says, giving me a playful jab in the shoulder. "Hey, when's your big magic thing? Before or after Princess Celestia shows up?"

"Right when she's announced," I say, keeping my voice steady. "It's supposed to go off as she appears."

"Cool," Rainbow says, flapping her wings. "I'll keep an eye out. Don't screw it up, alright?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," I say, forcing a smile.

She smirks and takes off, leaving me standing there with my half-eaten caramel apple and a gnawing sense of unease.That was too close.Between her questions and Twilight's earlier interrogation, it feels like the walls are closing in. But the night's not over yet, and I still have a role to play.

Just get through the Celebration,I tell myself again.Then you can worry about haggling, money, and nosy pegasi.For now, I take another bite of the caramel apple and start walking, keeping my head down and hoping no one else decides to strike up a conversation.

As I wander through the festival, I spot Applejack's stand, a cheerful setup brimming with apple-based treats. The smell of freshly baked pies and fritters wafts through the air, and despite the caramel apple I'm still working on, my stomach grumbles.

Applejack spots me as I approach, tipping her hat with a warm smile. "Well, howdy there, Kinetic Flux! Ain't this festival a sight?"

"It's something, alright," I say, managing a smile. "Your stand looks great."

"Thanks kindly," she says, wiping her brow. "It's been a busy few days, but we're finally ready. So, what brings ya over? Lookin' for somethin' tasty?"

"Not this time," I say, shaking my head. "Just wanted to check in, see how everything's going."

Applejack's grin widens. "Funny you should ask. I was just thinkin' about you. That magic you worked on my farm? It's already makin' a difference."

I blink, caught off guard. "It… is?"

"Sure is," she says, leaning casually against her stand. "It's only been, what, a week? But I can feel it. The land's startin' to hum again. The trees ain't sproutin' new leaves yet or nothin', but I can tell they're comin' back. Feels… healthier, y'know?"

I nod slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral. Nothing magical about it—just good science. But to her, it's all "magic," and I'm not about to correct her.

"That's great to hear," I say. "I told you it might take a little time, but the results will be worth it."

Applejack nods, her expression growing thoughtful. "Ya know, I reckon most ponies wouldn't understand what it's like to feel the land the way earth ponies do. It's like… a connection, deep down. I can tell when somethin' ain't right, even if it don't show on the surface yet."

She looks me in the eye, and for a moment, I feel a pang of guilt. She's trusting me completely, and I'm letting her believe in something that isn't true. But then I remind myself that it's working. Her farm is recovering, and that's what matters.

"I'm glad your magic is workin'," she says warmly. "Don't you worry—I'll get ya paid after the festival. I haven't forgotten."

"Take your time," I say quickly. "No rush."

Applejack laughs. "Shoot, after what ya did, I reckon you've earned it already. But we'll talk bits later. For now, go enjoy yourself, ya hear?"

"Will do," I say, tipping an imaginary hat as I turn to leave. "Thanks, Applejack."

"Anytime, partner," she calls after me.

As I walk away, I feel a strange mix of relief and unease. Applejack's faith in me is absolute, and her connection to the land means she'll know immediately if something doesn't work out. For now, though, the farm is on the mend, and she's satisfied. That's one less thing to worry about—at least for the moment.

Now, if only everything else would go as smoothly.

As the festival continues, the energy in the air grows more electric. Ponies fill the square, their laughter and chatter mixing with the soft melodies of the musicians near the stage. Lanterns glow warmly in the deepening twilight, casting long, flickering shadows. Everywhere I look, there's an air of anticipation, a shared excitement for the moment the Summer Sun Celebration reaches its climax.

I, on the other hoof, feel like I'm going to throw up.

I hover near the edge of the square, trying to blend into the crowd while my thoughts race. My part in the event is simple: trigger the illusion of Celestia's sun as soon as Mayor Mare announces her. A show-stopping display to herald the Princess's arrival. Except I know she isn't coming.

Celestia is about to be captured—if she hasn't been already—and Nightmare Moon will appear instead. The moment I trigger my illusion, it'll be obvious something's wrong. My mind keeps running in circles, debating whether I should fake a mistake or just let the illusion fail entirely.

"Pull it together," I mutter under my breath, forcing myself to take a steadying breath. "Just act like everything's fine. If chaos breaks loose, nopony will notice you."

The crowd's murmur grows louder as Mayor Mare steps onto the stage, her voice amplified by a simple spell. "Fillies and gentlecolts, welcome to the Summer Sun Celebration!"

A cheer ripples through the crowd, but I can barely hear it over the pounding in my ears. My heart races as I glance toward the lantern-lit stage. The mayor is smiling confidently, her poise at odds with my mounting panic.

"As we prepare to witness the magic of Princess Celestia raising the sun," she continues, "I'd like to thank all of you for your hard work in making this celebration truly special. And now…" She gestures toward the curtained balcony above. "It is my great honor to introduce to you, the ruler of our land, the very pony who gives us the sun and the moon each and every day—Princess Celestia!"

The crowd erupts into applause. Everypony's eyes are on the balcony, waiting for their princess to step into view.

I stand frozen, my horn glowing faintly as the crowd cheers and all eyes turn to the curtained balcony.This is it.Mayor Mare just said the words, and my illusion needs to start. My chest tightens as I hesitate, knowing full well that Celestia isn't going to appear.

Just do it,I tell myself, swallowing hard.No one will blame you for following the plan.

I close my eyes briefly, gathering my focus. My horn brightens as I scatter the powdered chalk into the air, the particles shimmering as they catch the faint lantern light. A heartbeat later, my illusion takes shape—a glowing sun, rippling with golden hues and vibrant shifts that give it an otherworldly depth. The colors ripple outward like a living flame, its edges sharp and precise.

Gasps of awe ripple through the crowd as my sun rises slowly into the air, casting warm light over the square. It's the largest version I've ever managed, and every second I hold it feels like balancing on a tightrope over a pit of fire. My horn throbs, and sweat trickles down my temple as I fight to keep the illusion stable.

But then the applause dies down, replaced by confused murmurs. The ponies are staring at the balcony, waiting for their Princess. Waiting for Celestia to step forward into the light of the sun I've conjured.

She doesn't.

Seconds stretch into an eternity. My illusion flickers as my concentration wavers.Keep it together, Kinetic, you get paid by the job.I think desperately, forcing the image to stabilize. But the crowd is restless now, their confusion palpable.

"Where is she?" somepony asks, their voice cutting through the uneasy silence.

Mayor Mare's confident smile falters, and she glances toward the balcony, clearly as bewildered as the rest of us. And then, before she can say a word, a chill runs through the square. The lanterns dim as an unnatural cold sweeps over us.

And then,shearrives.

A voice like dark silk echoes through the hall, chilling me to the core. "Oh, my beloved subjects… it's been so long since I've seen your precious, sun-loving faces."

Nightmare Moon steps onto the balcony, her dark armor glinting in the faint starlight. Her mane, a swirling mass of stars, flows behind her like an endless void. The crowd gasps, ponies shrinking back in fear as her piercing eyes sweep across them, full of malice and amusement.

Twilight Sparkle's voice rings out from somewhere near the front of the crowd. "Where's Princess Celestia?! What have you done with her?"

Nightmare Moon's smile widens, revealing sharp teeth. "Why, am I not royal enough for you? Don't you know who I am?"

Nightmare Moon's voice rises, dark and commanding, cutting through the murmur of fear rippling through the crowd. "Does my crown no longer count now that I have been imprisoned for a thousand years? Did you not recall the legend? Did you not see the signs?"

Twilight Sparkle steps forward, her voice trembling but firm. "I did. And I know who you are. You're the Mare in the Moon—Nightmare Moon!"

A gasp ripples through the crowd, but Nightmare Moon's attention snaps to Twilight, her eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. "Well, well, well. Somepony who remembers me. Then you also know why I'm here."

Twilight hesitates, clearly gathering her courage. "You're here to… to bring eternal night!"

Nightmare Moon's laughter fills the hall, cold and mocking. "You're quite the clever one, aren't you?" she sneers, her starry mane swirling ominously. "Indeed, I am here to claim what is rightfully mine. The night shall last forever!"

The crowd recoils in terror as her mane expands, casting dark shadows that seem to drain the warmth from the room. I shrink back, hoping to blend into the mass of frightened ponies. But then Nightmare Moon's gaze sweeps over the crowd—and lands squarely on me.

Her expression shifts, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she steps closer to the edge of the balcony. "You," she says, her voice cold and sharp as a blade. "You were the one who conjured the…sun."

I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest. Before I can say anything—or even think of an excuse—her mane lashes out like a whip, dragging me forward through the air. I yelp, the ground disappearing beneath my hooves as I'm yanked to the foot of the stage.

My sun vanishes.

The crowd gasps, but nopony dares move. Nightmare Moon towers over me, her piercing eyes burning into mine. "Who dares to mock me with such an insult?" she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. "You think yourself clever, casting your pathetic little light inmydomain?"

"I—uh—I wasn't—" I stammer, my words dying in my throat.

She sneers, her mane coiling around me like a constrictor. "Do not waste my time with excuses, worm. Your little 'illusion' was no mere trick, was it? I felt its heat, its energy. Tell me what it is, or I shall tear the truth from your mind!"

My pulse races as I struggle to think of an answer, but Nightmare Moon doesn't wait. Her mane tightens, something probing at the edges of my consciousness. I grit my teeth, trying to resist the invasive sensation.

The world seems to blur as Nightmare Moon's oppressive magic presses down on me, suffocating and intruding. My mind races, desperation clawing at my thoughts. I don't want to hurt her—I know somewhere deep down, Luna is still in there. But right now, Nightmare Moon isn't giving me a choice. If I don't act, I'm finished.

My horn lights up, trembling under the weight of her magic. I focus every ounce of my telekinesis on the air around her flank, vibrating the atoms faster and faster. The energy builds in an instant, and before she can realize what's happening, the heat strikes.

A sharp hiss fills the air, and Nightmare Moon flinches violently. Her eyes go wide in shock as the sudden burst of heat scorches her flank, singeing her dark coat. Her magic around me falters, and I collapse to the ground, gasping for breath.

She whirls on me, her starry mane lashing like an angry storm. "You dare?" she snarls, her voice filled with both fury and pain. Her wings flare, and for a moment, I think she's going to obliterate me on the spot.

But then something shifts. Her gaze narrows, and the corners of her mouth curl into a dangerous smile. "Clever," she hisses, her voice dripping with malice. "Crude, but clever. I see now… you're more dangerous than you appear."

Her mane snaps back, swirling around her like a vortex of stars. "But this isn't over," she growls, her voice echoing ominously. "Enjoy your fleeting moments of light, for they will be your last."

With that, she vanishes into a swirling cloud of darkness, leaving the hall cold and eerily silent. The crowd is frozen in shock, their wide eyes darting between me and the empty balcony.

I stagger to my hooves, my legs shaking. My horn aches, and the lingering smell of burnt hair clings to the air. I don't dare look at the crowd—if I meet their eyes, I might crumble under their stares.

I shuffle back into the crowd, keeping my head low, hoping the growing chaos will be enough to let me fade into the background. Many eyes track me still. Ponies are panicking, murmuring in frightened tones, while others look to Mayor Mare for guidance. Twilight Sparkle, her eyes filled with determination, is already talking to Spike, her words too hurried for me to catch.

Just disappear,I tell myself.Let them deal with this. You're not a hero.

Twilight suddenly breaks from the crowd, heading toward the library at a gallop. My heart lifts as I see the rest of the ponies parting for her. If she's leaving, she won't have time to interrogate me further. I take a step back, blending into the huddled townsfolk.

But my relief is short-lived. Not five minutes later, I spot Twilight returning, followed by five ponies I immediately recognize. Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, and Fluttershy trail behind her, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. And to my growing horror, they're heading straight for me.

"You!" Twilight calls out, pointing a hoof in my direction. The crowd parts, and suddenly all eyes are on me again.

I freeze, my heart sinking.Great. What now?

"Me?" I ask weakly, trying to sound confused. "I'm busy—uh—making sure everypony's okay. Talk to you later?"

Twilight skids to a stop in front of me, her eyes sharp and focused. "We need your help."

"My help?" I stammer, looking between her and the others. "What for? You seem to have a whole… team thing going on."

Applejack steps forward, tipping her hat. "We saw what ya did, burnin' Nightmare Moon like that. If ya can hurt her, maybe ya can help us stop her."

My stomach twists as I try to think of an excuse. "Look, that was… a fluke. She caught me off guard, and I just reacted. I'm not exactly equipped to deal with something like this."

Rainbow Dash lands beside me, smirking. "Yeah, right. That sun thing you made? That was awesome! You're obviously some kind of magic powerhouse."

"I'm not—"

"He is," Twilight interjects, cutting me off. "His theories about minimizing mana expenditure through particle manipulation were advanced. I saw his demonstration. He's clearly capable."

I gape at her, stunned.Why is she helping?

Twilight ignores me. "We need you. Nightmare Moon is too powerful to face without your magic, you've already proven you can hurt her."

I shake my head, trying to back away. "I'm not a hero. I just—uh—help around town. I don't do grand battles or—"

Mayor Mare suddenly steps in, her expression both pleading and determined. "Kinetic Flux, I'm sorry, but you're the Town Mage. This is your duty."

"I don't work for free," I say quickly, latching onto the only out I can think of. "If you want me to risk my life, you're going to have to—"

"You can have the old Town Mage's house," Mayor Mare interrupts, clearly desperate. "It's… uh… currently being used for storage, but it's yours. Free of charge."

I blink, stunned into silence. A house? I'd been living in a cramped room at the inn for weeks.

The weight of the situation is momentarily eclipsed by a wave of irritation.The Town Mage's house?I think bitterly.Should that've been mine from day one?

"You're telling me," I say slowly, fixing Mayor Mare with a look, "that there's been a house for the Town Mage this whole time, and you've been using it as a storage shed?"

Mayor Mare looks sheepish, shifting uncomfortably under my glare. "It wasn't exactly being used, and we needed somewhere to keep the festival supplies…" She trails off, clearing her throat. "But it's yours now. Completely yours."

I open my mouth to say some very unpleasant things, but Rainbow Dash cuts in, jabbing me in the shoulder with a hoof.

"Forget the house," she says impatiently. "We've got bigger things to deal with! Nightmare Moon is out there, and she's not gonna wait for you to decorate your new place."

"She's right," Twilight says, her tone firm. "The fate of Equestria is at stake. You can worry about the house later."

I grit my teeth, still annoyed but unable to argue. They're not wrong—Nightmare Moon isn't exactly going to pause her plans so I can complain about real estate.

"Fine," I mutter, glaring at Mayor Mare one last time before turning to Twilight. "What's the plan?"

"We're going to the Everfree Forest," Twilight says, her voice steady despite the unease in her eyes. "That's where the Elements of Harmony are. They're the only thing that can stop Nightmare Moon."

"Great," I say sarcastically, "a trip to the most dangerous place in Equestria. What could go wrong?"

Rarity steps forward, her nose wrinkling slightly. "I agree it's not exactly an ideal situation, but we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

Fluttershy looks like she's about to faint, but she nods meekly. "It's… it's for Equestria," she whispers.

Pinkie Pie, on the other hoof, is bouncing on her hooves, her usual energy undampened. "This is gonna be so much fun! Like a big, spooky adventure! Ooh, I should've brought snacks."

I rub my temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

Twilight nods, her expression resolute. "Let's go. The sooner we find the Elements, the sooner we can stop Nightmare Moon."

As we start moving, I glance back at Mayor Mare, who looks both relieved and guilty. I'm definitely bringing up the house thing again later,I think, suppressing a sigh. For now, I've got bigger problems—namely, keeping myself alive in a forest full of things that want to eat me, all while playing the part of the "brilliant mage" these ponies think I am.

 

[Riddlest]

The Everfree Forest looms ahead, dark and foreboding. The air feels heavier the moment we step beneath the canopy, the warmth of the festival replaced by a chilling dampness. The shadows stretch longer, twisting unnaturally as the faint moonlight filters through the dense leaves above. Every sound—a rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig—seems magnified, and even the most confident among us begins to tread more cautiously.

Twilight takes the lead, her determined expression unwavering, though the tension in her shoulders betrays her unease. "The Everfree Forest," she begins, glancing over her shoulder, "is unlike any place in Equestria. The clouds move on their own, the animals fend for themselves, and the plants grow… without magic."

"That's why it's so creepy," Applejack says, her voice hushed. "Nothin' here works the way it's supposed to."

"Pfft, creepy?" Rainbow Dash scoffs, flying overhead. "This place isn't creepy. It's awesome! You just have to know how to handle it."

Pinkie Pie hops along, completely unbothered by the oppressive atmosphere. "I think it's neat! Look at all the twisty trees and the spooky shadows—it's like a big, creepy party!"

Rarity grimaces, stepping gingerly to avoid the mud. "It's more like a dreadful slog through filth. Ugh, why couldn't the Elements of Harmony be somewhere… nicer?"

"It's not that bad," Fluttershy says softly, though her wide eyes betray her nerves. "The animals here are just… different. They don't mean any harm. Usually."

Rainbow Dash smirks, landing in front of us and blocking the path dramatically. "Oh, come on! It's not like this is the scariest place ever." She narrows her eyes and leans in close, her voice dropping to a low, ominous tone. "Unless, of course, you've heard the stories…"

The group pauses, their gazes flicking toward her warily. Even Twilight hesitates, her confident stride faltering.

"Stories?" Fluttershy whispers, her wings trembling.

"Oh yeah," Rainbow says, drawing the moment out. "The Everfree Forest isn't just spooky—it's dangerous. Everypony who's ever come in has never…" She stretches the pause, her grin widening. "...come… out!"

Fluttershy squeaks and ducks behind Applejack, who gives Rainbow a flat look. "Now, why'd you have to go and say somethin' like that? You're just makin' everypony nervous."

Pinkie Pie giggles, completely unphased. "Ooh, spooky! Do you think there's ghosts? Or maybe big, scary monsters with glowing eyes and sharp claws?"

Rarity rolls her eyes. "Honestly, Rainbow Dash, must you be so dramatic? We have enough to worry about without you adding unnecessary theatrics."

"Unnecessary?" Rainbow laughs. "You're all thinking it—I'm just saying it out loud!"

I roll my eyes, hanging toward the back of the group. Great, I think bitterly. They're bickering, we're in a death forest, and I'm stuck with them. This is going perfectly.

But before I can wallow in my frustration, a deep rumble shakes the ground beneath our hooves. The group freezes, eyes darting around as loose stones tumble down the sloped path ahead.

"What was that?" Twilight asks, her voice sharp.

Another rumble answers her, louder this time. The ground beneath us shifts, cracks spiderwebbing through the dirt. Applejack shouts, "Everypony, move!"

But it's too late. The ground collapses sideways with a deafening roar, and suddenly we're sliding. Dirt and rocks give way as we skid down the steep cliff, ponies yelping and shouting in alarm. I scramble to find footing, but the slope is too steep, and gravity pulls us relentlessly downward.

The cliff rushes by in a blur of jagged rocks and loose dirt as we all tumble downward. Shouts and screams echo around me, and for a moment, it's chaos.

"Fluttershy, quick!" Rainbow Dash's voice cuts through the noise. I glance over to see her dive, snatching Pinkie Pie just as she starts to tumble toward the edge of a rocky outcropping.

"Gotcha!" Rainbow grins, wings flapping hard as she struggles to keep them both from plummeting further.

"Rarity!" Fluttershy's timid voice rises with surprising urgency as she flutters down, catching Rarity just before she crashes into a sharp boulder. The unicorn shrieks but grabs onto Fluttershy, her mane a tangled mess as they hover awkwardly downward.

Applejack, meanwhile, grabs onto a sturdy root sticking out of the cliffside, anchoring herself just as Twilight skids toward her. "Hold on, I'ma comin'!" she shouts, her voice barely carrying over the rush of wind. Applejack lets go of the root and reaches out, catching Twilight's hoof in an iron grip. Twilight yells something back, but I can't hear it clearly as the world shifts beneath me.

I'm alone now, sliding uncontrollably toward the edge. My heart pounds as panic grips me. There's no one left to grab me, no last-minute save. I'm going over.

The moment my hooves leave the cliff, my stomach drops, and for a few terrifying seconds, I'm weightless. The air rushes past me, howling in my ears as the ground races up to meet me. Above me, I hear the girls shouting, their voices tangled in panic, but there's no time to focus on them.

I'm falling.

Think! My brain screams. My horn lights up as I pull every ounce of focus I can muster into one desperate act. With a flicker of magic, I reach out to the air in front of me, compressing it with my telekinesis. The resistance builds quickly, and just before I hit the ground, the air cushions the fall enough to keep me from splattering.

The impact still hurts—a lot. I hit the ground hard, the force of the landing sending a jolt of pain through my legs and shoulders. For a moment, all I can do is lie there, gasping for breath and trying to ignore the sharp ache radiating through my body.

Above me, I hear panicked shouting.

"He's gone!" Applejack's voice echoes, tinged with horror.

"He fell!" Fluttershy cries, her soft voice breaking.

"No way!" Rainbow Dash's voice is louder, more frantic. "He can't be—"

"Everypony, get down there!" Twilight shouts, her tone sharp and commanding.

I groan, rolling onto my side as the sound of hooves scrambling down the cliff grows louder. My body feels like it's been through a rock tumbler, but nothing seems broken. I force myself to sit up just as the group comes into view.

"There!" Pinkie Pie yells, pointing a hoof. "He's alive!"

They rush toward me, a mixture of relief and shock on their faces. Twilight is the first to reach me, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "Kinetic, how—how are you okay? That fall was—"

"I'm fine," I interrupt, forcing myself to my hooves. I ignore the sharp protest from my legs and shoulders, plastering on the most casual expression I can manage. "It's just a little drop. Nothing I couldn't handle."

Rainbow Dash stares at me, slack-jawed. "What? You fell off a cliff! How are you not, like, a pancake right now?"

"I cast an air cushion spell..." I say smoothly, brushing dust off my coat. "Right before impact to slow myself down. Pretty basic stuff, really."

Twilight's brow furrows, and she steps closer, her gaze scrutinizing. "You did that while falling? That fast?"

"Of course," I say with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. "It's all about staying calm under pressure."

"But…" Twilight trails off, clearly thinking. "You'd need to think the chant, visualize the pattern, and focus your intent—all while plummeting. That's—" She pauses, her eyes narrowing. "That's incredibly advanced spellwork."

I force a laugh, waving her off. "Advanced? Nah. Just takes a little practice." My insides are screaming in protest at every step, but I keep up the charade. "It's really not a big deal."

The others look at me with a mix of awe and bewilderment. Applejack adjusts her hat, shaking her head. "Well, color me impressed. That's some mighty fine magic, Kinetic."

Fluttershy nods, her voice soft. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Pinkie Pie bounces in place, grinning. "I knew you weren't a pancake! I told you guys—he's like a super-awesome wizard!"

I glance at Twilight, who is still eyeing me suspiciously. Her gaze feels like it's peeling back layers, digging for the truth. I quickly redirect the conversation. "So, what happened up there? Looked like everypony made it down fine."

Rainbow Dash puffs out her chest. "Well, duh. I saved Pinkie, no big deal."

Fluttershy adds, "I, um… I caught Rarity."

Applejack nods toward Twilight. "Caught her on a ledge and made sure she got down safe. Guess we didn't figure you'd need help, what with all yer magic."

I force a grin, swallowing the lump in my throat. Didn't need the help. Sure.

"Well, I'm here," I say, keeping my tone light. "Let's not waste time. Nightmare Moon's still out there."

Twilight nods, though her gaze lingers on me a moment longer. "Right. Let's keep moving."

As we press deeper into the forest, my legs ache with every step, but I keep my head high, the facade of confidence firmly in place. Twilight's words echo in my mind, though, her suspicions gnawing at me. She thinks I'm some prodigy—a master of spellcraft under pressure.

We continue walking through the Everfree Forest, the oppressive darkness pressing down on us. The atmosphere is tense, with every rustle of leaves or crack of a twig making the group jump. My legs ache with every step, the soreness from the fall radiating through my body. I do my best to hide the limp, staying toward the back of the group and keeping my head low.

Twilight occasionally glances back at me, her sharp eyes no doubt noticing something's off. I keep my expression neutral, pretending I don't see her.

The path narrows, twisting through gnarled trees and uneven ground. Pinkie hums softly to herself, the only one who seems unaffected by the eerie surroundings. The rest of us stay quiet, our ears twitching at every unfamiliar sound.

Then it happens.

A deafening roar shatters the silence, and a massive shape crashes through the underbrush. A manticore emerges, its golden fur bristling, its bat-like wings flaring as it snarls. Its tail lashes menacingly, the stinger glinting in the faint moonlight.

"Run!" Twilight shouts, her voice sharp with panic.

The others scatter, darting into the trees or scrambling for cover. I instinctively step back, but the sharp pain in my leg makes me stumble. Running isn't an option—not with this limp. My heart pounds as the manticore locks eyes with me, its growl deep and menacing.

Think, Kinetic. Think fast.

My horn lights up as I grab a pinch of chalk from my pouch, tossing it into the air. The dust sparkles faintly in the dim light, and I channel my telekinesis into it, forcing the particles into a Doppler illusion.

The image forms quickly—a manticore, just as big and fearsome as the real one, charging straight at the creature. The illusion ripples with shifting colors, its edges pulsing with a faint red and blue hue in the improper lighting. I focus on making it as realistic as possible, adding the snarl, the flared wings, the fury in its eyes.

The real manticore stops, its growl turning into a confused snort. It takes a step back, its gaze darting between me and the illusion. For a moment, it seems to work. The creature looks genuinely unsure, pawing at the ground as it assesses the fake threat.

Then, Fluttershy steps forward.

"Wait!" she calls out, her soft voice trembling but steady. "It's hurt."

I blink, barely processing her words as she walks straight toward the manticore. The illusion flickers slightly as my concentration wavers. "Fluttershy, what are you—?"

"I just want to help." She says, her voice calm and gentle.

The manticore growls low, but it doesn't attack. Instead, it watches her cautiously, its tail lowering slightly. Fluttershy steps closer, her wings partially spread, her movements slow and deliberate. "Shh, it's okay," she murmurs, her voice soothing. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The manticore hesitates, then lifts its massive paw. Sure enough, a long, jagged thorn is embedded in its pad, the skin around it swollen and red.

Fluttershy smiles gently. "Oh, you poor thing. Let me help."

The others watch in stunned silence as she carefully removes the thorn. The manticore winces, but it doesn't lash out. Instead, it lets out a low, grateful rumble and nuzzles her cheek, purring like a giant housecat.

"That… actually worked," Rainbow Dash says, her voice filled with disbelief.

I let the illusion dissipate as they discuss Fluttershy's success, the particles fading into the air as I slump slightly, exhaustion creeping in. Fluttershy steps back, giving the manticore a final pat before it bounds off into the forest.

Twilight turns to me, her expression a mix of amazement and suspicion.

"That was… incredible," Twilight says, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. "You created that illusion in seconds. It wasn't just realistic; it reacted perfectly, like a real manticore. And you maintained it while the real one was right in front of you."

I shrug, trying to look nonchalant despite the ache in my legs. " It wasn't perfect, and I already told you—it's all about the layered mental structure. Reducing the load lets me adjust the illusion on the fly."

Twilight's skepticism deepens. "But even with your method, the level of detail you achieved would take incredible precision. That's not something most unicorns could pull off. It's not just about reducing the mental load—it's about execution."

I force a laugh, waving her off. "What can I say? I've got a knack for it."

Her gaze sharpens, and I know she's not buying it. She's piecing together more than I'd like. Just stick to your guns, I think.

"Honestly," I say, raising an eyebrow, "you're overthinking it. It's not about the complexity—it's about staying calm under pressure. And let's face it, Sparkle, I'm pretty good at staying calm."

She doesn't look convinced, but before she can press further, a low growl rumbles through the forest. The group stops, their eyes darting around nervously. The trees seem to twist and shift in the dim light, their gnarled trunks and branches forming monstrous faces. Sharp teeth, hollow eyes, and gaping maws leer down at us from every side.

"W-what's happening?" Fluttershy whispers, her wings trembling.

"It's the forest," Twilight says, her voice tight. "This place… it's alive."

Rainbow Dash takes a defensive stance, glaring at the trees. "Let them come. I'll take down whatever's out there."

Applejack snorts. "Ya can't buck a tree, Dash."

Pinkie Pie, however, is unfazed. Her grin widens, and she starts bouncing in place. "Ooooh, spooky tree faces! You know what this calls for?"

"Pinkie, this is not the time for—" Twilight starts, but Pinkie cuts her off with a cheerful song:

"When I was a little filly and the sun was going down…"

I blink, watching in disbelief as Pinkie begins to dance around the clearing, singing about laughing at fears to make them disappear. The others stare at her, their expressions ranging from confusion to horror as she hops up to one of the "monsters" and blows a raspberry at it.

"If you just laugh at all your fears, they can't harm you—hohoho!"

One by one, the monstrous faces dissolve into harmless trees as Pinkie's laughter echoes through the forest. The tension in the group slowly eases, and even the others start to laugh, their nervous chuckles joining Pinkie's infectious mirth.

I stand at the edge of the group, forcing a smile and a weak laugh, but it feels hollow. My body aches, my nerves are frayed, and the last thing I feel like doing is laughing. Pinkie glances over at me mid-giggle, her smile faltering slightly.

"That's a funny laugh," she says, tilting her head. "Are you okay, Kinetic?"

"Of course," I say quickly, straightening up. "Why wouldn't I be? That was… hilarious."

Pinkie's eyes narrow slightly, her usual cheer dimmed for a moment as she studies me. "Hmmm…"

I look away, focusing on the path ahead. The trees are back to normal, and the others are ready to move on, but Pinkie lingers for a moment, her usual boundless energy replaced by something quieter. She doesn't say anything, but I can feel her watching me as we continue deeper into the forest.

As we make our way deeper into the forest, the group's chatter becomes a constant hum in the background. I'm not paying much attention, too focused on keeping my aching legs moving and trying not to fall behind. The forest feels endless, and every shadow seems to stretch unnaturally long, making it harder to tell how far we've come.

The quiet is broken by a loud wail, and I snap back to reality. Up ahead, a massive purple sea serpent thrashes in a river, its dramatic sobbing echoing through the trees. His mustache is torn in half, and he's going on about how he can't possibly go on without it.

I blink, zoning out as the others try to reason with him. Something about vanity, mustaches, and… is Rarity cutting off her tail? I glance up in time to see her magically sever her tail hair and attach it to the serpent's face, forming a makeshift mustache.

"Oh, fabulous!" the serpent exclaims, twirling his new mustache dramatically. "Thank you, my dear!"

The group crosses the now-calm river, chatting about Rarity's sacrifice, but I barely register the conversation. My hooves feel like lead, and the ache in my shoulders has only gotten worse. By the time we reach the rickety wooden bridge, my focus is entirely on putting one hoof in front of the other.

Rainbow Dash takes off, flying across the gap to secure the bridge. She lands on the other side and begins tying it off, but she's taking her sweet time. I can hear bits of conversation drifting back—something about shadowy figures—but it's all just background noise to me.

When the bridge is finally secured, the others start crossing one by one. I hang back, watching as the wooden planks creak and sway under their weight. The bridge looks like it could snap at any moment, and I'm not about to take chances.

As I step onto the bridge, my horn lights up faintly. I focus my telekinesis under each plank I step on, pressing just enough to support my weight and keep it steady. It's a delicate balancing act, but it works. I make it to the other side without incident, though my horn throbs from the added strain.

When we regroup, the trees thin out slightly, revealing a massive stone structure ahead. The ruins are ancient, covered in vines and moss, with an air of power that seems to hum faintly in the background.

"There!" Twilight says, her voice filled with hope. "The Elements of Harmony should be inside."

We step into the main chamber, and there they are: five stone spheres, each resting on a pedestal. Twilight's face lights up as she rushes forward. "The Elements of Harmony…" she murmurs, her voice filled with awe. "We found them."

I stare at the stone orbs, trying to suppress the sinking feeling in my gut. Of course they're just sitting here, waiting for us, I think dryly.

Twilight doesn't seem to share my skepticism. "Let's get them down," she says, her horn glowing as she begins carefully lifting the orbs with her magic. "Once we figure out how to activate them, we can stop Nightmare Moon."

The others crowd around, murmuring excitedly. I stay near the edge of the room, leaning against a crumbling pillar and trying to catch my breath. Something about this feels off, but I can't quite put my hoof on it.

And then, just as Twilight sets the orbs on the ground, the faint hum of power in the air grows stronger. A chill runs down my spine, and I instinctively step back.

This isn't over, I think grimly. Not by a long shot.

As we stand in the chamber, Twilight examines the Elements carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration. She mutters to herself, piecing together what she knows about the ancient artifacts. The others watch her with a mix of awe and curiosity.

"Alright," Twilight says finally, her voice resolute. "I think I need to activate them with a spark. It's… a magical connection. Something to awaken their power."

Applejack nods. "Sounds like somethin' ya should do alone, sugarcube. We'll give ya some space."

"Good luck, Twilight!" Pinkie chirps, bouncing toward the exit.

The others file out one by one, offering words of encouragement. I linger near the back, watching the Elements as Twilight steps closer to them. There's a faint hum of energy in the air, and my stomach churns with unease. Nightmare Moon's about to show up.

Twilight glances back at me. "Kinetic, aren't you going with them?"

I hesitate, then shake my head. "Actually, I think I'll stay. You know, in case something happens. I'm good with magic too, remember?"

Twilight raises an eyebrow but doesn't argue. "Alright, but stay back. This might be dangerous."

I nod, my hooves already carrying me toward the Elements. Twilight turns her focus back to the orbs, her horn glowing as she channels her magic into them. The hum in the air intensifies, and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I limp a bit closer to the elements. My steps are slow and deliberate, as I wait for the Nightmare Moon to act.

A dark vortex swirls into existence around the Elements, the air twisting and pulling like a whirlpool of shadows. Twilight gasps, her magic flickering as she stumbles back. "What's happening?!"

I don't stop moving, my gut twisting as I watch the Elements rise into the vortex. I have to get through.

"Kinetic, wait!" Twilight shouts as I step toward the vortex, but it's too late. The dark energy surges, and before I can think twice, I'm pulled in.

Twilight doesn't hesitate. With a determined cry, she jumps in after me.

The world twists and turns as the shadows engulf us, and for a moment, everything is chaos. I can hear Twilight's voice, faint and distant, calling out in confusion. Then, suddenly, we land—hard—on a cold stone floor.

The room is dark and foreboding, lit only by the faint glow of the Elements, now arranged in a circle around us. Nightmare Moon stands at the center, her imposing form framed by her swirling, starry mane. Her piercing eyes lock onto us, and her lips curl into a wicked smile.

"You fools," she says, her voice cold and mocking. "Did you really think I would allow you to use the Elements against me?"

Twilight scrambles to her hooves, her horn glowing as she glares at Nightmare Moon. "We won't let you win!"

I push myself up slowly, my heart pounding. I knew this was coming, but being here—facing her—is entirely different from watching it on a screen. My mind races as I glance at the Elements, trying to think of a way to make myself useful without drawing too much attention.

Nightmare Moon laughs, the sound echoing through the chamber. "You're welcome to try, little unicorns. But you'll find that I am far beyond your power."

Twilight squares her stance, her magic building. I step to the side, orbiting Nightmare Moon. Whatever happens next, I need to be ready.

I just hope I don't regret this.

Nightmare Moon glares down at us, her gaze shifting between Twilight and me. There's fury in her eyes, but when her gaze settles on me, it sharpens into something colder, more calculating. She hasn't forgotten what happened earlier. My stomach twists. Great.

Twilight dashes toward the Elements, her horn glowing as she leaps past Nightmare Moon's reach. The alicorn snarls, her starry mane lashing out to intercept her, but Twilight is too quick, teleporting around the attack and skidding to a stop in front of the stone orbs.

I begin another heating 'spell', but as I vibrate the atoms atop her chest, her horn glows, and there's no damage.

I barely have time to process what's happening before Nightmare Moon turns her full attention to me. "You," she growls, her voice dripping with malice. "You dare challenge me again?"

My heart pounds, but I force a smirk, trying to hide my nerves. "What can I say? I'm full of bad ideas."

Nightmare Moon's eyes narrow dangerously, and her mane writhes like a living storm. She steps toward me, each hooffall echoing through the chamber. "You're nothing but a fool playing with forces you cannot comprehend. Do you think your little tricks will save you?"

I take a slow step back, keeping her attention firmly on me. "Tricks? You wound me, Your Majesty." I bow slightly, my tone dripping with mockery. "You've forgotten, haven't you? I have an element of my own."

She freezes, her gaze flicking over the room, searching for something she might have missed. I let her stew for a moment before pulling a pinch of chalk from my pouch. Her eyes snap back to me, her expression hardening.

"You've forgotten the most important element of all," I say, smirking as I toss the chalk dust into the air. With a quick burst of telekinesis, I fling it toward her face.

Nightmare Moon reacts too slowly, the fine powder striking her eyes. She snarls in pain, rearing back as her wings flare out, her mane lashing wildly. "You insolent—what is this?!"

"The element of surprise!" I quip, watching as she stumbles, blinded and furious.

Her magic lashes out in a blind rage, raw energy crackling through the chamber. I dart to the side, narrowly avoiding a streak of magic that scorches the floor where I'd just been standing. The air hums with power, and every instinct in me screams to run, but I stay put, eyes trained to her horn, trying to keep her focused on me.

"Do you always lose your composure this easily?" I taunt, my voice louder than it needs to be. "No wonder Celestia got the better of you. You're all theatrics and temper tantrums."

Her roar of frustration shakes the walls, and another blast of magic tears through the air. I duck behind a broken column, wincing as the shockwave rattles my bones.

From the corner of my eye, I see Twilight crouched by the Elements, her horn glowing as she tries to activate them. She's murmuring something to herself, her face set with determination.

"Keep talking, little unicorn," Nightmare Moon snarls, her mane whipping toward me like a striking serpent. I leap out of the way, landing awkwardly. "It will be the last sound you make."

"I'll give you this," I say, my voice carrying a forced confidence as I straighten up. "You do make a grand entrance. Very theatrical. The whole 'eternal night' thing? Classic villainy."

Nightmare Moon's eyes flare with fury, and her horn ignites with a menacing glow. Her magic surges forward, a beam of pure energy tearing through the chamber, aimed directly at me.

The attack pierces through my chest.

Or at least, through the illusion of me that I had conjured. The moment I ducked behind the broken column, I'd layered a Doppler illusion and sent it out. The fake version of me staggers back dramatically, flickering with faint reds and tans, before collapsing to the ground, motionless. The sight is convincing enough to draw a victorious sneer from Nightmare Moon.

"You were nothing but a nuisance," she hisses, her voice dripping with disdain. "Now, you're nothing at all."

Hidden behind the column, I suppress a shaky breath, wiping the sweat from my brow. My horn aches from the strain of holding the illusion steady, but it's worth it to stay out of her line of fire. As long as she thinks I'm down, she won't be looking for me.

From my vantage point, I watch Twilight. Her horn glows brighter as she works with the Elements, the hum of ancient power filling the room. The others are gathering around her now, their presence seeming to energize her efforts. The Elements begin to glow, faint at first, but growing stronger with each passing second.

Nightmare Moon notices. Her victorious expression falters, her gaze snapping toward the Elements and the group surrounding them. "No!" she roars, her mane flaring wildly. "I will not be defeated by the likes of you!"

Nightmare Moon steps forward, her dark energy swirling as she prepares another attack, but Twilight doesn't flinch. Her voice rings out, steady and resolute, cutting through the chaos.

"You're wrong, Nightmare Moon! You think you can stop us, but you've already lost!" Twilight turns to the others, her expression softening as she begins to speak. "Applejack, who reassured me when I was in doubt, represents the spirit of… honesty!"

A brilliant light engulfs Applejack as the Element of Honesty activates, its power flowing into her like a warm glow.

"Fluttershy, who tamed the manticore with her compassion, represents the spirit of… kindness!" Twilight continues, her words drawing gasps of realization from the others. Fluttershy's timid smile grows as a similar light envelops her, her element awakening.

"Pinkie Pie, who banished fear by laughing in the face of danger, represents the spirit of… laughter!" Pinkie hops in place as the light surrounds her, giggling uncontrollably. "Ooh, it tickles!"

"Rarity, who calmed a sorrowful serpent with a meaningful gift, represents the spirit of… generosity!" Rarity stands taller, her poise returning as the glow of her element fills her.

"Rainbow Dash, who could not abandon her friends for her own heart's desire, represents the spirit of… loyalty!" Rainbow hovers above the group, her wings flaring proudly as her element activates.

The energy from the Elements surges, but before it reaches its peak, Twilight turns, her eyes locking onto me. My stomach twists as she speaks my name.

"And Kinetic Flux, who distracted Nightmare Moon and bought me time to reach the Elements..." she starts.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch a faint, ominous glow. My heart stops. A suspiciously round rock in the corner of the room begins to vibrate subtly, its surface glimmering with an otherworldly light. It's faint—barely noticeable—but I see it.

Panic surges through me as I extend my telekinesis, gripping the stone and holding it firmly in place. My horn lights faintly as I press it down, willing it to stay still, to stop glowing, to stop being anything. I can't let Twilight—or anyone—see this.

"—is unrelated," I cut in, my voice sharper than intended as I force a confident grin. "Completely and utterly unrelated. Not even worth mentioning, really." I wave a hoof dismissively. "Please, go on."

Twilight hesitates, her brow furrowing slightly, but she nods. "Right…" She turns back to the group, her focus shifting back to the Elements. "And the final piece—the spark that resides in the heart of us all—creates the sixth element: the Element of… magic!"

The light from the Elements flares brilliantly, engulfing Twilight as the sixth Element forms above her. The magic swirls and coalesces, a radiant force that pulses with pure energy. Nightmare Moon's expression shifts from anger to panic as the power grows, the chamber trembling under its intensity.

I press harder with my magic, keeping the vibrating stone pinned to the ground. Sweat beads on my brow as I silently will the moment to pass, to let the light and noise drown out anything suspicious. Whatever that thing is, I can't let it become a problem.

The Elements unleash their full power, a rainbow of light cascading through the room and enveloping Nightmare Moon. She lets out a defiant scream as the energy surrounds her, breaking apart her dark form. The shadows dissipate, leaving only a smaller, trembling figure behind—a blue alicorn with a flowing mane like the night sky.

The chamber grows quiet, the light fading as the Elements return to their inert state. Twilight and the others look around, their faces a mix of relief and awe.

"Did… did we do it?" Twilight asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Applejack steps forward, her hat tilted back. "Ah reckon we did."

I finally release my hold on the stone, letting it settle back into stillness. My horn dims as I step forward, forcing a casual smirk. "Well, that was something, huh?"

Twilight glances at me, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You're awfully calm for someone who just witnessed one of the most powerful magical events in history."

"Calm?" I scoff, brushing imaginary dust off my coat. "I was trembling in my hooves the entire time. Really, it's just my natural charisma making me look composed."

Pinkie Pie bounces up beside me, grinning. "You're funny, Kinetic! But I don't think you were scared at all."

The atmosphere in the room is heavy with the aftermath of the Elements' power. Princess Luna, now smaller and unarmored, looks around with wide, uncertain eyes. The tension in the air seems to ease slightly as the group collectively exhales. Then, the faint sound of hooves tapping against stone echoes through the chamber.

A warm, golden light filters in, casting soft rays over the crumbled ruins. The ponies gasp as a regal figure steps into view, her wings flared and her mane shimmering with hues of pink, green, and blue. Princess Celestia.

She strides gracefully into the chamber, her expression serene but with a hint of warmth that seems to calm everyone instantly. The others, save Twilight, bow low, their movements instinctive and fluid. I hesitate, glancing around as my stomach twists. Do I bow? Would it draw more attention if I don't?

I lower myself slowly, mimicking the others, hoping my delay isn't noticed. Just blend in. Don't screw this up.

Celestia's voice rings out, gentle yet commanding. "Twilight Sparkle, my faithful student. I knew you could do it."

Twilight's face lights with a mix of pride and surprise. "But… you told me it was all an old pony's tale."

"I told you that you needed to make friends," Celestia replies, her smile widening. "Nothing more. I saw the spark in you when I sent you to Ponyville, and now I see it here today. You have proven that when you bring together the magic of friendship, you can overcome even the greatest darkness."

Twilight beams, and the others exchange smiles, the weight of their accomplishment sinking in. Celestia turns her gaze to the trembling figure of Luna, her expression softening further.

"Princess Luna," she says, her tone filled with both authority and tenderness. "It has been a thousand years since I have seen you like this. It is time to put our differences behind us. We were meant to rule together, little sister."

Luna looks up, tears welling in her eyes. "Sister… I'm so sorry. I missed you so much."

Celestia steps forward, lowering her head to nuzzle Luna. "I missed you too."

The room is silent except for the quiet sniffles of Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie, who both wipe away tears. Even Rainbow Dash looks like she's trying to play off a watery eye.

I hesitantly rise from my half-bow, keeping my face neutral. Touching. Really.

Celestia straightens, her gaze sweeping over the group. When her eyes land on me, my heart skips a beat. She smiles faintly, a look I can't quite read. "And you," she says, her voice calm yet curious. "Kinetic Flux, I presume?"

I blink, trying not to flinch under her gaze. "Uh… yes, Your Majesty."

Celestia's serene smile lingers, but there's something in her eyes—sharp, perceptive, and just a little too knowing. It's the kind of look that makes me feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"You've had quite the eventful night, Kinetic Flux," she says, her tone light yet deliberate. "From what I observed, you've been… resourceful."

My throat tightens. Observed? How much did she see?

"Oh, well," I stammer, forcing a chuckle. "I just did what I could to help. Nothing compared to what Twilight and her friends pulled off."

Celestia tilts her head slightly, her ethereal mane flowing as if moved by an unseen breeze. "Modesty is an admirable trait, but your actions speak for themselves. Few ponies would act so decisively in the face of such… uncertainty." Her gaze flicks to the spot where Nightmare Moon's vortex had appeared, just for a moment. "You have a knack for anticipating pivotal moments."

I swallow hard, my mind racing.

"Well," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady, "sometimes you just get lucky."

"Perhaps," Celestia replies, her tone remaining pleasant but with an undercurrent I can't quite place. She takes a small step closer, her towering presence intimidating, impossible to ignore. "Luck is an unpredictable ally, but preparation is what truly makes a mage."

There's a weight to her words that makes my heart sink. She knows. Or at least, she suspects something.

Celestia shifts her gaze, addressing the group at large. "Tonight has shown the strength of friendship and unity, but it has also revealed talents and potential that must not go unnoticed."

Her eyes return to me, her smile softening but not losing that edge of scrutiny. "Kinetic Flux, I believe you have shown great promise. To that end, I would like you to take the Archmage Test in Canterlot."

My stomach drops. "The… Archmage Test?" I repeat, trying to sound surprised and not horrified.

"Yes," Celestia replies, her voice warm yet resolute. "It is a practical examination of magical skill and ingenuity, designed to test the limits of even the most gifted unicorns. I believe it is a challenge you are well-suited for."

I shake my head, my mind scrambling for a way out. "I'm, uh, not exactly… book learned. A paper test? I'd bomb it. My knowledge is more, you know, hooves-on."

Celestia's smile doesn't waver. "The Archmage Test is not written. It is entirely practical. You will be asked to demonstrate your magical ability directly."

My throat tightens as I force a laugh. "Oh, well, even then, I'm not really—uh—Archmage material. I've got responsibilities here. My apprentice, Sweetie Belle! I'm teaching her, uh, advanced magic."

Celestia tilts her head slightly, her expression as serene as ever, but her eyes sheen with quiet amusement. "An Archmage would be an even greater resource for an eager young student. Sweetie Belle would undoubtedly benefit from having her mentor receive such a title."

I hesitate, realizing I've walked myself into a corner. "Right, but Ponyville has needs too. The Town Mage position is important! The, uh, crops won't rotate themselves, and who will manage the… seasonal enchantments?"

Celestia seems amused, her eyes twinkling as if she's watching a foal try to wiggle out of a lesson. "You are correct, Kinetic Flux. Ponyville does need its Town Mage. And what better way to fulfill that role than with the wisdom and resources of an Archmage?"

My excuses aren't landing, and it's starting to feel like I'm cornered by a very large, very patient predator. I glance at Twilight, who is watching with a mixture of admiration and curiosity, clearly thinking this is some great honor.

"Look, I appreciate the offer," I say, trying to sound earnest, "but I'm just not the type for big, fancy titles. I like to keep things simple, you know?"

Celestia's smile softens further, her voice light but with unmistakable authority. "Becoming an Archmage is not about titles. It is about service—to the kingdom, to your community, and to those who seek knowledge. And, of course, the stipend of 1,000 bits per month may help with such endeavors."

My ears perk up involuntarily, and my mind screeches to a halt. "A thousand bits?" I repeat, my tone betraying my sudden interest.

"Yes," Celestia says, her tone smooth. "A modest sum to ensure that Archmages have the resources to dedicate themselves fully to their craft."

The moment the words "a thousand bits" leave Celestia's lips, my entire perspective shifts. My hesitation, my doubts, my flimsy excuses—all of it evaporates like dew under the morning sun. A thousand bits. Per month.

I straighten up, adjusting my posture to appear dignified and composed. My voice takes on a newfound confidence as I flash my most charming smile. "Well, Princess, when you put it that way, how could I refuse such a noble opportunity? Naturally, I'd be honored to take the Archmage Test."

Twilight's eyebrows shoot up, and she tilts her head at me, clearly suspicious. "You just said you weren't Archmage material."

"That was modesty," I reply smoothly, waving a hoof as if brushing the thought aside. "I didn't want to boast, but if Equestria needs me in such a capacity, how can I say no? It's my civic duty, after all." And one thousand bits.

Celestia's serene smile doesn't waver, but her eyes twinkle with more of that subtle amusement that makes me a little uneasy. "I'm pleased to hear that, Kinetic Flux. I will see to it that the arrangements are made. You'll travel to Canterlot in one week."

"A week?" I repeat, my voice cracking slightly before I catch myself. "Plenty of time! Yes, more than enough time to prepare."

"Excellent." Celestia inclines her head slightly, a gesture that feels both regal and definitive. "I look forward to seeing what you will bring to the test."

Her phrasing makes my stomach twist. What does she mean by that?

As Celestia steps away, her regal presence leaving a lingering weight in the air, my mind spins. Will she be there during the test? The idea makes my stomach churn. It's one thing to bluff through local jobs or even a high-stakes battle against Nightmare Moon. But having Celestia herself watching me closely? That's a whole new level of scrutiny. What if she's already seen through me? What if she's planning to confirm her suspicions during the test?

The thought doesn't sit well, but I shove it aside. Focus on the prize. A thousand bits a month. Just get through the test, and you'll never have to worry about bills again.

The group starts heading back toward Ponyville, the weight of the night lifting as the dawn begins to break. Celestia and Luna walk ahead, their presence dignified. The others chatter excitedly, already talking about how this will be remembered forever.

Pinkie Pie bounces along beside me, her energy boundless despite the long night. "Oh my gosh! This is going to be the best 'We Saved Equestria' party ever! There'll be cake and streamers and—ooh! We need fireworks! Lots of fireworks!"

I force a chuckle, still lost in my thoughts. The reality of the test looms over me like a dark cloud, but Pinkie's infectious enthusiasm makes it hard to dwell on it for too long.

By the time we reach Ponyville, the town is already buzzing with activity. Word of Nightmare Moon's defeat has spread like wildfire, and the streets are lined with ponies cheering as we arrive. The decorations for the Summer Sun Celebration are still up, but now they feel like part of a victory parade.

As we approach the town square, Pinkie Pie somehow manages to dart ahead and organize an impromptu party in record time. Tables appear out of nowhere, piled high with food and drinks. Streamers and balloons float through the air, and a lively tune plays from somewhere—probably a magic artifact, I doubt they have gramophones.

Ponies gather around, congratulating Twilight and the others. I do my best to stay on the edges, smiling politely and nodding whenever somepony mentions my "heroic efforts." It's flattering, sure, but the attention is unnerving.

Twilight eventually finds me near the refreshment table, a plate of pastries hovering beside her. "So, Kinetic," she says, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "What's your plan for the Archmage Test? Got any big spells you're saving?"

I nearly choke on my drink. "Big spells? Uh, well, you know, I've got a few ideas. Can't reveal all my secrets just yet."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You realize Celestia will expect more than just clever tricks, right? The Archmage Test is about mastery and depth, not showmanship."

Fantastic. I force a confident grin. "Of course. I've got it all under control."

Her skepticism is palpable, but she doesn't press further. Instead, she looks toward the crowd, her expression softening. "You know, tonight really was incredible. I've never felt so… connected. Like we're all part of something bigger."

I pause at her words, letting them hang in the air. Twilight's looking at me with that earnest sincerity that's practically radiating off her. She clearly means it. For her, this whole night has been a life-changing revelation about friendship, unity, and whatever else the Elements of Harmony are supposed to symbolize.

"Yeah," I say, taking a sip of my drink to stall for time. "You guys are… something bigger, alright."

It's not a lie. They are something bigger. I mean, they literally just saved the world together. The connection between them is palpable, and they're all basking in it. But even as I say it, there's a hollow feeling in my chest.

Because I don't feel like part of that something bigger.

I glance over at the others—Pinkie Pie bouncing around, Rainbow Dash retelling the cliff incident with exaggerated flair, Fluttershy quietly tending to a flower arrangement, Applejack laughing with a group of townsfolk, and Rarity chatting with Luna about fashion. They're all so… together. Like they've been friends forever, even though I know they only met a day ago.

And then there's me. The outsider. The guy who got left to tumble off a cliff and fend off a manticore on his own. I don't hold it against them—not really—but it's hard to forget. When things got tough, I wasn't part of their something bigger. I was on my own.

I shake the thought away and focus on Twilight. She's still looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to say something profound. I give her a half-smile. "It's a good thing you all came together when you did. Equestria needed you."

Her brow furrows slightly. "Not just us, Kinetic. You helped, too."

I shrug. "Sure, in my own way. But this—" I gesture vaguely toward the group. "This is your thing. You and your friends. I'm just the guy who threw some chalk and hid behind a pillar."

Twilight looks like she wants to argue, but before she can, Pinkie Pie bounds over, her energy as boundless as ever. "Hey, you two! Stop being all serious and come party! There's cake!"

Twilight hesitates for a moment, then sighs and smiles. "Alright, Pinkie. We're coming."

As she walks away, I linger by the refreshment table for a bit longer, watching the others revel in their victory. The warmth of the celebration buzzes around me, but it feels distant, like I'm on the outside looking in. Eventually, I set my empty cup down and step away from the refreshment table. There's something more pressing on my mind—something I was promised.

The house.

 

[Spikos]

Cannot wait to see how this totally not a mage fails his way to the top of this magical world.

 

[shirouM]

Can I ask why you decided to make them look like that? I'm not complaining or anything I'm greatly enjoying your story, I'm just wondering is all. Unless you already answered why and I'm just being an idiot. Amazing sorry! Please give me more!

 

[Rehcra]

Not going to lie this is pretty Fire.

 

[Riddlest]

Can I ask why you decided to make them look like that?

Click to shrink...

Heho heha u g l y p o n i e s

 

[King_of_Idiocy]

In the archmage test:
Aight you know atoms now you will know what happen when you split them .

 

[Riddlest]

fuck, wrong chapters, will upload correct

 

[JustAreader]

fuck, wrong chapters, will upload correct

Click to shrink...

was about to say why the chapters seem weird and out of context

 

[Riddlest]

The thought of finally having a real place to stay, one that isn't a cramped inn room, sparks a faint glimmer of satisfaction. Potentially a thousand bits a month and a house? If nothing else, I'm finally catching a few breaks.

I weave through the crowd, scanning for Mayor Mare. She's easy to spot, standing near the stage and chatting with a group of ponies. Her smile is broad, but the faint lines of exhaustion on her face suggest she's been running on adrenaline all night.

As I walk toward her the pain in my shoulder suddenly flairs. With each step closer, a sharp, stabbing pain lances through my side, radiating outward with every breath. It's not the dull ache I've been dealing with—it's sharper, deeper, and wrong. I pause for a moment, clutching my chest, my breaths coming short and shallow.

Then, I feel it: a faint bubbling sensation beneath my skin, just below my collarbone, as though something is shifting where it shouldn't be.That's… not good.My classes as a mechanical engineer didn't cover much biology, but even I can guess what might be happening. Lung puncture? Great. That explains the wheezing.

The pain worsens as I move again, especially near my shoulder where every motion tugs on the injured rib. I grit my teeth and force myself forward, leaning slightly to one side to lessen the pressure. My vision blurs slightly, and I have to focus to keep from stumbling. Just get to her. Keep it together.

By the time I reach Mayor Mare, she's mid-sentence, her voice chipper as she addresses the gathered ponies. I muster what little strength I have left, interrupting as politely as I can. "Mayor… I need… help."

She turns, her smile faltering when she sees my face. "Kinetic? You look—oh dear! Are you alright?"

"No," I manage, my voice hoarse and strained. "I think… I need to get to a hospital."

Her eyes widen, and she quickly steps forward to steady me as I sway on my hooves. "You're hurt! Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Didn't… feel this bad before," I admit, wincing as the pain spikes again. "Can you…?"

"Yes, of course," she says, her voice brisk as she gestures to a nearby pony. "Bring a cart! Quickly!"

Within minutes, I'm being loaded onto a wooden cart, the rough movement sending fresh waves of agony through my chest. Every bump feels like it might tear something inside me. The the crackling air under my skin has spread, making every breath a strange, unsettling sensation.

We arrive at the small Ponyville hospital, an unassuming building with a simple green cross over the door. Inside, the smell of antiseptic and herbs fills the air as a nurse ushers me into an examination room. The doctor, a middle-aged unicorn with a disheveled mane and a tired expression, takes one look at me and frowns.

"What happened?" he asks, levitating a clipboard.

"Fell," I wheeze. "Cliff. Something… wrong with my ribs."

The doctor narrows his eyes and lights his horn, a faint glow washing over me as he mutters something under his breath. His frown deepens as he finishes, though the magic seems to provide him with no real insight. "Hmm," he says vaguely, looking as though he's just been told to solve a riddle. "That doesn't look good. Definitely some kind of… internal issue."

I suppress an eyeroll through the pain. "No... shit."

He raises an eyebrow and gestures to a nurse. "Get me the spellbook. Healing volume two."

The nurse disappears into a back room and returns with a hefty, dusty tome. The doctor levitates it in front of him, flipping through the pages with an absent expression. His lips move as he reads, his horn glowing faintly as he murmurs the mental chant of each spell, likely to jog his memory. He finally stops on a page, tapping it with a hoof. "This one should do."

"Should?" I wheeze, my voice sharp despite the strain. "You don't sound very... confident."

The doctor waves a hoof dismissively. "Healing magic is more art than science. You just need the right spell and the intent to fix the problem. It'll sort itself out."

I blink at him, my brain struggling to comprehend the sheer casualness of that statement. "That's it? You don't... even have to know... what's wrong?"

"Not really," he replies, his tone matter-of-fact. "The spell does the heavy lifting. All I need to do is focus on the idea of healing and let the magic work."

I stare at him, my chest tightening—not just from the injury, but from the sheer absurdity of it all. "You just… wing it?"

"Pretty much," he says with a shrug, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. "The magic knows what it's doing."

I lean back against the examination table, my mind reeling.Magic knows what it's doing? That's their entire method?I think back to the hours I spend agonizing over every detail of my illusions, calculating particle vibrations, visualizing patterns, crafting layer by layer. And here's this guy, flipping through a book like he's picking out a dessert recipe, trusting that magic will justfigure it out.

It takes everything I have not to scream. Instead, I manage a strained laugh that quickly turns into a wheeze. "Great. Just great."

The doctor doesn't seem to notice my exasperation. He closes his eyes, his horn glowing brighter as he begins the spell. The air around me grows heavy with magic, a warm, golden light enveloping my chest. I feel a faint tingling sensation as the spell takes hold, the pain in my side and leg easing slightly. The bubbling sensation under my skin fades, and I can finally draw a deeper breath without feeling like I'm being stabbed.

"There we go," the doctor says, stepping back and wiping his brow. "That should take care of it. Just take it easy for the next few days. No heavy lifting, no running, and definitely no falling off cliffs."

I nod slowly, still processing everything. The pain has lessened significantly, but I can't shake the frustration bubbling under the surface. "Thanks, Doc."

He gives me a reassuring pat on my good shoulder. "No problem. You'll be good as new in no time."

The absurdity of the situation churns in my mind, but then I remind myself: their magic is far from simple. I've seen how unicorns mumble those mental Latin chants, with intricate visualizations, and align their intent just right to make spells work. It's a kind of complexity that I can grudgingly respect, even if it still feels like they're stumbling through it without really understanding the mechanics.

At least it's not entirely effortless for them,I think, leaning back against the table with a groan.It's just… different. I have to know every piece of the puzzle, while they trust the magic to fill in the blanks.

The thought doesn't soothe all my irritation, but it's enough to keep me from spiraling further. I push myself off the table slowly, testing my legs. My ribs still ache, and there's a stiffness in my chest that makes deep breaths uncomfortable, but it's a far cry from the stabbing pain I felt earlier.

I pay, (100 bits!), and shuffle out of the hospital, squinting against the midday sun. The fresh air feels good, even if my body is still sore. As I make my way back toward the town square, I rehearse what I'm going to say to Mayor Mare about the house. Part of me wonders if I should be pushy about it, but she did help me get to the hospital.

The town is still bustling with activity. Ponies are cleaning up from the earlier festivities, chatting in small groups, and returning to their routines. The cheerful atmosphere contrasts sharply with my own lingering discomfort, but I do my best to blend in.

Finally, I spot Mayor Mare near the edge of the square, overseeing a team of ponies dismantling a stage. She looks up as I approach, her eyes widening slightly when she sees me. "Kinetic! You're up and about already? The doctor said you were in rough shape."

"Yeah, well," I say, forcing a grin, "magic fixes fast. Speaking of fixing things, I wanted to check in about the house you mentioned earlier."

"Oh! Of course," she says, her tone turning slightly awkward. "I, uh, meant to get it sorted sooner, but with everything going on…"

I wave a hoof dismissively. "I get it. Last night was a lot. Just wanted to make sure it's still on the table."

She nods quickly, gesturing for me to follow her. "Absolutely. It's just a short walk from here. I'll show you."

---

The house Mayor Mare leads me to is… underwhelming.

It sits at the edge of town, nestled between two modest homes, looking less like a place of residence and more like a glorified garden shed. The paint is peeling, the windows are small and grimy, and the roof tilts slightly, as if even it is disappointed with its lot in life.

"This is it?" I ask, my voice tight. My ribs still ache, and my patience is running thin. "This is the Town Mage's house?"

Mayor Mare winces, her smile strained. "I know it doesn't look like much from the outside, but it's—well, it's what we have. It's been empty for years, and I'm sure with a little cleaning, it'll be perfectly—"

"Perfectly shed-like," I mutter under my breath. My irritation grows. After everything—the cliff, the manticore, Nightmare Moon—I expected something,anything, better than this. "This is what I get for being conscripted into mortal danger?"

Mayor Mare doesn't seem to catch my tone. She produces a key, unlocks the door, and gestures for me to enter. "Why don't you take a look inside?"

Grumbling, I step forward and push the door open. The hinges creak, and for a moment, I brace myself for the disappointment of cramped quarters and musty air.

But then I step through, and my jaw nearly hits the floor.

The interior is vast. Impossibly vast. What should have been a single small room opens into a sprawling space, complete with a high, arched ceiling, multiple rooms branching off a central corridor, and a staircase spiraling upward to a second floor. The walls are lined with bookshelves, each packed with ancient tomes, and the air smells faintly of parchment and ozone. The space is well-lit, with glowing orbs floating near the ceiling, casting a warm, steady light.

"It's…" I start, my voice trailing off as I step further inside. "It's bigger on the inside."

Mayor Mare nods, looking pleased with herself. "It's enchanted, of course. Every Town Mage has lived here. It's… practical."

Practical? This place defies everything I know about, well,space.I glance back at the doorway—it's still the same size, the small exterior entirely incongruous with the interior dimensions. My mind races as I try to make sense of it.

"How?" I ask, turning back to her. "How does this even work?"

She shrugs. "Magic."

Of course. I rub my temples, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. Magic is the universal answer here, but it's not enough for me.There has to be a way to explain this.

I step into the main room, my boots echoing faintly on the polished wood floor, and begin piecing it together.If I had to recreate something like this without magic…

General Relativity.Space-time is malleable—gravity bends it all the time. If the enchantment somehow folded space within the walls of the house, creating a bubble where the interior volume expanded exponentially, it could explain the size discrepancy. But… there's no sign of gravitational distortion. I'd be heavier or lighter inside depending on how the space-time curve worked. Scratch that.

Quantum Superposition?Maybe the house occupies multiple states at once, its interior dimensions shifting depending on where you stand. But that would lead to overlapping probabilities, and I'd be noticing flickering or inconsistencies. Everything here feels stable, solid. Not quantum.

Then... Holographic Principle?Now, this has potential. If the entire interior of the house is encoded on the surface of the structure—the walls, the doorway—it could act like a projection. The small exterior would serve as the "boundary" for a much larger virtual space inside. It would function like a holodeck, where the space adapts to movement, creating the illusion of a vast interior while the actual physical space remains small.

"That's got to be it," I murmur, pacing the room. "The walls are acting as some kind of encoding layer, projecting a larger interior volume. It's not really big in here—it just feels that way because I'm walking through a projection."

Mayor Mare blinks at me. "Are you alright?"

I wave her off, still pacing as my thoughts race. "Yeah, yeah, fine. Just… thinking out loud. This place is incredible." I glance around, letting the vastness of the space sink in. If this really works the way I think it does—if it's somehow using a projection principle to create a functional interior—then maybe I could adapt it. Maybe I could use the same principles to enhance my illusions.

The Doppler illusion I've been perfecting is already pretty advanced. It manipulates light and color through particle vibrations, creating an effect so convincing that even Twilight was fooled. But this house takes things to another level entirely. It's not just creating the illusion of space—it's making it usable. Could I do something similar? Create an illusion so comprehensive, so immersive, that it feels real?

I stop in my tracks, my mind leaping ahead. If I could scale up the Doppler illusion, combining it with controlled sound and tactile feedback, I might be able to create a space that traps someone in an entirely fabricated environment. A prison of light and vibrations. It's a chilling thought, but the possibilities…

"Maybe not a prison," I mutter to myself, spinning the idea around. "A containment field? An escape mechanism? Something practical."

Mayor Mare clears her throat, snapping me out of my musings. "I'll leave you to explore. It seems like you're… enjoying the place."

I glance at her, suddenly remembering the last Town Mage. "Wait. You said this place was empty for years. What happened to the last mage?"

Her expression falters slightly. "Well… he just stopped showing up one day. No note, no explanation. We assumed he moved on to bigger things, but it's hard to say."

I frown, the idea unsettling. "So he just vanished?"

"Yes," she says, her tone brightening as if to brush away the implication. "But I'm sure you'll do fine here. Everypony already speaks highly of you."

I force a smile, but her words stick with me. Vanishing without a trace isn't exactly comforting, and the house's bizarre nature doesn't help. "Thanks. I'll, uh… get settled in."

She nods, passing the key to me and steps back toward the door. "If you need anything, you know where to find me. Welcome to your new home, Kinetic Flux."

With that, she leaves, closing the door behind her. The silence that follows is heavy, the vastness of the house suddenly feeling less inviting and more… ominous.

I wander further into the main room, my thoughts circling back to the holographic principle. If this house works the way I think it does, it's way beyond what I can recreate. I shake my head, letting out a bitter laugh. "Guess I'm not as clever as I thought."

The realization stings a little. For all my tricks, all my bluffs, there are still things out here—magical or otherwise—that are far beyond me. I run a hoof along one of the bookshelves, the tomes there ancient and worn. Maybe the answers are here, waiting to be found.

But for now, one thing is clear: this house is mine. Whatever happened to the last mage, they'll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hooves before I abandon it.

I stand in the center of the cavernous main room, trying to take it all in. The soft glow of the floating orbs overhead bathes the walls in a warm light, highlighting the intricate woodwork and the faintly shimmering runes carved into the baseboards. The place has an ancient, almost sentient feel to it—like it's been here forever and is still watching me.

With nothing better to do, I start exploring.

The first door I try leads to what appears to be a kitchen. The layout is simple—stone counters, wooden cabinets, and a sturdy table in the center. There's even a large, cast-iron stove tucked into one corner. For a moment, I'm impressed. A fully functional kitchen? Maybe this place isn't so bad.

Then I open one of the cabinets, and the stench hits me. My nose wrinkles as I peer inside to find food—if you can even call it that. Bread loaves that have long since turned to rock, jars of preserves caked in fuzzy mold, and sacks of flour that now seem to house colonies of bugs. My stomach churns, and I quickly slam the cabinet shut.

"Great," I mutter, stepping back. "Guess the enchantments don't extend to food preservation."

I move on, leaving the kitchen behind. The next door opens into a long hallway, lined with more doors than I can count. The place feels like it goes on forever, a labyrinth of rooms and passages. My hooves echo faintly on the polished wood floors as I wander, stopping at random doors to peek inside.

One room turns out to be a laundry room, complete with a large, rusted washbasin and a drying rack. There's a pile of old linens in the corner, most of them too far gone to save. Another door leads to a sitting room, its armchairs covered in faded upholstery and its bookshelves thick with dust. There's even a small fireplace, though the ashes inside are long cold.

I find a master bedroom near the center of the house. The bed is massive, its canopy frame draped with tattered curtains. Despite the decay, there's something regal about it—like this room was meant for someone important. A quick search of the adjacent wardrobe reveals a collection of moth-eaten robes and cloaks, their colors faded beyond recognition.

Beyond the master bedroom are three smaller guest rooms, each identical in layout. Simple beds, plain dressers, and a single window in each. The windows, I notice, don't show anything outside. Instead, they glow faintly, as if mimicking daylight. It's eerie, but I suppose it beats staring at a blank wall.

The more I explore, the more rooms I find. There's a study with an ancient desk piled high with loose parchment and broken quills. A workshop filled with rusted tools and half-finished contraptions. A music room with an out-of-tune piano and a set of dusty string instruments. The place feels endless, as though the house is bending space just to keep expanding.

"Does this place even have a limit?" I mutter to myself, stepping into yet another hallway that stretches far longer than it should.

The sheer scale of it is overwhelming. As much as I hate to admit it, it's impressive—far beyond anything I could ever create with my illusions. For all my bluster and tricks, this house operates on a level I can't even begin to comprehend. It's a humbling thought, one that keeps nagging at me as I wander through the endless corridors.

Finally, I stop in what looks like a library. The walls are lined with bookshelves, their contents ranging from leather-bound tomes to loose scrolls. A large, comfortable-looking armchair sits by a cold fireplace, and I sink into it with a sigh.

This house… it's a lot. Too much, really. But it's mine now. And if I'm going to live here, I'll have to figure out how to make it work. I head back to the master bedroom, glancing at the bed closer, the blankets look rough but the bed itself seems intact, and soft. I sink into the plush bed, it's a bit unsettling, but I set my pouches on the bedside table, falling asleep near instantly.

---

The next morning, I decide the house isn't going to clean itself. With the state it's in, I'd be lucky if it didn't sprout mushrooms by the end of the week. There's no way I'm living in a rotting mage's shack, TARDIS-sized or not. Time to pay Rosie a visit.

The apothecary's shop is just as chaotic as ever, its shelves crammed with everything from dried herbs to jars of dubious liquids. Rosie is behind the counter, her familiar face lighting up when she sees me walk in.

"Kinetic! Back for more chalk dust? Or are you finally branching out into real potions?"

"Neither, unfortunately," I say with a smirk, gesturing to the cluttered shop. "I'm here for cleaning supplies. Lots of them."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Cleaning? What's gotten into you?"

"Got a house now," I say casually, as though the very idea doesn't still feel surreal. "Figured I should make it livable."

Rosie chuckles, already moving to gather some items. "You? Cleaning? This I've got to see."

She pulls out a bundle of rags, a few bottles of herbal soap, and a straw broom that's seen better days. "This should get you started. Anything else?"

"Baskets," I say, scanning the shop. "Big ones. I've got a lot of trash to haul out."

Rosie grabs a couple of woven baskets from a shelf. "That'll be 15 bits."

I wince. 15 bits feels steep for a broom, some soap, and a couple of baskets. But then I remember Rainbow Dash's words about bargaining. It's time for my first haggle.

"15 bits?" I say, trying to sound incredulous. "Come on, Rosie, these baskets look like they've been here for years. How about 10?"

She narrows her eyes, clearly amused. "10? Please. These baskets are hoof-woven. 13."

"They're also covered in dust," I counter, picking up one and giving it a shake for emphasis. "12, and I'll throw in a good word about your shop around town."

She snorts. "You think ponies don't already know about me? 13 is my final offer."

I hesitate, then nod, pretending to consider it longer than I need to. "Alright, 13. But only because I'm feeling generous."

Rosie grins, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Pleasure doing business with you, Kinetic. Good luck with the cleaning."

---

Back at the house, I unload my supplies and get to work, starting in the kitchen. The rotting food is the worst of it, the stench almost unbearable as I toss everything into the baskets. The marble counters are grimy, the stone floors sticky with who-knows-what. It takes hours to scrub the place down, but eventually, it starts to look like a real kitchen again.

When I find the faucet—an old, tarnished spigot sticking out of the wall—I'm floored. Running water. Inside. I twist the knob, and a steady stream flows out, splashing into the basin below. It's not like the sinks I'm used to, more like a hose faucet, but still—running water.

"Where's this coming from?" I mutter, crouching to inspect the spigot. Is it pumped from a well? Maybe an underground reservoir? Or is this, like everything else about this house, fueled by magic?

I let the water run for a moment, marveling at its clarity and steady flow. If it's magical, it's a subtle kind of enchantment—nothing flashy, just functional. And it's the only running water I've seen in Equestria so far, which makes it all the more intriguing.

The rest of the house takes most of the day to clean. I scrub the grime from the master bedroom, clear out the rotting linens from the laundry room, and haul broken furniture and trash from the sitting room. By the time I'm done, the place looks almost livable, though my muscles ache from hours of work.

I collapse onto one of the newly cleaned chairs in the library, wiping sweat from my brow. The house may be bigger on the inside, but at least now it feels less like a forgotten relic and more like… home.

The library is quiet, the soft glow of the floating orbs casting a gentle light over the rows of books. I lean back in the chair, letting my head rest against the padded back. My body aches from a full day of scrubbing, hauling, and generally doing things my muscles aren't accustomed to, but it's a satisfying kind of ache. The kind that says,You did something worthwhile today.

For the first time since arriving in Ponyville, I feel like I have a place to call my own. Sure, it's weird and magical and far beyond my comprehension, but it's mine. A place to rest my head without worrying about the cost per night.

Eventually, I haul myself out of the chair and make my way to the master bedroom. The massive bed, freshly dusted and with the least-tattered linens I could salvage, looks like pure bliss. I set my bit bag and chalk pouch on the bedside table, then collapse onto the mattress with a groan.

It's soft. Luxuriously soft. The kind of bed you sink into, like it's hugging you back. My muscles practically melt as I stretch out, the aches and pains of the day fading into a pleasant numbness. "Alright," I mutter to myself, my eyes already drooping. "Maybe this place isn't so bad."

Sleep comes quickly, deep and dreamless.

---

When I wake, the first light of dawn is filtering through the faintly glowing windows. For a moment, I just lie there, enjoying the warmth of the blankets and the softness of the mattress. But eventually, duty calls.

I swing my legs off the bed, wincing slightly at the residual soreness in my side. The doctor's magic might have patched me up, but the muscles around the injury are still tender. Grabbing my bit bag and chalk pouch, I make my way out of the house glancing back at it. It doesn't seem as tilted as before, in fact the roof looks nearly straight.

The walk to Town Hall is peaceful, the crisp morning air helping to clear the fog of sleep from my mind. The streets are quiet, with only a few ponies out and about this early. I nod to a couple of them as I pass, their cheerful greetings making me feel more at home than I expected.

When I arrive at my office I step inside and set my things down on the desk. The window lets in the morning light, illuminating a small stack of papers that Mayor Mare must have left for me.

I sigh, settling into the chair behind the desk. "Alright, Kinetic," I mutter to myself. "Another day pretending you know what you're doing."

I sit at the desk, idly flipping through the stack of papers. Most of them are mundane—requests for minor enchantments that I can't make, a few complaints about the weather schedule, and a report on a barn that could use some "magical reinforcement" for its beams. I file them into neat piles, half-listening to the faint creak of the floorboards and the occasional chatter of ponies outside.

But my mind keeps drifting to the Archmage Examination. What exactly are they going to ask me to do? Practical test or not, it's bound to involve high-level spells—the kind that only unicorns with years of dedicated magical study can pull off.

Teleportation feels like an obvious one. It's flashy, versatile, and a cornerstone of advanced magic. I've seen Twilight do it in the show, and if I'm not mistaken, it's a favorite of Celestia's students. But how the hell am I supposed to replicate something like that? My tricks revolve around manipulating the physical world—particles, light, vibrations. Teleportation is on a completely different level.

I drum my hooves on the desk, scowling at the thought. Maybe I could fake it? An illusion of disappearing, followed by moving somewhere out of sight? But no, if the test is in front of Celestia or any skilled mages, they'll see through that in a heartbeat.

The problem gnaws at me, frustratingly out of reach. I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answer. There has to be some way to—

The door swings open, and I snap upright, startled. A young stallion stumbles in, his eyes wide with panic and his chest heaving like he's run a mile. His mane is disheveled, and there's a faint singe mark on his left flank.

"Town Mage!" he gasps, skidding to a stop in front of my desk. "I—I need help. It's my sister! Something's wrong with her magic!"

I blink, caught off guard. "Your sister's magic? What happened?"

"She's—she's glowing," he stammers, his voice shaking. "Her horn won't stop sparking, and everything she touches gets zapped! She can't even pick up a glass of water without it shattering. I think she tried a spell, and it… backfired or something."

My stomach tightens. This isn't another farmer needing crop advice or a carpenter wanting safety rituals. This is real magic—a problem I can't just science my way through.

"Alright," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the pit forming in my gut. "Take me to her."

The stallion nods frantically and leads the way out of the office. As I follow him through the streets, I mentally prepare myself for whatever I'm about to face.

Magic gone wrong. This is going to be tricky.

We move quickly through Ponyville, the stallion leading the way as he weaves between houses and carts. His panic is infectious, and I can feel my chest tightening with each step. This isn't some trick I can pull out of thin air—this is an actual magical crisis, and I don't even know where to start.

When we reach his house, the first thing I notice is the faint hum in the air. It's like static electricity, making my coat prickle. The stallion pushes the door open, and I step inside, greeted by a scene of chaos.

The living room is a mess. Cushions are torn, furniture is scorched, and the air smells faintly of ozone. In the center of the room stands a young mare, her horn sparking wildly with arcs of blue energy. Her eyes are wide with panic, and she flinches as another jolt of magic shoots out, smashing a nearby vase.

"Stay back!" she cries, her voice trembling. "I can't control it!"

"Uh…" I glance at the stallion, who's looking at me like I'm his last hope. My stomach churns.Think, Kinetic. Think.

I take a cautious step forward, keeping my voice calm. "Alright. Let's figure this out. What were you trying to do when this started?"

"I—I was just practicing a light spell," she stammers. "Nothing big! Just a little glow to help me read at night."

I frown, trying to piece it together. A light spell doesn't explain this level of magical discharge. Her horn is practically a lightning rod. "And then what happened?"

"I don't know!" she wails. "It just—" She gestures wildly, another arc of magic zipping through the air and singing the curtains. "—it exploded!"

I grit my teeth, trying to make sense of it. Light spell. Explosion. Out-of-control magic. Could it be some kind of magical feedback loop? Maybe she overcharged the spell, and now it's stuck, constantly building and releasing energy. But how do you stop something like that? I don't know enough about magic to be sure.

"Alright," I say, trying to sound confident. "First thing we need to do is stabilize the situation. Can you stop channeling magic? Just… turn it off?"

"I've been trying!" she cries, tears streaming down her face. "I can't! It won't stop!"

Of course not. That would've been too easy.

I step closer, feeling the hum of her magic grow stronger. The air around her feels charged, almost like static electricity before a storm. My brain races, scrambling for something—anything—that might work.

If this were physics, I'd treat it like an overloaded circuit. Maybe I can ground the excess energy? Or redirect it somewhere harmless? But this isn't physics. It's magic, and I have no idea what rules I'm working with.

Still, I have to try.

The hum of the charged air grows louder as I step closer, the energy radiating off her horn making the hairs on my coat stand on end. My mind latches onto the idea of treating this like electricity—it's the only framework I have to work with.

"Okay," I say, keeping my voice calm. "This is like an electrical circuit. If there's too much current, you need a place for the excess energy to go. We need to ground it."

"Ground it?" the stallion asks, his voice shaky. "How do we do that?"

I scan the room, my eyes darting over the mess. No wires, no modern tools—nothing even remotely helpful. My thoughts flicker to the medieval-era materials around me. "We need something conductive," I mutter, mostly to myself. "Something that can safely draw the magic away from her horn."

The stallion stares at me, clearly confused. "Conductive?"

"Metal," I clarify, snapping my gaze to him. "Do you have anything metal? A rod, a chain—anything long and sturdy?"

He blinks, then nods quickly. "We have an old iron poker for the fireplace!"

"Perfect. Get it."

As he scrambles to find it, I focus on the mare. Her sparks are becoming more erratic, and I can feel the heat of the discharged energy. "Listen," I say, trying to keep her calm. "We're going to redirect the magic. It's going to feel weird, but it'll stop the sparks, alright?"

She nods, her eyes wide and tearful. "O-okay."

The stallion returns with the iron poker, his hooves trembling as he hands it to me. The metal is old and slightly rusted, but it'll have to do. I grip it in my telekinesis, testing its weight.

"We'll need to get this into the ground," I explain, thinking out loud. "The earth can absorb the energy safely."

The stallion's eyes widen. "There's soil right outside!"

I nod while giving him a bit of a flat look. "Good. But she'll need to direct the magic from her horn to the poker. That's the tricky part."

The room is charged with tension, the magical energy crackling faintly as the mare's horn continues to spark. I carefully guide the stallion to jam the iron poker into the garden soil just outside the door, ensuring it's planted firmly enough to stay upright. The faint smell of ozone lingers in the air as I assess the situation.

"Alright," I say, turning back to the mare. "Here's what we're going to do. You're going to focus on directing all that energy into the metal poker. Think of it like a storm cloud sending lightning to the ground. The poker is your lightning rod—it'll take everything and send it safely into the earth."

Her expression is panicked, her ears pinned back as she glances nervously at the sparking energy around her. "But… how do I do that? I don't know how to stop it!"

"You don't need to stop it," I say quickly, trying to keep my voice steady. "You just need to aim it. Right now, your magic is like wild lightning—uncontrolled, striking everything. But with a little focus, you can guide it where it needs to go."

Her lip quivers, and she takes a shaky breath. "Okay… but I don't understand how."

"Alright," I say, stepping closer but keeping a safe distance. "Let me explain. Magic like this works with intent, right? You're thinking about light, but your magic got overloaded, so it's spilling everywhere. What we need to do is shift your intent. Instead of making light, think about sending that energy out—out of your horn, out of the room, into the poker. Visualize it as a single line of light, like a thunderbolt connecting your horn to the metal."

She frowns, her brow furrowed in confusion. "A thunderbolt?"

"Lightning," I say, simplifying further. "When the clouds send lightning to the ground, it's looking for the fastest way down. Your horn is like the cloud. The poker is the ground. All you have to do is tell your magic to flow to the poker, and it'll do the rest."

Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. "So… I just think about the lightning going there?"

"Exactly." I gesture to the sparking magic. "Close your eyes if it helps. Picture the energy in your horn moving down into the poker, like water pouring out of a jug."

The stallion looks at me, his expression dubious. "Will that really work?"

"It should," I say, more confident than I feel. "Magic obeys intent, and if she focuses hard enough, the energy will follow her command."

The mare closes her eyes, her horn still sparking erratically. Her breathing is uneven, but she starts to calm as she concentrates. She walks slowly to the door, a short distance from the grounded rod. I step back, watching closely as the arcs of magic begin to shift, their chaotic bursts becoming more focused.

"That's it," I say softly, keeping my voice steady. "You're doing great. Just keep visualizing."

Slowly, the sparks around her horn dim, condensing into a single bright thread of energy. It arcs toward the poker. The air hums as the energy flows into the metal, the poker glowing faintly as it channels the excess magic into the ground.

The room falls silent except for the faint crackle of dissipating energy. The mare opens her eyes, her horn no longer sparking. She looks at me, her expression a mix of disbelief and relief. "It worked?"

I let out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Yeah. It worked."

The stallion claps a hoof on my shoulder, his voice filled with gratitude. "You saved her. I don't know how, but you did."

I force a smile, my chest still tight from the tension. "Just… using what I know."And what I made up.

As the mare steadies herself, I glance at the glowing poker, the faint warmth still radiating from it. It's not a perfect solution, but it's enough for now. My mind churns, already considering how I could refine the method, but for now, I just feel relieved that it's over.

"Thank you," the mare says quietly, her voice trembling. "I thought it was going to destroy everything."

"You're welcome," I reply, the weight of the night settling over me. "Just… take it easy with your spells for a bit, alright?"

She nods quickly. The stallion gratefully hoofs me 50 bits and I step outside, the cool night air hitting my face. The garden is peaceful, the soil undisturbed except for the glowing poker sticking out of the ground. As I lean against the doorframe, catching my breath, one thought lingers:

I really need to figure out how magic works before it kills me.

The walk back to my office feels heavier than it should. The adrenaline of the event has worn off, leaving me with a dull ache in my ribs and the humbling realization of just how far out of my depth I am.

Still, the practical magic test looms in my mind like a storm cloud. I slump into the chair at my desk, absently twirling a clump of chalk in the air.

Teleportation.

I'm almost certain it's going to come up. If I know anything about the dramatic flair of magical societies—and I'm starting to feel like I do—it'll be the centerpiece of the test. Some impossible challenge: a high tower, a sealed chamber, or a sheer cliff with no obvious path. "Get here," they'll say. "Prove you're worthy."

The whole concept of teleportation feels maddeningly out of reach. Moving from one place to another instantly? That's not something I can fake, even with my best illusions. I stare at the far wall of my office, the bricks worn and irregular, and let my thoughts drift.

What if I didn't need to move instantly?

The idea unfolds slowly, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. Maybe the problem isn't about going somewhere in the blink of an eye. Maybe it's about bypassing obstacles to ensure I can get there eventually. If the goal is simply to reach an inaccessible location, perhaps I don't need to defy physics—I just need to cheat them.

My gaze sharpens on the wall. The grains of the bricks catch the light from my desk lamp, uneven and coarse. Each brick is a collection of smaller particles, bound together by mortar, friction, and a lattice of chemical bonds. If I can't go around the wall… what if I could go through it?

The idea of vibrating my body like some comic-book speedster crosses my mind, but I dismiss it almost immediately. Physics doesn't work that way.

The idea of vibrating my molecules to phase through the wall is tantalizing in theory, but it crumbles under scrutiny. For one, quantum tunneling—the idea that particles can pass through barriers due to wave-particle duality—isn't practical at a macroscopic scale. The probability of every single atom in my body tunneling through simultaneously is so astronomically low that it might as well be zero. And even if I somehow managed it, the energy required to vibrate my molecules at such a frequency would generate immense heat, enough to cook myself alive before I even got halfway through the wall. Not to mention the likelihood of structural failure in my body. No, vibrating like that is definitely out.

But loosening the bonds between the grains of the wall? That feels plausible. Bricks aren't solid monoliths—they're held together by a combination of weak intergranular forces and the chemical bonds of the mortar. If I could weaken those bonds, just enough to create a temporary path, I might be able to push the grains aside with telekinesis and slip through.

The more I think about it, the more the idea takes shape. The wall isn't an unyielding barrier—it's a collection of grains, bound together by forces that, while strong on a structural level, might be manageable on a smaller scale. If I could disrupt the intergranular forces—the weak bonds between the grains of the bricks and the mortar—I could loosen the material just enough to displace it.

I push myself up from the chair and move closer to the wall, running a hoof along the rough surface. Each grain of sand and piece of stone feels distinct under my touch, a patchwork of materials fused into one solid whole. The trick, I realize, is to work section by section, loosening and displacing just enough material to create an opening while minimizing the energy required.

I close my eyes, my horn lighting faintly as I focus on the wall. The familiar hum of my telekinesis fills the room, but this time, I narrow my intent. Instead of brute force, I imagine a delicate touch, like loosening the threads of a tightly woven fabric. If I can gently disrupt those weaker connections, the grains should shift, like sand spilling from a clenched fist.

I focus on a small patch of wall, about the size of a hoofprint, and push my telekinesis into the microscopic spaces between the grains. It's like trying to pry apart the layers of an onion without damaging the skin. Slowly, painstakingly, I feel the bonds weaken, the grains loosening their grip on each other.

"Alright," I murmur to myself, my voice barely audible over the hum of magic. "Now, move."

I push the loosened grains aside, sliding them into the surrounding brick like pieces of a dense puzzle. The material resists at first, the friction and mechanical interlocking fighting against me. But with enough pressure, the grains begin to shift. The wall ripples faintly, like clay under a sculptor's hands.

I repeat the process, working section by section, loosening and displacing the grains as I go. Each motion is deliberate, each patch of wall a new challenge. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my horn aches with the sustained effort, but I press on, forcing the material back in place behind me.

After what feels like an eternity, I finally make it through the other side. I step out of the wall, breathing heavily, my legs shaking from exhaustion. The air on the other side feels cool and fresh, but my relief is short-lived. When I glance back at the wall, my stomach sinks.

A pony-sized gap in the pattern mars the brickwork, the grains I displaced failing to settle back into place. The bricks sag slightly, the pattern broken and uneven, like a poorly patched wound.

I stare at the damaged wall, frustration bubbling up. This wasn't phasing through the wall—it was breaking it, squeezing through, and then haphazardly trying to rebuild it. The result? A mess. A glaring, uneven scar on what used to be a solid surface.

"Great," I mutter, pacing in front of the wall. "All that effort, and it's just glorified demolition and reconstruction."

I sit down heavily, my horn still throbbing from the exertion. The experiment technically worked—I made it through the wall—but the method was painfully inefficient. Not only did it drain me, but it also left behind an obvious, ugly patch. If I tried this during the Archmage Test, it wouldn't impress anyone. It would just look like I didn't know what I was doing.

I stare at the broken wall for a long moment, replaying the process in my head. The issue wasn't the technique itself—it was how I used it. I'd tried to loosen and move the entire wall, grain by grain, as I passed through. That kind of brute-forced micromanagement was bound to be exhausting.

Then it hits me. Why did I try to move the entire wall like some kind of living ooze? Why didn't I just remove one section entirely?

I smack my forehead with a hoof. "Of course! Just cut a square."

The solution seems so obvious now. Instead of trying to make the entire wall pliable, I could focus on a single, precise section—a square cutout. By loosening the bonds in just that line and pulling it out, I wouldn't have to waste energy on the rest of the wall. It'd be like cutting a door, stepping through, and then putting the piece back in place.

"Simple. Efficient," I say, shaking my head at myself. "Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

Eager to test my new idea, I step up to the wall again, horn glowing faintly as I prepare to focus on a clean, square section. This time, I picture the process clearly in my mind: loosen the bonds along a precise line, pull the square out in one motion, and replace it without disturbing the rest of the structure. Easy, right?

I push my magic forward, expecting the usual hum of telekinetic energy to fill the air. But instead, I feel… nothing.

I blink, confused. My horn glows faintly for a moment, sputters, and then fizzles out completely. I try again, this time concentrating harder. The result is the same—nothing happens.

"What the…" I mutter, tapping a hoof against my horn as if it's a faulty lightbulb. "Come on. Work."

I try once more, gritting my teeth and pushing harder. For a fleeting second, I feel a faint flicker of magic—a spark of potential—but it vanishes almost instantly, leaving me with an empty, drained sensation.

That's when it hits me: I'm out of mana.

The realization makes my stomach drop. I've never run out of mana before. Sure, I've felt tired after big 'spells' or prolonged use, but this? This is a whole new level. It's like trying to take a deep breath after running a marathon, only to realize there's no air left.

I stagger back from the wall, the exhaustion hitting me like a wave. My legs feel weak, and my head throbs dully. The soreness in my body from earlier experiments intensifies, and I slump to the ground, my thoughts racing.

"Great," I groan, covering my face with a hoof. "Not only did I fail, but now I'm literally useless."

The emptiness in my horn feels unnatural, almost wrong. I'm so used to relying on magic for even the smallest tasks that its absence feels like losing a limb. I can't even test my improved wall-cutting idea. What's the point of having a breakthrough if I can't use it?

Frustration bubbles up, but it's tempered by a creeping sense of vulnerability. I've always thought of my magic as a tool, something I could summon at will. But now, sitting here, drained and powerless, I realize how fragile that assumption is. Without magic, what am I? Just a pony with some chalk and a lot of bad ideas.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Panicking won't help. I just need to rest, eat something, and hope my mana replenishes itself. That's how it works… right?

I linger on the ground for a while, staring at the wall I just climbed through—or rather, the awkward, mismatched patch where I disrupted the brick pattern. It's not a gaping hole, thankfully, but it's obvious. Too obvious. If anyone sees this, I'll have some explaining to do.

With a weary sigh, I stand up. The emptiness in my horn is still unsettling, but I'm too tired to dwell on it. It's been a long day, and I've hit my limit. Time to call it a night.

Only then do I remember: I left my chalk pouch and bit bag on my desk inside the office. Of course, my brilliant plan to walk through the wall didn't account for basic logistics like carrying my stuff. Now I'll have to do the walk of shame—right back through Town Hall's front door.

"Fantastic," I mutter, shaking my head. "Just fantastic."

I make my way around the building, every step a reminder of my lingering exhaustion. The air is cool, the streets quiet now that most ponies have turned in for the night. When I reach the main entrance of Town Hall, I hesitate, glancing around to make sure no one's watching. The last thing I need is an audience.

I push open the door and step inside, the faint creak of the hinges echoing in the empty space. My office is just down the hall, but the walk feels longer than it should. The silence makes my hoofsteps seem louder, like the building itself is judging me.

When I reach my desk, my chalk pouch and bit bag are exactly where I left them. Grumbling under my breath, I grab them both in my mouth—because, of course, I'm too drained to use telekinesis—and head back out.

As I step into the hallway, I nearly collide with Mayor Mare.

"Oh! Kinetic!" she says, blinking in surprise. "What are you still doing here?"

I freeze, the chalk pouch and bit bag dangling awkwardly from my mouth. I mumble something incoherent, realizing too late that I can't speak with them in my teeth. Mayor Mare tilts her head, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, clearly trying to piece together what she's seeing.

I nod quickly, offering a muffled "Mhm!" before scurrying past her. My face feels hot, and I silently curse my luck. Could this day get any more humiliating?

By the time I step outside, the cool night air is a welcome relief. I make my way back to my house, trying to push the day's events out of my mind. When I finally reach the front door, the sight of the familiar, impossibly small exterior is oddly comforting. I step inside, the vast interior stretching out before me, and let out a long, tired sigh.

Dropping my chalk pouch and bit bag onto the nearest table, I take a moment to absorb the silence. The house feels almost too big, too empty, but tonight, that's exactly what I need.

I shuffle to the master bedroom, my hooves dragging slightly on the polished floor. The bed is just as inviting as it was the night before, and I sink into it with a groan, the soft mattress cradling my aching body.

"Tomorrow," I mutter to myself, closing my eyes. "I'll figure out the test. I'll figure out… all of it."

The day's exhaustion pulls me under quickly, I don't dream.

Author's Note:

Spoiler:That is nothow the house works.

Assumptions

Wall Dimensions:

A "person-sized hole" is approximately2 meters tall,0.6 meters wide, and0.2 meters thick.

Volume of the hole: V=2m0.6m0.2m=0.24

Brick Properties:

Bricks are primarily made of clay, with adensityof about 2000kg/m3.

Mass of material: m=ρV=2000kg/m30.24m3=480kgm

Bond Energy:

The energy required to weaken bonds is approximately the energy to overcomevan der Waals forcesbetween grains.

Assume1 Joule per gramof brick material is required to disrupt intergranular bonds (a rough estimate based on molecular interaction energy).

---

Energy Required

Total energy to loosen bonds: E=480kg1000g/kg1J/g=480,000J

---

Comparison

480,000 Joulesis equivalent to:

About 115 food calories(1 food calorie = 4184 Joules).

The energy released by a 0.1 kg (100 g) mass falling from a height of ~50 meters.

And that's without the chemical bonds.
Fuck i just realized hes not person shaped, oh well.

 

[Riddlest]

I wake up to the warm light of dawn filtering through the curtains of the master bedroom. For a moment, I lie still, letting the comfort of the bed lull me into staying put. But the quiet buzz of thoughts about the Archmage Test, the experiments, and everything else pulls me up. Four days until I have to go to Canterlot.

With a reluctant groan, I roll out of bed, stretch, and head toward the kitchen. After a quick breakfast of stale bread and water—I still haven't restocked properly—I grab my chalk pouch and bit bag and head out the door. The air is crisp, and the early morning light casts long shadows across the cobbled streets of Ponyville.

As I walk toward Town Hall, something catches my eye—a small wooden box perched on a post just outside my house. A mailbox. I hadn't noticed it before, and now I feel vaguely embarrassed. How long has it been sitting there?

Curious, I step over and flip open the lid. Inside is a small stack of letters, neatly arranged. Most of them look like the usual boring correspondence: a flyer for some kind of farmers' market, and a couple of envelopes addressed to "The Town Mage." I sort through them quickly, pausing when I reach an ornate envelope sealed with a golden emblem.

My stomach twists as I break the seal and pull out the letter inside. The paper is thick, the kind of stationary that radiates importance. Along with the letter are two golden tickets that catch the morning light, glinting in a way that makes my heart sink before I even read the message.

---

Dear Kinetic Flux,

It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been invited to this year's Grand Galloping Gala as a guest of honor. The Gala is an opportunity to celebrate unity and achievement, and your contributions to Ponyville and Equestria make you a deserving participant.

Enclosed are two tickets for the event. Your presence is not only welcomed but expected, as I believe you will find the evening both enriching and memorable. Please do not hesitate to bring a companion of your choosing.

I look forward to seeing you there.

Warm regards,
Princess Celestia

---

My eyes linger on the wordexpected. Of course. This isn't really an invitation—it's a royal decree dressed up as politeness. As if I don't already have enough on my plate with the Archmage Test.

I let out a long sigh, glaring at the tickets as if they're personally responsible for my predicament. "Enriching and memorable, huh? Sure."

Stuffing the tickets and letter into my bit bag, I close the mailbox with a snap and continue toward Town Hall. The quiet streets of Ponyville offer a brief reprieve from the weight of the letter, but the thought of dressing up and mingling with Canterlot's elite gnaws at the back of my mind.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. "Just great. More politics and pomp. Just what I needed."

The day has barely started, and I'm already dreading it.

As I make my way toward my office, the morning air is filled with the soft hum of Ponyville life. Ponies chatter, carts creak, and the occasional bird chirps overhead. It's almost peaceful—until I hear a voice that stops me in my tracks.

"Darling, I simply can't stop thinking about him," Rarity says, her voice carrying with its usual dramatic flair. I glance to the side and spot the Mane 6 seated outside at a café, enjoying an early lunch. I'm close enough to hear them, but they haven't noticed me yet.

"Who?" Rainbow Dash asks, her tone already teasing.

"Kinetic Flux, of course," Rarity replies, sighing wistfully. "He's just so… mysterious. That rugged demeanor, the way he vanishes so quickly. It's like he's running from something."

My stomach twists. Oh no. This can't be happening.

"Rarity, really?" Twilight asks, her voice skeptical. "He's interesting, sure, but he doesn't exactly strike me as the… romantic type."

"Oh, nonsense, Twilight," Rarity chimes. "That only makes him more intriguing! He's clearly a stallion of great depth, not to mention his magical aptitude. You yourself said his theories made you question your own aptness, didn't you?"

Twilight hesitates, her expression shifting slightly. "Well… yes, his approach is unique, but that doesn't mean—"

"He is pretty cool," Rainbow Dash interrupts, shrugging. "I mean, he took on Nightmare Moon, didn't he?"

"And made that sun thingy for the festival!" Pinkie Pie adds, bouncing slightly in her seat. But then her tone shifts, losing some of its usual cheer. "But… he doesn't seem very happy, does he? He fake-laughs a lot, like he's trying too hard."

I feel a flicker of irritation. How does she notice stuff like that so easily? Is she keeping tabs on me? How much does she really know?

"Oh, poor dear," Rarity says, her voice softening. "Living all alone in that dreadful little shack. It breaks my heart. Honestly, I'd love to scoop him up and take him home. Show him what true care and comfort look like."

The thought sends a shiver down my spine.Absolutely not.

The thought of Rarity—or any of them—thinking they could "fix" me by meddling in my life makes my skin crawl. And how does she even know where I live? I barely know where I live. My mailbox was a discovery for me just this morning.

"You think he'd go for that?" Rainbow Dash asks, grinning. "I mean, the guy's slippery. Every time we try to talk to him, he's gone before we can ask anything."

"I think he's just busy," Twilight says, though she doesn't sound convinced.

"I dunno," Applejack chimes in. "Somethin' about him seems… skittish. Like he's carryin' more than he lets on."

Fluttershy stays silent, her eyes downcast, but the others nod in agreement. I feel my stomach churn, a mix of irritation and unease bubbling up. It's bad enough that Rarity seems infatuated, but now the whole group is analyzing me like I'm some kind of puzzle to solve.

And then Rarity says the words that make my blood run cold. "Speaking of him, I simply must take Sweetie Belle to her magic practice with him this afternoon. She's been chattering non-stop about it since the last session."

That's my cue. Without waiting to hear more, I turn and dash toward my office. If Rarity is planning to show up with Sweetie Belle, I need to get there first. The last thing I want is another awkward encounter—or worse, to give her more reasons to swoon over me.

I reach my office, grateful for the solitude and the chance to regroup. The morning sunlight filters through the window, casting soft shadows on the walls. I have some time before Rarity and Sweetie Belle arrive, so I sit at my desk, the faint hum of the town outside serving as background noise.

The Archmage examination looms in my mind like an immovable obstacle. Now that I've figured out how to bypass physical barriers, I have to face the opposite challenge: bridging gaps or heights. If the test involves getting to a point that's visible but completely inaccessible—say, at the top of a sheer cliff or across a chasm—I need a solution.

My first thought is simple: Why not just lift myself with telekinesis?

I stand and focus, channeling my magic to envelop my body. The glow surrounds me, and I feel the familiar hum of energy. I push upward, expecting the satisfying sensation of lifting off the ground.

Instead, my magic fizzles out abruptly, like a candle snuffed by an unseen wind. I stumble slightly, the effort leaving a faint ache in my horn. Confused, I try again, but the result is the same. The magic wraps around me, starts to lift—and then collapses, as though the energy is being pulled away.

"Great," I mutter, slumping back into my chair. No self-levitation. Figures.

I lean back, running a hoof through my mane. The self-levitation idea had been a long shot, but its failure leaves me without a clear path forward. It seems magic has some kind of inherent interference when applied directly to living beings—like trying to use a magnet on another magnet with the same polarity. The more I think about it, the more it frustrates me.

I don't have time to dwell on it. A sharp knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, followed immediately by the sound of the door creaking open.

"Mr. Flux!" Sweetie Belle's cheerful voice rings out as she trots into the room, her horn glowing faintly. Rarity follows behind her, her expression as radiant as ever.

"Hello, darling," Rarity chimes, her voice dripping with enthusiasm. "I hope we're not intruding."

I stand quickly, smoothing my mane and forcing a smile. "Not at all. Perfect timing, actually."

Sweetie Belle beams at me and says, "Look what I figured out!" Her horn flares briefly grabbing some chalk from a bag she tied to her neck, and a small illusion materializes in front of her—a tiny, shimmering version of me. It's surprisingly accurate, with my tan coat, blonde mane, and even a faint glow around the illusion's horn.

Rarity claps her hooves together, her eyes sparkling with pride. "Isn't it marvelous? My little Sweetie is an absolute prodigy!"

I stare at the illusion, my mind racing. I'd only just started teaching her the basics of the Doppler illusion—vibrating chalk with levitation to manipulate light—and she's already managed this? It's rough around the edges, sure, but the fact that she grasped the concept and applied it on her own is impressive. I force a grin. "Wow, Sweetie. That's… really something."

"I practiced a lot while you were gone," she says, her voice brimming with pride. "I wanted to show you I could do it!"

Rarity sighs dramatically, leaning slightly toward me. "You're such an incredible teacher, Kinetic. Truly. I don't know how you manage to teach her so quickly. Most tutors couldn't get Sweetie to sit still, let alone master illusions."

I cough, stepping back subtly. "Well, she's a quick learner. Credit goes to her, really."

Rarity's smile widens, and she opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off with a hurried, "Why don't we get started on today's lesson? Sweetie, let's see what else you've got."

Rarity looks momentarily disappointed but allows herself to be ushered toward the door. "I'll be back to pick her up later. Don't work her too hard, now."

As soon as the door closes, I turn back to Sweetie, still a bit thrown by her progress. I'd planned to have her continue working on the Doppler illusion, but now I need a new plan. Something more challenging, but still within her reach.

"Alright," I say, pacing slightly as I think. "Today, we're going to take a different approach. Instead of me showing you the solution, we're going to work through the process of creating a spell from scratch."

Her eyes widen. "From scratch? Like… make my own spell?"

"Somewhat," I say, nodding. "Magic, especially the kind I use, isn't just about memorizing chants or copying patterns. It's about understanding the problem and figuring out how to solve it. So let's start with this: if you needed to cross a gap too wide to jump, but magic is your only tool, what would you do?"

Sweetie Belle tilts her head, her expression thoughtful. "A gap? Like a really big one?"

"Exactly," I reply. "Imagine there's no bridge, no way around, and you can't fly. How would you use magic to get across?"

She furrows her brow, tapping her chin with a hoof. "Hmm… I could use my horn to lift myself?"

I shake my head. "Good idea, but it doesn't work. Trust me, I've tried. Magic has trouble affecting living things like that. Think about the gap itself. How could you change it or work around it?"

Sweetie's face scrunches as she thinks. "Maybe… make something to stand on? Like a floating platform?"

"Not bad," I say, nodding. "What would you use for the platform?"

She hesitates, glancing around the room. "Um… rocks? Or maybe the ground?"

"Good thinking," I say with a nod. "Let's go outside and try it. Sometimes, hands-on—or, uh, hooves-on—is the best way to figure these things out."

Sweetie Belle's face lights up with excitement, and she trots eagerly behind me as we make our way out of the office and around the back of Town Hall. The area is clear and flat, with a few sparse patches of grass and dirt. There are no loose rocks or anything particularly useful lying around, but that's part of the challenge.

Sweetie glances around, her enthusiasm dimming slightly as she notices the lack of materials. "Um… there's nothing here to use."

"Exactly," I say, gesturing toward the ground. "You've got to work with what you've got. Can you figure out a way to make something solid enough to stand on?"

She frowns in concentration, her horn lighting up as she directs her magic at the dirt. A patch of ground begins to shimmer faintly, vibrating as she tries to shape it. Slowly, it rises, forming a crude platform about the size of a dinner plate.

"There!" she says, stepping toward it. "That should work, right?"

"Try standing on it," I suggest, folding my hooves and watching closely.

Sweetie places a hoof on the platform, but it sinks immediately, scattering into loose dirt. She frowns, scrunching her nose. "It's like sand! Why didn't it hold?"

"Good question," I reply, prompting her to think. "What do you think went wrong?"

She stares at the platform—or what's left of it—her brow furrowed. "Maybe… I didn't make it strong enough?"

"Could be," I say. "What's making it collapse? Is it the magic, or something else?"

Sweetie hesitates, glancing back at me. "The dirt isn't sticking together… like it's too loose."

"Exactly," I say, nodding. "Materials like dirt or sand don't naturally hold their shape unless they're compacted or bound together somehow. That's because their particles are held together primarily by weak intermolecular forces, like van der Waals forces, and sometimes by electrostatic interactions if there's moisture involved. These forces alone aren't strong enough to support a large structure unless the material is compacted to reduce gaps or combined with something adhesive to create bonds between particles."

Sweetie tilts her head. "So... how would I fix that?"

"Well," I say, "if you're using telekinesis, you could theoretically manipulate those forces directly. On a microscopic level, you'd have to exert enough precise pressure to push the particles together, compressing them until friction and contact forces provide structural integrity. Alternatively, you could create artificial bonds by 'gluing' the particles together with magical energy that mimics the effect of cement or another binder. Imagine using your magic to form tiny molecular connections between the grains, like ionic or covalent bonds."

Her ears perk up slightly, eyes wide. "Covalent bonds? That sounds advanced."

"It is," I say with a chuckle. "But think about it: covalent bonds happen when atoms share electrons to create a stable connection. If your telekinesis can manipulate particles at the atomic level, you could simulate that by forcing atoms to share electrons where they wouldn't normally. It's the same principle that makes solid materials like rocks hold together."

Sweetie frowns thoughtfully. "So… to make a dirt platform, I'd either squish it super tight or weave magic between the particles to hold them together?"

"Exactly," I say, grinning. "And if you want something even stronger, you could try forming crystalline structures, like quartz or diamond. That would take even more precision, though. For now, just focus on compressing and binding it enough to hold its shape."

Sweetie tilts her head, her horn glowing faintly as she tries again. This time, the platform is smaller, and she focuses on compressing the dirt as tightly as she can. She steps on it carefully, and while it doesn't collapse entirely, it still shifts under her weight.

"It's better," she says, her voice tinged with disappointment, "but it's still not good enough."

"That's because a big platform like this takes a lot of energy," I explain. "You're doing great, but magic doesn't just make problems disappear. It works best when you understand the materials and physics behind what you're doing."

Sweetie Belle sighs, sitting back on her haunches. "So how do I make it better?"

I watch her closely, seeing the gears turning in her head, but I decide to give her a nudge in the right direction. "Here's a question for you, Sweetie. Do you really need a platform that big?"

She blinks, tilting her head. "What do you mean? I need something to stand on, right?"

"Sure, but think about this: the bigger the platform, the more energy it takes to make it solid and hold it up," I explain. "What if, instead of making one big platform, you made four smaller ones? Just big enough for your hooves."

Her eyes widen. "Four? But that's, like, four times the work!"

"Not exactly," I say with a small smile. "Remember the Doppler illusion? You already learned how to split your focus to make multiple vibrating patterns at once. This is just another kind of multitasking. Not more energy, just more focus."

Sweetie Belle looks thoughtful, her ears twitching as she considers the idea. "So… I could make little disks for each hoof instead of one big platform?"

"Exactly," I say, nodding. "It's like walking across stepping stones instead of trying to stand on one big raft. Each disk is only a fraction of the size, thus a fraction of the energy. Plus, you'll get practice balancing and coordinating at the same time."

She bites her lip, clearly still a bit unsure, but I can see the determination in her eyes. "Okay," she says finally. "I'll try it."

I step back, giving her plenty of space as she focuses her magic. Her horn glows brightly, and the dirt beneath her hooves starts to shimmer and shift. Slowly, four small disks of compacted dirt begin to form, each one about the size of a dinner plate. They hover just above the ground, held aloft by her magic.

Sweetie takes a cautious step onto one of the disks, her hoof settling on the compacted surface. It holds. She smiles hesitantly, then steps onto the next disk, her magic adjusting to keep the others steady. By the time she's standing on all four disks, her face lights up with pride.

"I did it!" she exclaims, her voice brimming with excitement.

"You sure did," I say, smiling despite myself. "How does it feel?"

"It's a little wobbly," she admits, shifting her weight to keep her balance. "But it's working! I'm not sinking!"

"That's because you're managing the disks well," I say. "It's not easy to keep all four stable, but you're doing great. Now, try walking."

Sweetie hesitates, but after a moment, she carefully shifts one disk forward, stepping on to the air before moving the next. The movement is slow and deliberate, but it works. She makes it about ten steps before the glow of her horn starts to flicker, and the disks collapse into the dirt.

"Phew," she says, plopping onto the ground and wiping her brow. "That was harder than I thought."

"It's not easy," I agree, "but you did an amazing job. You figured out the problem, came up with a solution, and made it work. That's what magic is all about."

Her smile is radiant, and for a moment, I feel a twinge of pride. Teaching Sweetie Belle might not be what I planned, but seeing her progress like this makes it worth it.

I watch Sweetie Belle's glowing smile, an idea forming in the back of my mind. Her little experiment worked, and while it was far from perfect, it gave me something new to try. I step forward, brushing off the dirt from my hooves as I ignite my horn.

"Not bad," I say casually, as if her accomplishment didn't just inspire me. "Let me show you how it's done."

Sweetie tilts her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. "You're gonna try it?"

"Of course," I reply, channeling magic into the dirt below my hooves. "I've… uh… done something like this before."

Her eyes widen slightly, and I suppress a smirk. Keeping up the 'wise sage' act never gets old.

I focus on the dirt, compressing it into small, sturdy disks beneath each hoof. It's a bit tricky to balance, but as I lift my front hooves, the dirt disks stick like makeshift shoes, moving with me. I take a cautious step forward, then another, feeling the strange sensation of walking on air.

The balance is delicate, but it's surprisingly easy to maintain once I get the hang of it. The magic draw is minimal—far less taxing than displacing an entire section of wall or trying to lift a larger platform. I lift my hind hooves, stepping upward into the air. The disks hold firmly, and I manage to walk a few steps into the sky before an idea strikes me.

What if I didn't have to step?

I shift my weight forward slightly, angling my hooves downward. The disks slide under me, almost as if I'm skating. The motion is fluid, effortless, and for a brief moment, I'm gliding through the air with only the faint hum of magic as a reminder of how ridiculous this is.

"Well," I say, letting my hooves touch the ground again, "it works. Not bad for an old trick."

Sweetie Belle stares at me, her jaw practically on the floor. "That was amazing! You didn't even step—you just… glided!"

I wave a hoof dismissively, hiding the fact that I'm mentally filing away this "trick" for later use. "It's all about efficiency. Less energy, more results."

She beams, her tail swishing excitedly. "What's it called?"

I hesitate, realizing I hadn't thought that far ahead. "Uh…"

Sweetie Belle bounces slightly, practically vibrating with excitement. "Can I name it?"

I nod, suppressing a grin. "Sure, go ahead."

Her eyes light up as she ponders for a moment, then declares proudly, "The Lift Disk spell! It's like you're lifting yourself with disks of magic!"

"Lift Disk," I repeat, as if testing the name. "Not bad. It fits."

Sweetie beams, clearly thrilled that I let her name the spell. I step down from my hovering position and dust off my hooves, hiding the faint ache in my horn from the experimentation.

"Alright," I say, gesturing for her to follow. "Let's head back inside. You've earned a break."

As we walk back toward my office, Sweetie chatters excitedly about how she's going to practice the Lift Disk spell, her enthusiasm contagious despite my lingering exhaustion. I can't help but smile, even as I mentally catalog the possibilities this "spell" might open up for me in the future.

As we approach the office door, I glance down at Sweetie Belle, her expression beaming with excitement. I can already see her mind racing with ideas for how she's going to use theLift Diskspell. Her enthusiasm is contagious, but it also makes me nervous. She's young, eager, and probably not thinking about the dangers.

"Alright, Sweetie," I say, my tone firm but gentle. "Before you go practicing this all over town, there are a few things you need to remember."

She stops mid-bounce, her ears perking up. "What is it?"

"First," I say, gesturing toward the ground, "don't go too high. Keep yourself close to the ground, no more than a pony's height. If something goes wrong—if you lose focus or the disks give out—you don't want to fall from too far up."

Her excitement dims slightly, and she nods, looking thoughtful. "Okay… no higher than this," she says, holding a hoof just above her head.

"Good," I say, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Sweetie follows me, and I set my chalk pouch and bit bag on the desk before turning to face her again.

"Second," I continue, "don't go too fast. There's this thing called air friction. When you're moving through the air, the faster you go, the more the air pushes back against you. If you try to go too fast, it'll be harder to control the disks, and you could lose your balance."

Sweetie tilts her head. "Air friction? Like… when the wind blows in your face?"

"Exactly," I say, glad she's catching on. "The faster you move, the stronger that force becomes."

Her brow furrows. "But Rainbow Dash goes super fast all the time, and she's fine."

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah, about that… Pegasi are weird. They've got their own kind of magic that lets them do things like that. It's not just about wings—it's something deeper. Like, they can control weather, walk on clouds, and apparently ignore most of the rules of aerodynamics."

Sweetie's eyes widen. "So… it's their magic?"

"Yeah," I say, acting like it's a fact I've known forever. "But we're not pegasi, so we don't get to play by those rules. You've got to be extra careful when you're using the Lift Disk spell."

She nods, looking more serious now. "Okay. No going too fast."

"Good," I say, feeling a little relieved. "And one more thing—momentum."

"Momentum?" she echoes, tilting her head again.

"Yeah. It's the thing that makes objects keep moving once they start. If you're gliding along and you suddenly try to stop, all that momentum has to go somewhere. It could throw you off balance or make you crash into something."

Sweetie winces, clearly imagining the potential mishaps. "Oh. That sounds… bad."

"It is," I say. "So when you're practicing, make sure to slow down gradually. Don't try to stop all at once."

She nods earnestly. "Got it. No sudden stops."

"Good," I say with a small smile. "You're getting the hang of this."

Sweetie grins, her tail swishing. "Thanks, Mr. Flux! I'm gonna be so careful."

"You'd better be," I say, though my tone is light. "Because if I find out you've been zipping around town like Rainbow Dash, I'll—" I pause, thinking, "—make you write out all the equations for air friction and momentum by hoof."

She giggles. "Okay, okay! I promise!"

After a brief break to let Sweetie Belle's enthusiasm simmer down and give myself a moment to breathe, we head back outside to practice theLift Diskspell. The morning sun has shifted slightly, casting long shadows across the grassy area behind Town Hall. Sweetie's practically bouncing as we set up, her horn already glowing faintly in anticipation.

"Alright," I say, standing a few paces away from her. "Let's try it again. This time, focus on keeping the disks steady and balanced under each hoof. Don't rush it—just one hoof at a time until you've got all four working."

"Got it!" she chirps, her tail swishing excitedly.

Sweetie lights her horn, and four small disks form beneath her hooves, glowing faintly as they shimmer in the air. She steps onto them gingerly, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. The disks wobble at first, but she steadies herself, managing to lift off the ground by about half a hoof's height.

"Yes!" she exclaims, beaming as she hovers in place. "I did it!"

"Great job," I say, nodding approvingly. "Now, try moving forward—slowly. Remember what we talked about: air friction and momentum. Keep it smooth."

She nods, focusing intently as she shifts her weight. The disks glide forward, and Sweetie moves along with them, a huge grin on her face. "This is so fun!"

"Careful," I remind her, keeping a close watch. "It's not a race. Just keep practicing control."

She glides a little farther, making small adjustments to the disks to stay balanced. After a few successful passes, she stops and hops off, the disks dissipating as she lands. "This is so cool!" she says, bouncing in place. "I can't wait to show the Crusaders!"

I raise an eyebrow. "The Crusaders?"

Sweetie freezes mid-bounce, her cheeks turning pink. "Oh, um… yeah. You know, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. My friends."

"I know who they are," I say, crossing my hooves. "What are you planning?"

She glances away, her ears flattening slightly. "Well… we were talking about how we could try something new to get our cutie marks, and I thought… maybe I could makeLift Disksfor all three of us, and we could try flying together?"

I blink, trying to process the sheer chaos that would result from that plan. "You want to put all three of you in the air at once?"

Sweetie nods sheepishly. "It'd be fun! And maybe we'd get our cutie marks in… I don't know, flying magic or something?"

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose with a hoof. "Sweetie, I admire your enthusiasm, but do you realize how dangerous that sounds? You're barely able to control the disks for yourself, let alone for two other ponies. What happens if one of them panics? Or if the disks fail?"

Her ears droop further, and she looks down at the ground. "I just… thought it'd be cool to do something together."

I soften my tone, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. "I get it. You want to share something amazing with your friends. But magic like this takes practice. A lot of practice. If you want to get your cutie marks, you should work on something all of you can do safely."

She hesitates, then nods slowly. "Okay. I won't do it. Not yet, at least."

"Good," I say, standing back up. "Because the last thing I need is to explain to your sister why all three of you crashed into a tree."

Sweetie giggles at the thought, her mood lightening. "Yeah, she'd be so mad."

"Mad doesn't even begin to cover it," I mutter, shaking my head. "Now, let's get back to practicing. You're doing great so far, but I want to make sure you've really got this before we call it a day."

Sweetie grins, her confidence returning. "Alright! Let's do it!"

The afternoon sun is high in the sky by the time Sweetie Belle really starts getting the hang of theLift Diskspell. She zips around in short, careful bursts, her hooves perched on the glowing disks as they glide smoothly above the ground. Her control isn't perfect—occasionally, a disk wobbles or fades out, but she quickly adjusts and recovers. Watching her progress is oddly satisfying, even if I have to keep my nerves in check every time she wobbles a little too much.

"Alright," I say after her latest successful loop around the practice area. "Let's call it a day. You've made a lot of progress, but you don't want to overdo it."

"Aww," Sweetie pouts, hopping off her disks and letting them fade away. "I was just getting good at it!"

"You're doing great," I say with a smile, genuinely impressed. "But magic like this can tire you out faster than you think. Take it slow, and you'll get even better."

Sweetie grins, clearly proud of herself. "Thanks, Mr. Flux! This was the best lesson ever!"

Before I can respond, a familiar voice calls out from behind us. "Sweetie Belle! What in Equestria were you doing?"

Rarity strides toward us, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. "Were you… flying?"

"Uh-huh!" Sweetie chirps, running up to her sister. "It's called theLift Diskspell! Mr. Flux taught me!"

Rarity's jaw drops, and she looks between Sweetie and me with an expression of disbelief. "Lift Disk? I've never heard of such a spell!"

"Well," I say, scratching the back of my head and forcing a nonchalant tone, "it's a bit of a… rare spell. Sweetie here 'reinvented' it during our lessons. Very impressive, really."

Sweetie nods enthusiastically. "He already knew it, but I made it work all on my own!"

Rarity's astonishment quickly shifts into excitement. "Darling, this is incredible! You're teaching her things I didn't even know existed!" She turns to me, her eyes sparkling. "You're truly remarkable, Mr. Flux."

"It's nothing," I say quickly, waving a hoof. "Sweetie's a natural. She deserves the credit."

"Oh, nonsense," Rarity says, stepping closer, her tone dripping with admiration. "You've clearly unlocked her potential in a way no other tutor has. Your methods are so… unique."

Her tone takes on a familiar, overly sweet lilt, and I immediately feel the warning bells in my head go off. "You know," she says, her voice dropping slightly, "I could certainly use a private tutor myself. Magic isn't my forte, but perhaps with the right instructor…"

I cut her off with a quick laugh, hoping to steer the conversation away from wherever she's headed. "I think you're doing just fine without magic, Rarity. Besides, I've got my hooves full preparing for the Archmage Examination."

"Oh, but surely a pony of your talents could spare a little time," she persists, taking another step closer. "It doesn't have to be strictly magical instruction. I'm sure we could…collaborateon something."

The emphasis on the word "collaborate" makes my skin crawl. I glance at Sweetie Belle, who's too busy inspecting the ground for chalk dust to notice the subtext, and force a polite but firm smile. "I appreciate the offer, but I've really got to focus on the exam. Celestia's expectations are… demanding."

Rarity pouts slightly but seems to take the hint. "Very well, Mr. Flux. But do keep me in mind, won't you? Talents like yours shouldn't go to waste."

"I'll… think about it," I say, knowing full well that I won't.

Sweetie Belle tugs at Rarity's foreleg. "Can we go now, Rarity? I want to tell Apple Bloom and Scootaloo about the spell!"

"Yes, of course, darling," Rarity says with a sigh, her eyes lingering on me for just a moment longer. "Do be careful, though. Magic can be so unpredictable."

As soon as Rarity and Sweetie Belle are out of sight, I let out a long breath and head in to town, after eating and loitering a bit, I head back to my not-so-ordinary shed. Stepping inside, the familiar vastness greets me—high ceilings, endless hallways, and that faint hum of magic in the air. I make my way to the master bedroom, the soft glow of the floating orbs lighting my path.

I'm done for the day. I don't care about Celestia's examination, Sweetie Belle's spells, or Rarity's relentless flirtation. All I want is to collapse into bed, close my eyes, and pretend I'm anywhere else. Preferably somewhere without talking pastel horses.

I twist the spigot in the corner, the metallic creak followed by a stream of water splashing into a nearby basin. Splashing some onto my face, I shake off the day's lingering tension and crawl onto the bed. The mattress is absurdly soft, a strange luxury in a place so steeped in weirdness. For a moment, it's just me and the quiet, and I feel myself drifting off.

Then, a sharp knock echoes through the house.

I groan and bury my face in the pillow, hoping whoever it is will just go away. But the knock comes again, louder this time. Whoever it is, they're not giving up.

Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffle toward the door. "Who in Equestria knocks on a shed at this hour?" I mutter.

When I open the door, there's Twilight Sparkle, her eyes bright with curiosity and something bordering on manic energy. "Kinetic!" she says, brushing past me before I can say anything. "We need to talk."

I rub a hoof over my face, already regretting answering the door. "Couldn't this wait until tomorrow? I was just about to—"

"No, it can't," she cuts in, spinning to face me with that determined gleam in her eye that always spells trouble. "That Lift Disk spell Sweetie Belle was using… It doesn't match any known magical framework. I've been researching all evening, and I can't find anything remotely similar."

"It's just a basic application of telekinesis," I say, keeping my voice as casual as possible. "Nothing groundbreaking."

"Basic? Basic?!" she sputters, her nostrils flaring slightly. "Are you serious? That spell requires an immense level of control, precision, and an understanding of material cohesion! That'snotbasic telekinesis!"

I sigh, leaning against the doorframe. "It's not as complicated as you think, Twilight. Sweetie figured it out after one lesson. She's got the talent—you're overthinking this."

Twilight narrows her eyes, her gaze darting around the room. "And this house! How are you living in a dimensional anomaly? This place violates every known law of thaumic and spatial theory!"

"It was like this when I got it," I say with a shrug. "Probably some ancient enchantment. I don't mess with it."

"You'relivingin it!" Twilight shouts, gesturing wildly at the endless corridors. "How can you not be curious about how it works? Aren't you the least bit concerned about the potential dangers of unstable pocket dimentions?"

"Not really," I say. "It hasn't exploded yet."

Twilight glares at me, her mane starting to frizz at the edges. "You're unbelievable! You're sitting on groundbreaking magical discoveries, and you're just… brushing them off like they're nothing!"

"Because they're not my discoveries," I say firmly. "The house was here before me, and the Lift Disk is just a clever trick with telekinesis. That's all. No deep magic, no ancient secrets. Just physics."

Twilight freezes. "Physics?" she echoes, her head tilting slightly. "What's physics?"

Oops.

"Oh, uh… I meant telekinesis," I say quickly. "Just telekinesis. Basic stuff."

Her expression sharpens. "No, you didn't. You said 'physics.' That means something, doesn't it? Something you're not telling me."

I wave a hoof dismissively, trying to look nonchalant. "It's just a word. Forget I said it."

Twilight doesn't move, her eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. "No, I don't think I will. You're deflecting. Again. This isn't just telekinesis—telekinesis can't compress loose earth into a stable platform strong enough to hold a pony."

"Sure it can," I say with a shrug. "If you're good enough."

Her jaw tightens. "No, it can't. I've studied telekinesis extensively. It's about moving objects, chunks of earth, not manipulating their internal structure. When you gather loose earth you just slide through. The kind of precision and force required to compress earth like that would—" She stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening as realization dawns. "You're doing something to the particles themselves, aren't you? Like with the illusion. You're manipulating… something smaller. Something… fundamental."

I keep my face as neutral as possible, but inside, my brain is screaming.Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking!

Twilight starts pacing, her hooves tapping rhythmically against the floor as her mind works furiously. "If it's not just telekinesis, then it's something else entirely. Maybe… maybe you're using some kind of harmonic resonance to stabilize the particles? Or could it be a spell that manipulates the cohesion of matter itself?"

"Sure," I say vaguely, "if that makes sense to you."

She stops pacing and fixes me with a piercing stare. "You're not denying it."

"I'm not confirming it, either," I say with a smirk, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Twilight groans, her ears twitching in frustration. "You're impossible! Do you realize what this could mean? If you've discovered a way to manipulate matter at a fundamental level, it could revolutionize magic as we know it! And you're just brushing it off like it's nothing!"

"Because it is nothing," I say firmly, waving a hoof. "It's just a trick. No deep magic, no ancient knowledge. Just… intuition."

Twilight narrows her eyes. "Intuition doesn't let you bypass the foundational laws of magic! What you're doing isn't just advanced—it's unheard of. And then there's Sweetie Belle."

I raise an eyebrow, trying to appear uninterested. "What about her?"

Twilight's voice takes on an exasperated edge. "How is Sweetie Belle—a filly who struggles with basic spells—able to use something as intricate as the Doppler Illusion in seconds? I watched her cast it, and that spell requires layered mental structuring to reduce the mental load of the intent while allowing real-time corrections to the visualization to bypass the chant! You said that's how it works! Do you have any idea how advanced that is?"

I sigh, scratching the back of my head. "She's got a knack for it."

"A knack?" Twilight sputters. "She could barely levitate objects without her magic sputtering out, and now you're telling me she can create an illusion that perfectly simulates motion and perspective shifts? With no chant? No framework? Just a knack?"

"Pretty much," I say, shrugging. "Maybe she's a prodigy."

Twilight glares at me, her frustration palpable. "Stop playing dumb, Kinetic! You're the one who taught her! You explained how the spell works—layered mental structures, real-time adjustments, amplifying inherent energy in the particles. That's not something you just stumble into. It's a level of control even I would struggle with, and you're acting like it's nothing!"

"Well, maybe I'm just a really good teacher," I say, flashing a grin that I know will irritate her.

Her eye twitches, and she takes a deep breath, clearly trying to stay calm. "If you're such a good teacher, then explain it to me. Step by step. How does the Doppler Illusion work?"

I hesitate for half a second too long, and Twilight's expression sharpens. "That's what I thought," she says, her tone biting. "You can't explain it because it's not magic. At least, not the kind of magic anypony knows."

"It's magic," I say quickly, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "Just… unconventional."

Her brows narrow, and she stomps a hoof. "Unconventional?! You're bending the rules of magic—or breaking them entirely—and you're not even taking it seriously! Do you have any idea how much research this could inspire? How much this could change?"

I sigh, leaning against the doorframe again. "Twilight, it's not that deep. It's just a different way of thinking about magic. That's all."

"A different way of thinking?" she echoes, her voice rising. "What does that even mean? What kind of thinking?"

I glance at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but her piercing gaze. "Creative thinking."

She groans, throwing her hooves in the air. "You're infuriating! First the Lift Disk, now the Doppler Illusion, and you won't explain anything! It's like pulling teeth trying to get a straight answer out of you!"

"Maybe you're just overthinking it," I say lightly, though my insides are twisting into knots. "Sometimes simple things seem complicated when you analyze them too much."

Twilight takes a sharp step forward, her face twitching with agitation. "Overthinking? You're claiming Sweetie Belle—Sweetie Belle—managed to pull off an advanced spell that takes years of study, and it's just because I'm overthinking it? Do you even hear yourself?"

"Loud and clear," I say, suppressing a sigh. "Look, Twilight, I get that this is important to you, but you're really making a mountain out of a molehill. It's late, and I think we could both use some sleep."

Her ears flatten, her eyes narrowing. "You're trying to get rid of me."

"No, I'm trying to get some peace and quiet," I counter, rubbing my temples. "You're a great mage, Twilight. Really. But this? You're obsessing over nothing."

"Nothing?" she snaps. "The fundamental principles of magic—of reality—aren't 'nothing!' You're hiding something, and I—"

"Twilight," I interrupt, my voice firm but tired, "I think it's time for you to go before you cause more of a disturbance."

Before she can respond, there's a low rumble, and to my surprise, the floor beneath her hooves begins to shift. Like a conveyor belt, the polished wood moves Twilight toward the door, her hooves skidding as she scrambles to keep her balance.

"What—what's happening?!" she shouts, wobbling to stay upright.

"I… uh…" I stammer, just as bewildered. "The house does that sometimes."

"The house?" she yells, her voice high-pitched with both indignation and confusion. "You live in a house that throws ponies out?"

"It's more like a gentle nudge," I say, watching helplessly as the floor slides her toward the open door.

"This isn't a nudge!" Twilight shouts, as she tries to resist the inexorable movement. "It's kicking me out!"

I hold up a hoof. "It's nothing personal. The house just… has its own way of saying goodnight."

As if to punctuate my words, the conveyor belt speeds up slightly, depositing Twilight just outside the doorway. She stumbles but manages to catch herself, turning to glare at me as the door creaks ominously shut behind her.

"Unbelievable!" she shouts, her muffled voice barely audible through the thick door. "You and your ridiculous house! I'm not done with this, Kinetic Flux! I will figure out what you're hiding!"

I lean against the door and let out a long, weary sigh as her hoofsteps finally recede into the distance. "Sure you will," I mutter under my breath.

The house hums softly around me, as if pleased with itself, and I glance down at the now-still floor. "Thanks for the assist," I say dryly.

The house doesn't reply. The hum fades into the usual faint ambiance of the space, leaving the silence to settle back in like nothing happened.

I blink down at the now-ordinary floor, my thoughts racing. "Are you…?" I trail off, half-expecting some sign of acknowledgment, but the house remains still. Dormant.

I take a cautious step back and glance around the expansive room. Everything looks the same—same glowing orbs lighting the space, same shelves of dusty tomes lining the walls, same faint scent of parchment and ozone hanging in the air. But now there's an undercurrent of tension in my chest. This house had always been weird, sure. Bigger on the inside, defying every law of physics I knew, butalive?That was new.

"Okay," I mutter, pacing a little. "Maybe it's some kind of… enchantment? An autonomous system? Or maybe…" My voice trails off as my mind veers into uncharted territory.

I shake my head quickly. No. Overthinking it won't help. This house has been nothing but convenient since I moved in—spacious, with running water, and apparently able to eject unwanted guests. If it's alive, then at least it's on my side. For now.

But the thought sticks with me as I wander back toward the spigot to splash some water on my face again. The metallic creak of the tap feels louder in the stillness, the cold water biting against my fur. Staring at my reflection in the basin, I take a deep breath.

"Right," I tell myself firmly. "It's fine. The house is fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine."

The silence feels heavier now, like the house is listening, even if it's not responding. I glance around again, half-hoping for another hum or some sign that it's awake, but nothing comes.

With a sigh, I turn and head back toward the master bedroom. My hooves echo faintly against the wooden floor, the sound reminding me of just how vast this place really is. As I crawl back onto the absurdly soft mattress, I can't help but glance at the door, expecting another interruption. But the door remains closed, the quiet uninterrupted.

Lying there, staring up at the high, arched ceiling, I let the questions swirl in my mind.How does the house know when to act? Is it aware of everything inside? Is it even really alive, or just some ancient magic running on autopilot?

I turn over with a groan, burying my face in the pillow. "Don't overthink it," I mutter to myself. "It's just a house. A weird, possibly alive house that knows when to toss ponies out. Totally normal."

The words don't convince me, but eventually, the tension starts to fade, and exhaustion takes over. As I drift off, one final thought floats through my mind:

If the house can do that, what else is it capable of?

Author's Note:

Summary

---

Big Ground Platform:

Lift Energy: ~0.35 kcal To lift a 1m ground platform 0.1m thick, weighing 150kg, 1470 J (0.35 kcal) is needed.

Move Energy: ~0.18 kcal/m To move the platform horizontally 1m, overcoming friction (735 J or ~0.18 kcal) is required.

Total Energy: ~0.53 kcal/m Combining lift and movement gives a total of 2205 J (0.53 kcal).

Four Hoof Disks:

Lift Energy: ~0.004 kcal Each disk (area 0.00785m, thickness 0.1m) weighs ~1.18kg, requiring 11.56J (~0.004 kcal) to lift. For four disks, total lift energy is 46.24J (~0.004 kcal per disk).

Move Energy: ~0.013 kcal/m Moving each disk 1m horizontally requires 5.78J (~0.013 kcal for all four disks).

Total Energy: ~0.017 kcal/m Combining lift and movement for all four disks gives 69.36J (~0.017 kcal).

---

Proofs

1. Big Ground Platform

Mass of Platform:

Volume: V = 1 m 0.1 m = 0.1 m

Mass: m = ρ V = 1500 kg/m 0.1 m = 150 kg

Lift Energy:

E = m g h = 150 kg 9.8 m/s 1 m = 1470 J

Move Energy:

Friction force: F_friction = μ m g = 0.5 150 kg 9.8 m/s = 735 N

Work to move: W_move = F_friction d = 735 1 = 735 J

Total Energy:

E_total = 1470 735 = 2205 J

Convert to kcal: E_total, kcal = 2205 / 4184 0.53 kcal

---

2. Four Hoof Disks

Mass of Each Disk:

Disk area: A = πr = π(0.05 m) 0.00785 m

Disk volume: V = A h = 0.00785 m 0.1 m 0.000785 m

Disk mass: m = ρ V = 1500 kg/m 0.000785 m 1.18 kg

Lift Energy for 4 Disks:

E_lift per disk = m g h = 1.18 kg 9.8 m/s 1 m 11.56 J

Total: E_lift total = 4 11.56 46.24 J

Move Energy for 4 Disks:

Friction force per disk: F_friction = μ m g = 0.5 1.18 9.8 5.78 N

Work per disk: W_move per disk = F_friction d = 5.78 1 5.78 J

Total: W_move total = 4 5.78 23.12 J

Total Energy:

E_total = 46.24 23.12 69.36 J

Convert to kcal: E_total, kcal = 69.36 / 4184 0.017 kcal

---

Because I didn't know:
Inscientific usage, a "calorie" (with a lowercasec) is the amount of energy needed to raise 1 gram of water by 1C. Onekilocalorie(kcal) equals1,000of these small calories.

However, when we talk aboutfood energy(the "Calories" on food labels, often capitalized asCalories), we're actually referring tokilocalories (kcal). In other words:

1 "food Calorie" (kcal)=1,000 small calories.

1 "food Calorie" (kcal)4,184 joules (J).

 

[Riddlest]

The next morning, I wake up to the soft glow of the floating orbs overhead, my brain already buzzing with the same relentless thoughts that plagued me all night. No dreams, no peace, just endless circling questions.

Rolling out of bed, I grab a sheet of paper from the desk in the corner. Writing things out usually helps me sort my thoughts, so I jot down the two options I can't stop weighing.

---

Option 1: Admit the truth

Pros:

Finally be honest. No more lying or dancing around questions.

Twilight might back off once she understands I'm not doing magic but just clever tricks.

Sweetie Belle might be disappointed, but she's young. She'll get over it. Over me.

Cons:

Lose my job as Town Mage. Ponies would probably riot if they found out their so-called "mage" is just a fraud using physics.

No Archmage title. Goodbye, 1,000 bits a month.

Teaching ponies dangerous things that could hurt many people is bad. Probably.

Sweetie Belle might think I betrayed her. Teaching her fake magic is practically fraud, isn't it? What if Rarity sues me for it?

I'd be just some guy. No, worse—just someliar.I'd go down in Ponyville history as the biggest fraud since the Flim Flam brothers.

---

Option 2: Keep lying

Pros:

Keep my job, my stipend, and my house.

Keep up my reputation as a mysterious and brilliant mage.

No need to deal with angry mobs calling for my head or asking me to explain concepts they'll never understand.

Cons:

It's exhausting keeping up the act. How long can I keep fooling them?

Twilight's too smart. She'll probably figure it out eventually.

If the truth ever comes out, the fallout will be ten times worse. Fraud? Dishonesty? Betrayal? I'd be lucky if they just kicked me out of town.

What if Celestia finds out? What happens then? Would she banish me? Imprison me? Banish meandimprison me in the place she banishes me to?

---

I stop writing and rub my temples, the quill trembling slightly in my telekinetic grip. The thing that scares me the most—the thing I can't bring myself to write—is how much I actuallywantthem to believe in me. The respect, the admiration, the attention… I don't want to lose that. If I'm not Kinetic Flux, Town Mage and rising Archmage, then who am I?

A fraud.

The word sits like a lead weight in my stomach as I fold the paper and shove it into a drawer. My gaze drifts around the room before landing on the house itself. The…H.A.R.D.I.S., as I've started calling it in my head.House And Relative Dimensions In Space.It's mine, but… is it really?

The sudden realization hits me like a slap. I'm not even an actual citizen of Equestria. What if there are laws about who can own property? What if I've been living here illegally this whole time?

The panic drives me out of the room and down the seemingly endless hallway toward the front door. The house remains eerily silent, as if it knows I'm trying to leave and is waiting for my return.

I head straight to the Mayor's office, trying to appear casual as I approach her desk. Mayor Mare looks up from her paperwork with a polite smile. "Good morning, Kinetic Flux. How can I help you?"

"Oh, uh, good morning, Mayor," I say, clearing my throat. "I just had a… hypothetical question."

She raises an eyebrow. "Go on."

"Hypothetically," I begin, forcing a smile, "what would happen if, say, somepony wasn't an official citizen of Equestria? Would they still be allowed to own property? Like, I don't know, a house?"

Her smile falters slightly, and I immediately regret asking. "Well," she says, adjusting her glasses, "under Equestrian law, only citizens are permitted to own land or property. If somepony were found to be living on land they didn't have the right to own, the property could be confiscated and… well, the individual might face fines or other consequences, depending on the circumstances."

I swallow hard, trying to keep my expression neutral as Mayor Mare continues.

"Additionally," she says, flipping through a thick binder on her desk, "non-citizens are not allowed to hold official positions within Equestrian governance or administration. That would include titles like Town Mage or Archmage."

The weight in my stomach grows heavier, but she's not done.

"They also cannot legally sign contracts, own businesses, or receive state stipends like the one you're likely eligible for should you become an Archmage. Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Of course," I say weakly, my throat suddenly dry.

She looks up at me, her expression shifting to something closer to concern. "And if somepony were to enter the country illegally, the situation would be even more complicated. Depending on the circumstances, they could face deportation, imprisonment, or—if they were deemed a threat to Equestria—banishment."

"Banishment?" I echo, my voice cracking slightly.

"Yes," she says with a nod. "It's rare, of course, but it has happened. Entering Equestria without proper documentation, especially if the individual takes up residence or a public position under false pretenses, is considered a serious offense. Again, purely hypothetical."

I nod quickly, eager to escape this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. "Right, purely hypothetical. Well, that's—uh—good to know. Thanks for clarifying, Mayor Mare."

But she's not done.

"Oh, and," she continues, flipping another page in her binder, "should a non-citizen be found working under false pretenses, any wages or benefits earned during that time would be considered void. They would likely have to repay any earnings to the government or the affected parties."

Absolutely not.

The words "repay any earnings" clang in my head like a gong. I barely hear the rest of what she's saying. Lose my house? My job? Mystipend?That's not happening. Not now, not ever.

By the time I'm outside the Mayor's office, I've already made my decision. Admitting the truth is officially off the table. Shut it down. Bury it. Burn the evidence. Whatever it takes, I'm keeping this act going. All my bits are on the line here.

I don't care if I have to keep teaching Sweetie Belle "fake" magic or deal with Twilight's endless questions. I'll double down on the act. Sure, the guilt eats at me a little, but bits are bits. You can't buy loyalty, but you sure can rent it, and if I'm paying rent to myself? Even better.

Besides, I've already sunk too much into this. Losing it all now would be worse than never having it to begin with. No, I'll smooth this over with Twilight. Redirect her attention. Convince her that she's overthinking things, that everything she saw was just basic telekinesis and clever application.

She's smart, sure, but she's also obsessed with magic. That's her weakness—she wants to understand everything. I'll feed her just enough breadcrumbs to keep her chasing the wrong trail.

The walk to find her feels long, my mind racing with half-formed excuses and calculated deflections. I finally spot her near the library, her nose buried in a scroll as she paces back and forth.

Perfect. The curiosity is still eating at her. Time to work somemagic.

"Twilight!" I call out, putting on my most casual, approachable smile. "Just the pony I was looking for."

She looks up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Kinetic," she says, her tone clipped. "I was going to come find you later."

Of course you were,I think. "Great minds think alike," I say aloud. "I wanted to clear the air about last night. You seemed… frustrated."

"Frustrated?" she repeats, her ears twitching. "You mean when you refused to explain anything about your spells and then yourhousethrew me out?"

I hold up a hoof in mock surrender. "Okay, fair point. But I realized I might've come off as dismissive, and that wasn't my intention."

Her expression softens slightly, though suspicion still lingers in her eyes. "Go on."

I clear my throat, adopting my most patient, mentor-like tone. "First of all, I want to apologize if I made you feel like I was being evasive. That wasn't my goal. It's just that some of the spells I've developed—like the Doppler Illusion—are deeply personal to me. I spent years refining it, and honestly, I'm too…attachedto it to teach anyone who isn't my direct disciple."

Twilight raises an eyebrow, her skepticism practically radiating off her. "You're saying you're too emotionally invested in a spell to share it with others?"

"Exactly," I say, nodding earnestly. "It's like an artist with a masterpiece or a chef with a secret recipe. Some things are just too close to the heart."

She gives me a long, searching look, clearly not buying it entirely but also not dismissing it outright. "Alright," she says slowly, "but what about the Lift Disk Spell? Are you saying that one's also too personal to share?"

I shake my head. "Not at all. That one's actually very straightforward. I'd be happy to show you how it's done if it'll help clear up your doubts."

Her eyes narrow. "You'll teach me the Lift Disk Spell?"

"Sure," I say with a shrug. "But only if you promise to stop harassing me about my other spells afterward. Deal?"

Twilight huffs but nods. "Fine. If you can prove that the Lift Disk Spell is just telekinesis, I'll drop it. But if you're lying…"

"I'm not," I say quickly, holding up a hoof. "And you'll see for yourself."

She gestures for me to proceed, her expression skeptical but intrigued. "Alright. Show me."

I take a deep breath, doing my best to project confidence even as my mind races. This has to work. "Alright, Twilight. Pay close attention."

I focus on a patch of dirt nearby, drawing on as much of my telekinetic power as I can muster. Slowly, I compress the loose earth into a compact, solid disk, holding it together with sheer force. It's not easy—sweat is already starting to bead on my forehead—but I manage to get it stable.

"The trick," I say, my voice straining just a little, "is compressing the dirt enough that it behaves like a single mass. Loose earth is tricky, sure, but if you apply consistent force to hold it together, it's no different than standing on a stone."

Twilight watches intently, her skeptical expression softening into one of curiosity as I carefully step onto the disk. I can feel it wobble slightly under my hooves, but I grit my teeth and maintain the pressure. With a slow, deliberate motion, I glide a few feet across the ground.

"You see?" I say, forcing a grin. "Nothing complicated. Just a simple application of telekinesis."

Her eyes narrow slightly as she scrutinizes my movements. "You're holding it in place with telekinesis alone?"

"Exactly," I say, stepping off the disk and letting it crumble back into loose dirt. The relief of releasing the strain is immediate, though I try not to show it.

Twilight's horn glows as she steps forward. "Let me try."

My stomach drops slightly, but I force myself to nod. "Go ahead. It's all about maintaining consistent force. Just compress the dirt enough to hold its shape."

Her horn brightens, and with a surprising level of finesse, she replicates the process. The dirt compresses into a disk, solid and steady, as she steps onto it. The ease with which she manages it makes my earlier effort look amateurish, but I keep my face neutral.

Twilight hovers a few feet in the air, her movements smooth and controlled as she glides around on the disk. "Huh," she says, her tone thoughtful. "It really is just telekinesis."

"Told you," I say lightly, trying not to let my exhaustion show.

Twilight lands gracefully, her horn dimming as the disk crumbles back into loose dirt. She turns to me, her ears flat and her cheeks a vivid shade of pink. "I… I owe you an apology," she says, her voice unusually quiet.

I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Apology? For what?"

"For everything!" she blurts, her ears twitching awkwardly. "For doubting you, for accusing you of… well, of all the things I accused you of. I should've just tried the spell myself instead of assuming it was something impossible." She winces, clearly uncomfortable with admitting she was wrong.

I crack a small smile, hiding it almost immideately. "Well, I'm not one to hold grudges."

Twilight groans, her embarrassment clearly deepening. "No, seriously, Kinetic. I've been hounding you about this spell, thinking it was some kind of breakthrough or anomaly, and it turns out it's just—" She cuts herself off, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. "Just telekinesis."

"It's an easy mistake to make," I say, keeping my tone light. "Not every day you see somepony compressing loose dirt into a floating platform, right?"

"That's no excuse for how I acted," she insists, her voice full of guilt. "I should've known better. And to make it worse, I was so wrapped up in proving myself right that I didn't even stop to think about how it must've felt for you—having somepony constantly question your methods."

"Well…" I hesitate for a moment, trying to decide whether to milk this or let it go. Ultimately, I settle for magnanimity. "It's water under the bridge. You were curious. I get it."

Twilight fidgets, looking up at me with a sheepish expression. "You're being way nicer about this than I deserve. I'm honestly really embarrassed."

"You shouldn't be," I say, offering a reassuring smile. "If anything, I'm flattered you cared enough to dig that deep. Shows how much you love magic."

She lets out a breathy laugh, her ears perking up slightly. "Well, I guess that's true. But I'll try to reign it in next time. And… thank you. For being patient with me."

"No problem," I say, waving a hoof. "It's what I do."

Twilight nods, her blush fading but her gratitude still evident. "I'll let you get back to your studies. And… I promise I won't bother you about this spell again."

I watch as she turns and heads back toward the library, her pace quickened, probably to escape the lingering embarrassment. Once she's out of sight, I exhale a long, relieved breath and slump slightly.

"Close call," I mutter, glancing at the now-scattered dirt.At least she didn't ask me to explain the Doppler Illusion again. Or fly more than a few feet.

With that, I start back toward theH.A.R.D.I.S., ready to collapse into the nearest chair and savor the sweet taste of victory—for now.

As I stroll, enjoying the relative peace after dealing with Twilight, the sound of a crowd and excited chatter catches my ear. I glance down the street and spot a stage set up in the town square, its bright, flashy banners adorned with the name"The Great and Powerful Trixie!"in bold, over-the-top lettering.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I wander closer. The crowd is already gathering—a mix of ponies I recognize, including Spike, Rarity, Applejack, and Rainbow Dash, all with varying degrees of skepticism on their faces. Front and center, a blue unicorn with a starry purple cape and hat is standing tall, her horn glowing as she conjures a series of sparkles and smoke.

"Behold!" she declares, her voice ringing with dramatic flair. "The Great and Powerful Trixie shall now dazzle you with feats of magic the likes of which have never been seen!"

The crowd murmurs, a mix of polite interest and poorly veiled amusement. I lean against a lamppost, watching as Trixie launches into her act. She pulls off some basic illusions—fireworks, glowing orbs, and a bouquet conjured from thin air. Not bad, really, but I can see the snide glances from the crowd.

"Pfft, big deal," Rainbow mutters loud enough for everypony to hear. "Twilight could do that in her sleep."

"Tch, this here ain't real magic," Applejack says, shaking her head. "It's all just smoke and mirrors."

Even Rarity can't resist chiming in. "A bit… theatrical, don't you think?"

I feel a pang of sympathy for Trixie. Sure, she's laying it on thick, but I can't help but feel a sense of kinship with her. A showmare, a charlatan, just trying to dazzle the crowd and carve out a place for herself. I know that game all too well.

Trixie's ears flick at the muttering, and I see her jaw tighten. But she doesn't miss a beat. With a dramatic flourish, she points a hoof toward the crowd. "It seems some of you doubt the magnificence of Trixie's magic! Perhaps a volunteer from the audience will help Trixie prove her unmatched skill!"

There's an awkward pause as everypony avoids her gaze. Then, with an almost predatory grin, she spots me.

"You there!" she calls, her eyes gleaming. "You look like somepony with a flair for the dramatic! Come, assist The Great and Powerful Trixie!"

The crowd parts, and all eyes fall on me. I hesitate, caught between the urge to slink away and the sudden realization that refusing might draw more attention. Slowly, I step forward, doing my best to keep my expression neutral.

Trixie smirks as I approach the stage. "What is your name, brave volunteer?"

"Kinetic Flux," I say, trying not to sound too reluctant.

"Ah, a fine name for a fine assistant!" she declares, throwing a hoof around my shoulders in an overly familiar gesture. "Now, Kinetic, prepare yourself! Trixie shall demonstrate magic so astounding, so powerful, that your very senses will tremble!"

The crowd chuckles softly, but I can feel their skepticism. I glance at Trixie, who's clearly enjoying the attention, and a strange sense of conflict rises in my chest. She's a charlatan, like me—playing up her tricks to impress the crowd. If I show her up, I could ruin her act. But if I take a dive, I risk looking like an idiot in front of everypony.

"So, Kinetic," Trixie says, turning to me with a smug smile. "Do you think you can outdo the magic of The Great and Powerful Trixie?"

I meet her gaze, my mind racing. Do I prove her wrong and let the crowd tear her down, or do I let her have her moment and risk my own credibility?

The crowd is waiting, their eyes flicking between us with growing anticipation. I feel a bead of sweat roll down my neck as I force a grin. "What exactly did you have in mind, Trixie?"

"Oh, nothing too challenging for The Great and Powerful Trixie," she says with a wink, her horn beginning to glow. "Let's see if you can match this!"

Trixie's horn flares as she conjures an illusion of a roaring dragon, smoke curling from its nostrils as it looms over the stage. The crowd gasps, some with genuine awe, others clearly unimpressed. I glance at the dragon, then at Trixie, who's smirking at me like she's already won.

"All yours, Kinetic Flux," she says, stepping back dramatically. "Show us what you've got."

The weight of the town's eyes feels unbearable. I just managed to satisfy Twilight's endless scrutiny earlier, and now the entire square is watching me like I'm some kind of spectacle. My pulse pounds in my ears as I weigh my options. I could obliterate Trixie's illusion with a simple trick, unravel her act for what it is.

Taking a deep breath, I step forward, my horn glowing faintly. With a bit of telekinesis, I create a clumsy puff of smoke, accompanied by a small, flickering orb of light. The crowd falls silent for a moment, and then somepony coughs awkwardly. Trixie's smirk turns into a full grin as she steps back in, dramatically banishing her dragon with a wave of her hoof.

"Ah, a valiant effort!" she declares, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "But as you can see, The Great and Powerful Trixie's magic is simply unparalleled!"

The crowd erupts into laughter—not mean-spirited, but enough to make my cheeks burn. I force a weak smile and step back off the stage. As I walk away, I catch Twilight's gaze, and my stomach sinks. She knows.

---

A few minutes later, I'm standing behind the stage near a tree, trying to cool down and shake off the embarrassment. Of course, Twilight finds me.

"You took a dive," she says bluntly, her expression a mix of irritation and curiosity.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "You caught that, huh?"

"It was obvious," she says, frowning. "Why didn't you just counter her illusion? You could've easily matched it—or even outdone it."

I glance back at the stage, where Trixie is basking in the crowd's applause. "Because it's her livelihood, Twilight. What's the point of ruining her act? She's just trying to make a living."

Twilight blinks, her frown softening. "I guess… that makes sense. I mean, I wouldn't want somepony destroying my career just to prove a point."

"Exactly," I say, relieved she's seeing my side. "It's not worth tearing someone down just to show off."

But before I can feel too good about myself, Rainbow Dash swoops down, followed closely by Applejack, Rarity, and Spike.

"You totally let her win!" Rainbow accuses, jabbing a hoof at me. "I saw that little puff of smoke you did. Lame!"

"Why'd you hold back?" Applejack asks, narrowing her eyes. "That Trixie's act ain't nothin' but hot air."

Rarity sighs dramatically, flipping her mane. "While I admire your compassion, darling, allowing a fraud like her to go unchecked only encourages her to continue deceiving everypony."

"Hey!" I snap, a little sharper than intended. "She's not hurting anypony. She's just putting on a show. You think it's easy standing up there in front of everypony, trying to impress them?"

Rainbow huffs. "Doesn't matter. If she's gonna claim to be the 'greatest,' she should be able to back it up."

Twilight steps in, holding up a hoof. "I think Kinetic's point is valid. But… maybe it wouldn't hurt to see if she can actually handle a challenge."

"Exactly," Rainbow says, grinning. "And we're just the ponies to give her one."

Applejack adjusts her hat. "If she's gonna boast about bein' the best, let's see how she stacks up."

Rarity nods. "I suppose it's only fair. A little competition might do her some good."

I groan, realizing there's no stopping them. "Fine, but just… don't destroy her, okay? She's still a pony trying to make a living."

"No promises," Rainbow says, already flying back toward the stage. The others follow, leaving me standing there, wishing I'd stayed in bed.

This is going to be a disaster.

The crowd buzzes with anticipation as the mares climb the stage one by one, each eager to prove Trixie's magic nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Trixie, however, looks completely unbothered, her smug grin plastered across her face as she stands confidently at the center of the stage.

First up is Applejack. She steps forward, tipping her hat. "Alright, sugarcube. Let's see if yer fancy magic can handle some good ol'-fashioned rope skills."

Applejack grabs her trusty lasso and begins twirling it expertly, looping and spinning the rope with ease. The crowd cheers as she tosses the lasso into the air, catching it and pulling it taut in a perfect knot.

Trixie yawns dramatically. "Impressive—for a rodeo, perhaps. But allow The Great and Powerful Trixie to demonstrate what real skill looks like!"

Her horn glows, and Applejack's lasso suddenly whips out of her hooves, wrapping itself tightly around her. Before Applejack can protest, Trixie yanks the rope, pulling Applejack onto her back like a hogtied calf.

"Hey!" Applejack protests, struggling against the rope. "That ain't fair!"

"Fairness is for amateurs," Trixie says with a smirk, her voice dripping with mockery. The crowd laughs, and Applejack grumbles as she's helped off the stage.

Next up is Rainbow Dash. She hovers confidently above the stage, her chest puffed out. "Alright, Trixie. Let's see you topthis!"

Rainbow rockets into the air, spinning and looping through the sky in a dazzling display of speed and agility. She dashes through a cloud, bringing water behind her. She finishes with a burst, creating a miniature rainbow that lights up the stage. The crowd cheers wildly.

Trixie, however, remains unimpressed. "A flashy performance, but let's see how well you handlethis!"

Her horn glows, and a swirl of magical wind encircles Rainbow Dash. Before Rainbow can react, she's caught in a vortex, spinning wildly out of control. The pegasus flails as the crowd gasps, her normally graceful mane and tail whipping around like crazy.

"Trixie demands applause!" the showmare declares, and the crowd, unsure whether to laugh or gasp, gives polite claps as Rainbow stumbles off the stage, wobbling dizzily.

Rarity steps forward next, tossing her mane dramatically. "A proper performance should have elegance, style, and above all, beauty. Allow me to show you how it's done."

She levitates a bolt of shimmering fabric and begins weaving it into a stunning dress, the fabric flowing and sparkling as it takes shape. The audience "oohs" and "ahhs" as she creates an intricate, dazzling garment in mere moments.

Trixie watches with a sly grin. "Oh, how quaint. But allow Trixie to add her own… artistic touch!"

With a flick of her horn, a burst of magic shoots toward Rarity. The unicorn shrieks as her mane and tail transform into a tangled, green rats' nest—complete with actual rats poking their heads out. The crowd bursts into laughter, and Rarity bolts off the stage, wailing about her ruined appearance.

"Enough!" Trixie declares, holding up a hoof as the laughter dies down. "You see now that The Great and Powerful Trixie is beyond compare! But let me share a story to truly cement my greatness!"

The stage dims, and Trixie's horn glows brighter as she conjures an illusion of a monstrous bear, its translucent form towering over the crowd. "The Great and Powerful Trixie once defeated an Ursa Major, saving an entire town from its rampage!"

The audience gasps, some in awe, others clearly skeptical. Spike crosses his arms, muttering, "Yeah, right."

But Trixie is undeterred. "Yes, it wasTrixiewho stood against the beast, wielding her unparalleled magic to drive it back to the Everfree Forest! No other unicorn could possibly hope to achieve such a feat!"

As the crowd murmurs, I can't help but shake my head from the sidelines.She's digging herself a deep hole.

The Mane 6, now regrouped but still disheveled, exchange glances. They're clearly not done with Trixie yet, but I can already see the chaos brewing in their eyes. This isn't going to end well—for anyone. But the show is over, so I leave.

---

The sun hangs low in the sky as I finish my late lunch, the taste of mediocre hay fries lingering as I meander back toward myH.A.R.D.I.S.. There's a strange, nagging feeling in the back of my mind, like I'm forgetting something important, but I brush it off. Maybe it's just the lingering embarrassment from earlier—or the looming dread of Twilight inevitably grilling me again.

As I near the edge of town, the sound of startled cries and thundering footsteps shakes me from my thoughts. My ears perk, and I glance toward the noise, my heart dropping like a stone.

AnUrsa Minor.

The massive, translucent bear stomps through the outskirts of Ponyville, its starry form shimmering ominously in the fading light. But it's not the town it's heading for—it's heading straight for myH.A.R.D.I.S.

I stop dead in my tracks, a chill running down my spine.Oh no. Not the house. Not my house.

TheH.A.R.D.I.S.is the one thing I can't afford to lose. It's my shelter, my sanctuary, my best-kept secret. If that thing lays a single paw on it, I lose all that.

Gritting my teeth, I shove my usual hesitation and fear aside. This is survival.

I pull my chalk bag off my shoulder. I don't even hesitate as I telekinetically hurl a cloud of it into the air, the fine particles spreading in a shimmering mist around theUrsa Minor'smassive head.

The creature snorts, its glowing eyes narrowing as it stops in its tracks. Perfect. I channel everything I have into the Doppler Illusion, vibrating the particles of chalk into a dazzling, shifting mirage. The air around the bear's head shimmers and warps, the illusion taking form.

A forest path materializes—perfectly real to theUrsa Minor'seyes—leading away from my house and deeper into the woods. Stars twinkle above, and phantom trees sway in an invisible breeze.

The bear hesitates for a moment, then starts lumbering toward the illusion, its massive paws crushing the earth beneath it.

Sweat drips down my brow as I maintain the illusion, every ounce of focus honed on keeping it flawless. It's purely visual—no sound, no smell—but I'm gambling that the creature's curiosity and limited intelligence will buy me enough time to lead it away.

But as I guide it further into the woods, my mind flickers to the worst-case scenario. What if it doesn't work? What if it realizes the illusion isn't real and turns back? I glance at the shimmering chalk particles, my jaw tightening. If it comes to it, I'll have to do something I've never done before.

I'll kill it.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I push the unpleasant feeling aside. The Doppler Illusion isn't just for show—the particles already move at absurd speeds. If I accelerate those particles fast enough, I could turn them into projectiles. A deadly, invisible barrage.

I swallow hard, my focus unyielding as theUrsa Minorcontinues lumbering deeper into the forest. Its massive form brushes against the phantom trees, its head occasionally turning to inspect the illusion.

The Ursa Minor snorts, its glowing eyes narrowing as it swipes a massive paw through the shimmering chalk particles on its face. The illusion flickers violently, and a sharp, burning sensation shoots through my horn like a jolt of lightning. I stagger, the feedback from the disrupted illusion searing through my skull.

"Damn it," I mutter, clutching my head as the Doppler Illusion collapses. The bear lets out a low growl, its gaze locking onto me. My legs tremble, but I don't run. There's no point now.

I stare at the bear, my jaw set, my chest hollow. There's no anger in me, no hatred—just an unbearable weight of remorse. I don't want to do this. But it's already done.

The particles still hover faintly in the air, my last chance to make this quick and painless. My horn sparks as I gather the remnants of the illusion, compressing the particles tighter and tighter. I can feel the energy building, the atoms vibrating faster, teetering on the edge of a catastrophic release.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, the words barely audible over the thunderous growl of the Ursa Minor. It takes a step forward, and for a moment, I see its face clearly—not the monster everypony else sees, but a confused, scared creature.

I always knew it would come to this. Chrysalis, Tirek, Sombra—it could have been any one of them. This world is too real for idealism, too raw for the kind of peace I've tried to maintain. I always knew I wasn't cut out to be one of those ponies—the kind who solves problems without bloodshed.

It was always going to happen.

The atoms tremble under my control, ready to launch through the creature's skull. I steel myself, preparing to release the energy.

"STOP!" a voice cries out, sharp and commanding.

I freeze, my horn flickering as Twilight appears in a flash of purple light. She stands between me and the Ursa Minor, her eyes wide with determination.

"Twilight, what are you—" I start, my voice hoarse, but she doesn't even glance at me.

The bear roars, but Twilight doesn't flinch. Her horn glows brightly, and in a moment of pure serenity, a massive bottle of milk appears, floating in the air before the Ursa Minor. The creature's growl falters as it sniffs the bottle, curiosity replacing aggression.

"It's just a baby," Twilight says softly, her voice calm and steady. "It's scared and hungry."

The bear reaches out, grabbing the bottle and drinking deeply. Its massive body relaxes, the tension in its muscles melting away. I let the particles dissipate, the energy fading as my legs finally give out. I slump to the ground, staring at the scene before me.

Twilight gently coaxes the Ursa Minor away, her magic weaving a calming spell as she leads it back toward the Everfree Forest. The bear follows her obediently, its earlier fury forgotten.

When she's gone, and the square is quiet again, I sit there, my chest heaving as the weight of what almost happened settles in. I was seconds away from crossing a line I could never uncross.

I knew it was just a baby. I'd known from the start. But I didn't care. I wasn't some magical powerhouse who could conjure milk or calm a rampaging creature with a wave of my horn. My magic isn't built on harmony or understanding—it's built on force, precision, and physics that ponies like Twilight will never comprehend.

That's who I am. That's who I've always been.

Even as I justify it to myself, though, the nagging doubt creeps in. Could I have done more? Was there another way? I rub my aching horn, my thoughts spiraling. This time, Twilight showed up just in time to stop me. But next time? What if there's no Twilight? What if I'm the only one standing between something dangerous and everything I care about?

I don't want to admit it, but I know the answer. I'll do what I have to. I'll cross the line again. Maybe it won't be an Ursa Minor next time. It could be anything. But I'll always end up here: staring down something I can't outthink or outmaneuver, forcing myself to use the tools only I understand.

My jaw tightens. The danger isn't just out there. It's in me, too. The things I can do with my "magic"—if ponies like Twilight or Celestia knew what I was capable of, they'd never trust me again. And they'd be right not to. My physics-based tricks aren't flashy illusions. They're dangerous, precise weapons, and in the wrong hooves—or the right ones used the wrong way—they're catastrophic.

This is why I can't teach anyone.I've always known that. But now it's staring me in the face. If Sweetie Belle keeps learning from me, she might stumble across something I can't take back. A spell she doesn't understand fully. A trick with consequences she can't predict.

I clench my teeth, the weight in my chest growing heavier. Sweetie's a good kid—she deserves better than me. She deserves a teacher who'll inspire her, not one who'll drag her down this path. Maybe it's time to let her go as my student. For her sake. For everypony's.

I haul myself to my hooves, my legs still trembling. The silence of the square feels suffocating, and I glance toward the Everfree Forest, where Twilight disappeared with the Ursa Minor. She didn't know what I was about to do. She doesn't know how close I came to breaking everything.

But I do. I know it too well. And I know it'll happen again.

I take a shaky breath and start toward myH.A.R.D.I.S., my mind a storm of guilt, doubt, and something darker—something inevitable. All I can do is hope I don't lose myself completely when the next line comes. Because I'll cross it.

I always do.

Author's Note:

Compressed Dirt Slab

Initial Volume and Density:

Volume: V = 1m 0.1m = 0.1m.

Initial density (ρi): 1500kg/m.

Mass: m = ρi V = 1500 0.1 = 150kg.

Compressed Volume:

Final density (ρf): 2000kg/m.

Final volume: Vf = m / ρf = 150 / 2000 = 0.075m.

Final thickness: hf = Vf / A = 0.075 / 1 = 0.075m (7.5cm).

Energy Required for Compression:

Compaction energy: 2MJ/m (typical soil compaction value).

Energy for 0.1m: E = 2 0.1 = 0.2MJ = 200,000J.

Convert to kcal: Ekcal = 200,000 / 4184 47.8kcal.

---

Summary

Final Dimensions: 1m area, 7.5cm thickness.

Energy Required:~47.8 kcalto fully compress the dirt into a dense slab.

Key Differences

Method: The uncompressed slab is simply lifted and manipulated to maximize the forces holding it together, while the compressed slab involves simply compacting the dirt. The Compressed dirt does not stay settled, and needs to be held together tightly by telekinesis to stay a disk.

Energy Cost: Compressing the slab requires significantly more energy.

Strength: The compressed slab is much stronger and more durable due to reduced porosity.

With precise targeting (e.g., the Ursa Minor's eye or brain), you could use a0.1 g projectiletraveling at30,000 m/sto deliver sufficient damage. This requires45 kJ of energy, which is about the energy of10 grams of TNT. (10.8 kcal)

 

[liquid_oni]

I might be tweaking, but did we skip over the archmage exam and him first going to the house?

Edit: Nevermind

 

[TheFabulousCustodes]

Best MLP story I've read since Hiver's stuff over on SB's.

Thanks for writing!

 

[Riddlest]

The H.A.R.D.I.S.feels unusually cold as I step inside. The weight of the day's events presses down on me like a lead blanket. My legs ache, my horn throbs, and my chest feels hollow. I don't bother turning on the lights. The faint glow of the floating orbs overhead is enough to guide me to my room.

I collapse onto the absurdly soft mattress, my body begging for rest even as my mind refuses to quiet. The thoughts keep swirling—Sweetie Belle, the Ursa Minor, the Doppler Illusion, Twilight stepping in at the last second. And the deeper thoughts, the ones I try not to dwell on but can't quite escape:What happens the next time I'm in that situation? What happens when there's no one to stop me?

Eventually, exhaustion wins, and the swirling thoughts blur into darkness.

---

I find myself standing in a vast, empty void, the air heavy with silence. Then, a soft golden glow begins to fill the space, and from it, Celestia emerges, her serene form radiating warmth and authority. Her mane flows with its usual ethereal grace, her eyes calm and knowing.

"Princess Celestia?" I say, my voice echoing oddly in the void. "Where am I?"

"This is a dream, Kinetic Flux," she says, her voice gentle yet commanding. "A place where truths are often revealed."

The void shifts, and suddenly we're standing in the middle of a beautiful, sunlit meadow. It's tranquil, almost idyllic, but I can't shake the unease creeping up my spine. Celestia looks at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to speak.

The lack of inhibition hits me. The words slip from my mouth. "I can do incredible things," I say finally, my voice low. "With what I know, I could make beautiful, helpful things—change the world for the better. But I could also…" I pause, the words catching in my throat. "I could eliminate a city. Leave it uninhabitable for years."

Her expression doesn't change. "And would you?"

"No," I say quickly, the denial reflexive. "But it doesn't matter. I know how, and that's the problem. If ponies like me existed in this world… it would only be a matter of time."

She steps closer, her gaze piercing. "What do you think this world would become if such knowledge were to spread, Kinetic?"

I glance away, unable to meet her eyes. "It wouldn't be good. But… ponies could use it to build amazing things, too. Things that would make life better for everypony."

She studies me in silence for a moment, and the weight of her gaze feels like it's crushing me. Then she speaks, her tone steady and calm, but with an edge that chills me. "Do you know why Equestria has no such technologies, Kinetic?"

I shake my head, and she continues.

"It's because I ensure it never does," she says simply. "In every age, there are inventors, thinkers, and visionaries who, like you, dream of a better world—or of power unimaginable. And I… remove them."

My blood runs cold. "You… remove them?"

She nods, her expression unchanged. "Knowledge is power, and some knowledge is too dangerous for the harmony we strive to protect. There are lines that cannot be crossed, ideas that must not be allowed to flourish. For the sake of all my little ponies, I ensure that such individuals cannot bring their ideas to fruition."

I take a step back, my chest tightening. "So you… what? Silence them? Imprison them?"

"Sometimes," she says, her voice still calm. "But more often, they must be eliminated."

The word hangs in the air like a death sentence, and I feel my legs go weak. "You can't be serious."

Her eyes narrow slightly, a glint of steel in her gaze. "You admitted it yourself, Kinetic. The power you wield could destroy a city. It could unravel the very fabric of harmony we have worked so hard to maintain. Would you trust that power in the hooves of another?"

"No," I say, my voice barely a whisper.

"And yet, you carry it," she says, stepping closer. "You carry it, and you admit that it could—and perhaps will—be used for destruction."

I try to step back, but the ground beneath me doesn't move. My voice trembles as I speak. "But I haven't done anything. I've kept it to myself. I've—"

"It is not a matter of what you have done," she interrupts, her voice cutting through mine like a blade. "It is a matter of what you can do. And that, Kinetic Flux, is why I cannot allow you to remain."

Her horn begins to glow, a blinding light radiating from it. I try to speak, to plead my case, but the words catch in my throat. The light grows brighter and brighter until it's all I can see.

---

I wake with a start, my heart pounding and my fur damp with sweat. The room is dark and silent, the glow of the orbs muted. For a moment, I sit there, shaking and gasping for air, the weight of the dream pressing down on me.

I run a hoof through my mane, trying to steady myself. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But as I glance toward the faint outline of my desk, where my unfinished notes and sketches sit, a chilling thought creeps into my mind:What if it wasn't?

The sweat clings to my fur as I sit in the darkness, the echoes of the dream still swirling in my mind. I try to rationalize it—convince myself it was just my subconscious playing tricks on me. But the feeling won't go away, that creeping suspicion gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

Luna can enter dreams. Who's to say Celestia can't?

The serene, all-knowing tone of her voice in the dream replays in my head, and I shiver.Remove them.The words felt too real. Too precise.

I glance around the room, the soft glow of the orbs casting faint shadows. For the first time, the comforting vastness of theH.A.R.D.I.S.feels oppressive. It's quiet—too quiet. My ears twitch at every creak, every faint hum.

Get it together,I tell myself, but the knot in my stomach tightens.

When the first rays of sunlight peek through the window, I'm still awake, still haunted by the dream. I drag myself out of bed, hoping a splash of cold water from the spigot will clear my head. It doesn't. My reflection stares back at me, eyes sunken and filled with doubt.

The sound of hooves crunching outside breaks the silence. My ears perk, and my stomach drops. Peering cautiously out the window, I see it—a golden chariot gleaming in the morning sun, flanked by two armored pegasus guards. My heart starts pounding.

They're here.

The chariot isn't a dream. It's real, and it's right outside my house.

---

I open the door a crack, just enough to see the guards' stern faces. One of them steps forward, his armor glinting. "Kinetic Flux," he says firmly. "We're here to escort you to the Archmage Examination in Canterlot."

I swallow hard, forcing a weak smile. "Oh, right. About that. I'm, uh… not feeling great today. Maybe I could reschedule?"

The guard's expression doesn't change. "Princess Celestia herself authorized this transport. The Archmage Examination cannot be delayed."

"Yeah, I get that," I say, edging the door closed slightly, "but, you know, health is important. Don't want me passing out mid-test, right?"

The second guard steps forward, his voice sharper. "We were told you might be… reluctant. We have orders to ensure your presence by any means necessary."

My breath catches, and the weight of the dream slams into me all over again.They know. She knows.

"No need to get aggressive," I say quickly, my voice cracking. "I'll, uh… I'll come quietly."

The guards exchange a glance, then step back to allow me room to exit. I grab my pouches, my movements slow and deliberate. My mind races with half-formed escape plans, but the cold, unyielding looks on their faces crush any hope of slipping away.

As I step outside, the morning sun feels too bright, the chariot too polished. Every clink of the guards' armor sets my nerves on edge. They motion for me to board, and I hesitate for a moment, my legs like lead.

"This is all just protocol, right?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light. "Nothing… unusual about this?"

Neither guard answers.

With a resigned sigh, I climb into the chariot, my heart pounding like a drum. The guards take their positions, their wings spreading as they prepare to take off. The moment the chariot lifts into the air, the knot in my stomach tightens further.

I stare at the horizon, Canterlot's spires growing closer with every passing second. The dream's words echo in my mind, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm being led to something I can't escape.

The chariot cuts through the morning sky, the wind whistling past my ears. Canterlot grows larger with every passing second, its pristine spires gleaming like a beacon of hope to some—but not to me. To me, it's a guillotine. The dream keeps replaying in my head, Celestia's calm, damning words echoing like a death knell.

"Remove them."

The guards are silent, their faces stoic, offering no reassurance. I sink deeper into my thoughts, my mind racing. This isn't just an examination—it's the end. She's bringing me to my execution. That's why the guards were told to take me by force. She knows what I am, what I can do. She can't allow me to live.

I don't want to think about it—about what I would do if I had to defend myself against her. But the thoughts come anyway, dark and unbidden. If she forces my hoof, if it comes down to her or me…

I grit my teeth, my stomach twisting.Don't go there. Don't even think about it.

But I can't stop myself. My mind spirals into contingency plans, desperate and morbid. Celestia is more powerful than any other being I've encountered. Her raw magical strength dwarfs anything I can muster. Fighting her head-on would be suicide. I'd have to rely on my tricks—my illusions, my precision.

An illusion. That's the key. She's a ruler, a protector. Her greatest strength isn't just her magic—it's her sense of justice, her compassion. If I could manipulate that…

I shudder, hating myself for even considering it, but I can't help it. If I had to kill her, I'd need to create something that would draw her focus—a distraction that would appeal to her deepest instincts. Something she couldn't ignore. Something she'd rush to save without thinking twice.

A foal.

The thought settles like a stone in my gut. A sad, pathetic-looking foal, caught in some fallen debris. The idea feels vile, but it's perfect. She'd see the illusion, her sense of justice would override her caution, and she'd move to save it.

And then...

My mind snaps to the chalk dust I always carry. My telekinesis is precise enough to manipulate the particles, to compress them into a dense, railgun-like projectile. If I accelerated those particles fast enough, they'd hit with unimaginable force. I could fire it from inside the head of the illusionary foal, a grim irony that makes my stomach churn.

Stop it.I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away.You don't want to do this. You don't want to hurt her.

But the thoughts keep coming. Splitting an atom would be far more destructive, but I don't have the materials for that—not unless I somehow acquire fissile material. The railgun idea is simpler, more within my reach. I don't need to wipe out a city, just…

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to drown out the spiral. I don't want this. I don't want to hurt her. But if she's already decided to remove me, to kill me like she has so many others, what choice do I have?

The chariot begins its descent, the towering gates of Canterlot Castle looming ahead. The guards are still silent, their faces unreadable. My chest feels tight, my thoughts a chaotic storm of fear, regret, and desperation.

Please, let me be wrong.I cling to the faint hope that this is all in my head, that I'm overthinking everything. But as the chariot touches down and the guards motion for me to step out, I can't shake the feeling that this is the beginning of the end.

The chariot glides through the gates of Canterlot Castle, the grandeur of the palace almost mocking me with its serenity. The guards escort me directly to the main hall, their silence doing nothing to ease my fraying nerves. Every step echoes in the vast corridors, the towering ceilings and ornate decorations feeling more oppressive than impressive.

As we approach the throne room, my heart pounds so hard it feels like it might shatter my ribs.She's waiting for me.The plan keeps running through my mind, the steps I'd need to take if—when—this all goes wrong. The chalk dust in my bag feels heavier than ever, like a promise I can't escape.

The guards push open the massive doors, revealing Celestia seated on her throne. She's as radiant as ever, her mane flowing in its ethereal way, her expression calm, almost amused. The golden glow of the room feels unnatural, suffocating, as if the sunlight itself is judging me.

"Kinetic Flux," she says warmly, her voice carrying the same soothing authority it always does. "Welcome to Canterlot."

I force a smile, though my legs feel like jelly. "Princess Celestia," I say, bowing slightly. "An honor, as always."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, and she gestures for me to approach. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"Uneventful," I echo, my voice tight.Sure, if you don't count the existential dread.

She studies me for a moment, her gaze calm but piercing. "You seem… tense."

I swallow hard, my mouth dry. "It's not every day one gets summoned by royalty, Your Highness. I suppose I'm just nervous about the examination tomorrow."

Her expression softens slightly, though there's a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "There's no need to worry. The Archmage Examination is challenging, yes, but I have no doubt in your abilities."

Her words should be reassuring, but they only make my paranoia spike.Is this part of the game? Lulling me into a false sense of security?

Celestia rises from her throne, stepping down to stand before me. Despite her serene demeanor, her sheer presence feels overwhelming. "Before the examination, I thought it would be wise to speak with you privately. There are things I'd like to discuss."

My muscles tense, my mind racing.This is it. She knows. She's going to confront me.

"Of course," I say, my voice carefully even. "What would you like to discuss?"

She tilts her head slightly, her gaze unreadable. "Your apprentice. Sweetie Belle."

The words hit me like a thunderclap, and I barely suppress a flinch. "Sweetie?" I echo, feigning confusion. "I… I wouldn't call her my apprentice, Your Highness."

Her brow lifts slightly, a flicker of curiosity in her expression. "No? I was under the impression you'd been teaching her. When I first suggested the Archmage Examination, you mentioned needing to stay in Ponyville to oversee her progress."

My mind scrambles for a response, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a vice.

I force a laugh, though it sounds hollow even to me. "Ah, yes. I may have… exaggerated her potential to avoid coming here at the time. Truthfully, Sweetie Belle is a sweet filly, but… she's not cut out for magic. Every attempt at teaching her has been… less than successful."

Celestia's expression doesn't change, but her gaze sharpens just enough to make my pulse quicken. "I see. That's unfortunate to hear. Sweetie Belle is a determined young pony. I thought she might flourish under your guidance."

"She's enthusiastic," I say quickly, keeping my tone light. "But enthusiasm only goes so far. Some ponies just… aren't meant for advanced magic."

The words taste bitter, but I force myself to keep smiling.It's better this way.

Celestia hums thoughtfully, her gaze lingering on me in that way that makes my fur stand on end. The silence stretches, heavy and expectant. Finally, she speaks again, her tone gentle yet probing.

"Twilight has mentioned you in her letters," she says, her voice carrying a note of curiosity. "She seems quite intrigued by you, though she also expresses some concern."

My stomach twists.Twilight. Of course, she's been writing to Celestia. Why wouldn't she?

"Concern?" I ask, forcing a chuckle. "That doesn't sound like Twilight. She's usually so… positive."

Celestia's faint smile doesn't falter. "She is, but she is also observant. She's noticed how you keep a certain distance from her and her friends. She wonders why that is."

I feel the weight of her words settle on my chest, heavier than the pouches presses into my side.Because I can't afford to get close to them,I think, though I don't dare say it out loud.

"I'm just… a private pony," I say, doing my best to sound casual. "I don't mean to come off as standoffish. I just find it easier to keep to myself."

Celestia tilts her head slightly, her gaze steady. "Easier, perhaps. But is it better? Twilight believes you have much to offer—not just to her, but to all of Ponyville. She sees potential in you, Kinetic."

Potential to what? Blow up a town? Turn her world upside down?

"That's… kind of her to say," I reply, my voice tight. "But I'm not sure what she sees in me. I'm just a mage trying to get by."

Her eyes narrow slightly, though her tone remains calm. "Are you?"

The question hangs in the air like a weight, and I scramble for an answer. "Of course. I'm not—" I stop myself, biting back the words I almost let slip.Not what? Not a human? Not dangerous?

Celestia steps closer, her serene presence somehow more oppressive than the silence. "Twilight believes in you. She believes you have the capacity to be a force for good, to inspire others. I wonder, do you believe that about yourself?"

I stare at her, my throat dry. "I… I don't know," I admit finally, my voice barely above a whisper. It's the closest I can come to the truth without unraveling completely.A world of my inspiration is a dangerous place.

She regards me for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. "Kinetic, you may think you're protecting yourself—or others—by keeping your distance. But sometimes, the walls we build to keep the world out only serve to trap us within."

I force a smile, though it feels like my face might crack. "I'll… keep that in mind, Your Highness."

Celestia's expression softens further, but there's something inscrutable in her gaze—a knowing that sets my nerves on edge. Then, as if sensing the tension radiating off me, she shifts the conversation, her voice light but deliberate.

"My sister, Luna, has also expressed interest in speaking with you," she says casually, as if this were an everyday occurrence. "Perhaps later tonight, once you've had a chance to rest."

I blink, caught off guard.Luna? Why would she want to talk to me?The idea of facing another alicorn, especially one known for her connection to dreams, sends a cold shiver down my spine. But Luna isn't Celestia, she's more manageable.

"Of course," I say, my voice strained. "I'd be honored."

Celestia doesn't seem to notice—or perhaps she does, and she's choosing to ignore it. Instead, she simply nods and smiles. "For now, you may retire to your quarters. Rest well, Kinetic Flux. Tomorrow will be a long day."

And just like that, it's over. No accusations, no sudden confrontation, no cryptic remarks hinting that she's onto me. She just… lets me leave. The guards escort me back through the gilded halls, and the quiet only deepens my unease.

---

The guest quarters are as opulent as I expected—plush furniture, a massive bed with silk sheets, and an unobstructed view of Canterlot's breathtaking skyline. It's the kind of luxury I've only read about, but it feels wrong. Out of place. Like it's all part of some elaborate setup.

Before I have a chance to gather my thoughts, there's a knock at the door. Two servants enter, wheeling in a tray laden with food so exquisitely arranged it looks more like art than dinner. Roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and some kind of glistening fruit tart take center stage, their aromas filling the room.

"Compliments of Princess Celestia," one of the servants says with a polite bow before they both leave without another word.

I stare at the food, my stomach growling despite myself. It looks incredible, and I haven't eaten today. But the nagging paranoia refuses to leave me alone.

What if it's poisoned?The thought worms its way into my mind, twisting my hunger into something darker.What better way to deal with a potential threat than a silent, untraceable poison in the guise of kindness?

I sit on the edge of the bed, eyeing the food warily. My rational side tells me it's ridiculous—that Celestia wouldn't go through all this trouble if she planned to eliminate me with something as crude as poison. But the fear won't let go.

In the end, I don't touch it. I lie back on the bed, staring at the ornate ceiling, my thoughts churning.

She's too calm. Too composed. What is she planning? And why does Luna want to speak with me?

The paranoia gnaws at me, and I realize with a sinking feeling that I might not sleep at all tonight.

I lie on the bed, staring at the ornate ceiling. The soft, ambient glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains does little to soothe my racing thoughts. Sleep feels like an impossibility, my mind replaying every interaction, every word from Celestia, and every potential trap I might be walking into.

The untouched tray of food sits on a nearby table, its rich aromas taunting me. My stomach growls, but the knot of paranoia in my gut keeps me from touching it. The silk sheets, the plush pillows—none of it feels real, as though the room itself is conspiring against me.

The hours stretch on, the quiet of the castle pressing down like a weight. Just as I start to drift into a restless haze, a soft knock pulls me from my thoughts.

I sit up, my muscles tense. "Yes?" I call out, my voice wavering slightly despite my effort to sound composed.

The door creaks open, revealing a thestral—a bat-winged pony clad in dark armor. His slit-pupil eyes gleam faintly in the dim light as he steps inside, his expression calm but unreadable.

"Princess Luna requests your presence," he says, his voice low and even.

I hesitate, my heart skipping a beat.Of course. Luna.But strangely, the thought of meeting her doesn't fill me with the same dread I feel toward Celestia. Maybe it's because I've already faced her—or rather, her darker half—during Nightmare Moon's return. Granted, I'd barely survived that encounter, but I'd played a part in defeating her. Sort of.

"Lead the way," I say, forcing myself to stand. My legs feel like jelly, but I manage to steady myself. The thestral nods and steps back, motioning for me to follow.

---

The castle is eerily quiet as we walk through its labyrinthine halls. The torches lining the walls cast flickering shadows that dance like phantoms. The thestral doesn't speak, his hooves making almost no sound against the marble floors. I find myself envying his calm demeanor.

The farther we walk, the darker the corridors become, the light growing softer and more subdued. Eventually, we stop in front of a pair of massive, intricately carved doors. They're adorned with lunar motifs—crescent moons, stars, and swirling patterns that seem to shimmer faintly in the dim light.

The thestral pushes the doors open, revealing a grand chamber bathed in soft blues and silvers. The ceiling stretches high above, painted to resemble a starry night sky that seems almost alive. At the far end of the room, seated on a midnight-blue throne, is Princess Luna.

She looks every bit as regal as her sister, though her presence feels less… overbearing. Her mane flows like a river of starlight, and her gaze is sharp yet contemplative.

"Kinetic Flux," she says, her voice resonant and steady. "Welcome."

I step forward, my hooves echoing faintly in the vast chamber. "Princess Luna," I say, bowing slightly. "An honor to be summoned."

She studies me for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Rise. There is no need for formalities tonight. We have much to discuss."

I straighten, my unease tempered slightly by her tone. There's something about Luna that feels more… grounded. Less of the aloof serenity that Celestia exudes, and more of an honesty that I can't quite place.

Still, I can't let my guard down completely. "What would you like to discuss, Your Highness?" I ask, keeping my voice measured.

Luna tilts her head slightly, her mane shimmering as if stirred by an unseen breeze. Her voice carries a regal yet curious lilt. "Thou art an intriguing pony, Kinetic Flux. My sister spoke of thee earlier this day. She claimed thou seemed most... disquieted."

I feel my jaw tighten, the paranoia that's been my constant companion clawing its way back to the surface. "Disquieted," I repeat, my voice clipped. "She said that, did she?"

"She did," Luna replies, her expression calm yet probing. "She is most perceptive, as thou surely knowest. And yet, thy nerves intrigued her more than thy skills. A mage of thy supposed caliber—one called to the Archmage Examination—should not quake so."

I take a sharp step forward, my irritation overriding my caution. "Well, maybe I have a good reason for being on edge," I snap. "Maybe I don't appreciate being dragged here under the guise of an 'examination' when it's clear your sister has already decided to get rid of me."

Luna's eyes widen slightly, though her composure remains steady. "Get rid of thee? Pray, elaborate."

I let out a harsh laugh, my fear and frustration boiling over. "You know what I'm talking about. She invaded my dreams, threatened me! She knows what I'm capable of, and she's decided I'm too dangerous to keep around. Don't pretend you don't know!"

Luna's gaze sharpens, her eyes narrowing as her mane seems to ripple more intensely. "Thou dost accuse mine sister of dream-walking and issuing threats? A bold claim."

"Bold, but true," I fire back, my chest heaving. "I saw her, heard her. She knows what I can do—what I've done. And now she wants me gone."

There's a pause, the air between us thick with tension. Then, Luna speaks, her tone firmer but not unkind. "Thy words reveal much, Kinetic Flux. Far more than thou perhaps intendest. Thy advanced magics—secrets thou thinkest hidden—are now plain. Yet thou art mistaken in thy accusations."

I blink, thrown off by her response. "What?"

"Celestia cannot traverse the realm of dreams," Luna says, her voice steady and absolute. "Not without mine aid. 'Tis my domain, and mine alone. The dream thou speakest of—if dream it was—was not of her doing."

I stare at her, my mind spinning. "You're saying… she didn't do it?"

"I am," she replies, her tone softening slightly. "If mine sister wished to confront thee, she would do so directly, not through deceitful means. 'Tis not her way."

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, I'm at a loss. It's plausible—more plausible than I'd like to admit. But that doesn't mean I trust her.

Luna watches me carefully, her expression unreadable. "Thy paranoia is evident, Kinetic Flux. Thou trusteth neither mine sister nor myself. But thy accusations—unfounded as they are—speak to thy guilt. What is it thou fearest so greatly?"

I take a step back, the weight of her gaze pressing down on me. "I don't… I just—" I stop, realizing I've said too much already.

"Thou art afraid of thy own power," Luna says softly, her voice almost gentle now. "Afraid of what thou couldst become, and what others might see in thee."

Her words cut deeper than I'd like to admit. I meet her gaze, my throat dry. "What do you want from me?"

"To understand," she replies simply. "To know why thou buildest such walls, why thou keepest everypony at a distance—even those who seek only to help."

I hesitate, Luna's steady gaze boring into me. Her words hang in the air, challenging me in a way that feels almost impossible to avoid. She's not judging, not pressing—just waiting. And somehow, that makes it harder to hold my tongue.

I sigh heavily, the weight in my chest too much to bear. "Because the magic I use isn't safe," I admit, my voice low. "It's not like the spells other ponies cast. It's dangerous, volatile. If ponies knew what I was really capable of… the things I've figured out…" I trail off, shaking my head. "The less ponies know, the safer they are. The safereveryponyis."

Luna tilts her head, her mane shimmering like a pool of stars. "Thou speakest of thy magic as if it were a curse," she says thoughtfully. "Is it all so dire? Hast thou created nothing of beauty or kindness?"

I pause, the question catching me off guard. My mind flashes to Sweetie Belle, to her bright, excited eyes as she mastered the Lift Disk Spell. To the awe and pride on her face when she performed the Doppler Illusion.

"No," I say quietly. "It's not all bad. There's… potential in it. Good potential. I've seen that. But the bad outweighs the good by a mile. It's like walking a tightrope over a bottomless pit. One wrong step, and—" I stop, swallowing hard. "It's easier to just not walk at all."

Luna regards me in silence for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she steps forward, her tone curious yet firm. "Thou hast revealed much to me this night, Kinetic Flux. Secrets thou hast guarded so fiercely. Pray, tell, why dost thou speak so openly to one whom most ponies fear?"

I blink, caught off guard by the question. "Fear?" I repeat, tilting my head. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

Her lips twitch into a faint smile, and for the first time, there's a flicker of warmth in her eyes. "Most ponies cower before the Princess of the Night," she says, her tone wry. "They see only the shadow of what I once was. But thou… thou dost not flinch, even as thou dost hurl accusations and bare thy secrets. 'Tis… refreshing."

I glance at her, trying to find the right words. "I guess… I don't really see a point in being afraid of you," I admit, my voice casual, though my thoughts are anything but. "Maybe it's because I think I could take you."

The moment the words leave my mouth, I freeze. That wasn't supposed to come out.Why would you say that?

Luna's eyes widen for a fraction of a second, but then something unexpected happens: she smiles. It's not a mocking smile or one filled with condescension—it's warm, almost amused.

"Thou thinkest thou could best me?" she asks, her tone light yet tinged with curiosity. "A bold claim, Kinetic Flux."

I rub the back of my neck, heat rising to my face. "I didn't mean it like that," I mutter, though part of me isn't entirely sure. "It just… slipped out."

She chuckles softly, a sound that feels surprisingly gentle. "And yet, thou speakest it with conviction. Though thou art wrong, thy boldness is… endearing."

I glance away, unsure how to respond. My eyes land on her, and I immediately regret it. Like all ponies, her oversized eyes glisten with a startling clarity, the faint lines of blood vessels visible against the soft blue of her irises. Her fur, though flawless in most eyes, reveals faint patterns of veins beneath its surface, a reminder of just how unnervingly real she—and all ponies—are.

I shift uncomfortably, tearing my gaze away. "Ponies aren't really my thing," I say quickly, hoping to push past the awkwardness.

Luna's smile falters slightly, her gaze softening. "Thou art not alone in thy discomfort," she says, her voice quieter now. "Many ponies still see me as the shadow I once was. To be feared, to be avoided. I have not regained their trust."

I shake my head quickly, feeling the need to clarify before this gets even more awkward. "No, it's not that," I say, my voice firm but tinged with unease. "It's not you, specifically. It's… ponies in general."

Luna blinks, clearly puzzled. "Ponies in general? But thou art a pony thyself, art thou not? Why shouldst thou find thine own kind unsettling?"

I grimace, trying to find the right words to explain. "It's not… It's just—" I groan, rubbing the bridge of my muzzle. "It's the eyes, okay? And the fur. And—ugh—those massive blood vessels you can see in the whites of your eyes. It's unnerving. Everypony looks so… real."

Luna tilts her head, her confusion deepening. "The vessels in our eyes?" she echoes, as if the concept is entirely foreign to her. "And the fur? Surely thou dost jest."

"I wish I was," I mutter, avoiding her gaze. "It's not something I can help. Every time I look at another pony, it's all I see. The veins, the tiny imperfections, the way light catches just wrong on fur—it's all too much. Like everything's magnified. I can mostly Ignore it. But when ponies try to get close to me... bleh."

Luna's expression softens, though her brow remains slightly furrowed. "Thou speakest as though thou art apart from us. As though thou dost not share in these traits."

I hesitate, her words hitting uncomfortably close to home. "I… I don't know," I admit. "Maybe I just notice it more than other ponies do. Maybe it's just how I see things."

"'Tis a curious plight," Luna says, her tone thoughtful. "Yet it must weigh heavily upon thee, to find discomfort even among thy peers."

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "It is what it is. I've gotten used to it, for the most part. I just… try not to think about it."

Luna steps closer, her gaze searching mine. "And yet, thou hast shared this discomfort with me. Why?"

I glance at her, struggling to put my thoughts into words. "Because I didn't want you to think it was about you," I admit finally, my voice low. "It's not about who you are or what you've done. I didn't want you to think I'm avoiding you because of Nightmare Moon or whatever. It's… not like that."

Luna blinks, her expression softening even further. "Thou didst not wish to wound my feelings," she says, almost to herself. A faint smile graces her lips, her eyes shimmering with something I can't quite place. "Thy honesty is most unexpected, Kinetic Flux. And… appreciated."

I shift uncomfortably under her gaze, unsure how to respond. "Yeah, well, don't read too much into it," I mutter. "I just figured you deserved to know the truth."

She chuckles softly, the sound light and almost musical. "Even so, 'tis rare for a pony to speak thusly to me. Many still tremble in my presence, seeing only the shadow of what I once was. But thou… thou dost treat me as though I am merely another pony."

I blink, unsure if that's a compliment or not. "I mean… you're still a princess," I say awkwardly. "But yeah. I guess I just don't have the stigma."

Her smile widens, and for a moment, she looks almost vulnerable, as though my words have reached a part of her she seldom shows. "Thou art a curious one, Kinetic Flux," she says, her voice soft. "I am glad we spoke this night."

I nod, the tension in my chest finally starting to ease. "Yeah, me too. But I think I'm done for the night. It's been a long day, and I need some sleep."

Luna inclines her head gracefully. "Of course. Rest well, Kinetic Flux. The morrow shall bring its own challenges, but I have faith thou shalt meet them with thy peculiar boldness."

I chuckle dryly, already turning toward the door. "Here's hoping."

---

By the time I return to my quarters, the exhaustion has fully set in. The untouched tray of food sits where the servants left it, the once-delicious aromas now muted and stale. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. Even if the food isn't poisoned, it's certainly not worth eating now.

I collapse onto the bed, the silk sheets cool against my fur. The conversation with Luna replays in my mind, her words lingering like a faint echo. Despite my initial hesitation, I feel… lighter. Like I've shed a piece of the weight I've been carrying.

But as my eyes close and sleep begins to take hold, a nagging thought creeps in.Why does she trust me?

The question lingers, unanswered, as the darkness finally takes me.

The next morning, I'm shaken awake by a sharp knock on the door. Groggily, I open my eyes to see a guard standing there, his expression impassive. "The princesses request your presence at breakfast," he says simply.

I groan inwardly, my body still heavy with sleep. But I know better than to refuse. Rubbing my eyes, I drag myself out of bed and try to make myself presentable. A splash of cold water from the basin helps me wake up, though the lingering hunger from last night doesn't do me any favors.

---

The dining hall is as grand as everything else in this castle—massive chandeliers, a long, polished table, and windows that let in the warm glow of the morning sun. At the far end of the table sit Celestia and Luna, already engaged in quiet conversation.

"Ah, Kinetic Flux," Celestia greets warmly as I enter. "Good morning. Please, join us."

Her tone is as light and serene as ever, that same hint of amusement in her expression. I take a seat at the table, trying to suppress the lingering unease from yesterday. To my surprise, it's easier than I expected. Maybe the talk with Luna helped more than I realized.

"You look much better today," Celestia notes, her eyes sparkling faintly. "I trust you were able to get some rest?"

"Some," I reply, keeping my voice even. "It was a long day, but I think I'm ready for whatever comes next."

"Good," she says, smiling. "The Archmage Examination is no small challenge, but a composed mind is often the key to success."

Luna chimes in, her tone more playful than I anticipated. "It seems thy bold spirit hath returned, Kinetic Flux. I am pleased to see it so."

I nod politely, glancing between the two of them. Their dynamic is fascinating—Celestia's calm, measured warmth paired with Luna's more direct and slightly mischievous demeanor. It's a strange balance, but it works.

The food is brought out shortly after, an impressive array of fruits, pastries, and other breakfast fare. My stomach growls, and I don't hesitate this time. The thought of poisoning feels absurd now, especially after last night.

The meal starts quietly enough, the clinking of silverware and the soft rustle of wings filling the air. I focus on my plate, content to let the princesses carry the conversation.

"Didst thou see the new garden layout, sister?" Luna asks, her tone light. "The florists have outdone themselves this season."

Celestia nods, a small smile gracing her lips. "I did. The roses in particular are quite striking this year. It's a shame we don't often get the time to enjoy such simple pleasures."

Luna huffs softly, her tone turning slightly playful. "Mayhap thou shouldst delegate more, dear sister. It is not fitting for Equestria's ruler to neglect the beauty of her own realm."

I raise an eyebrow, glancing between them.

"It's hardly neglect," Celestia replies, her smile teasing. "But perhaps I shall make an exception. What do you think, Kinetic Flux? Should I spend more time among the flowers?"

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden attention. "Uh… sure?" I say, trying not to sound as unsure as I feel. "I mean, everypony deserves a break, right?"

Celestia chuckles softly. "Wise words."

Luna leans forward slightly, her gaze twinkling. "And what of thee, Kinetic Flux? Dost thou find joy in such pursuits? Or art thou too busy crafting thy mysterious magics to appreciate a garden?"

I shrug, stabbing a piece of fruit with my fork. "I guess I've never really thought about it. Most of my time is spent working on… well, things that aren't exactly relaxing."

"A pity," Luna says, her voice carrying a note of mock solemnity. "Thou dost miss much by ignoring life's simpler pleasures."

I snort softly. "I'll keep that in mind."

The conversation meanders from topic to topic—upcoming festivals, the history of Canterlot, even a debate about the best type of tea. For a while, it's easy to forget the tension from the day before. The princesses seem almost normal, their royal personas set aside in favor of casual banter.

As breakfast winds down, Celestia sets down her teacup and smiles at me. "Well, Kinetic Flux, it seems the time has come. Your examination awaits."

I freeze mid-bite, the reminder hitting me like a bolt of lightning. I'd almost managed to forget. Almost. "Right," I mutter, trying to sound composed. "Where is this… examination, exactly?"

"At my School for Gifted Unicorns," she replies, her tone as serene as ever. "It's an excellent venue for such events, as it fosters an atmosphere of learning and growth."

The mention of "school" sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. I hate schools.Hatethem. After trudging through the gauntlet of elementary school, middle school, high school, and college, I've had more than my fill of lectures, tests, and judgmental stares. The thought of walking into a school again, even as an adult, makes my stomach churn.

"That's… great," I say weakly, forcing a smile.

Celestia's gaze sharpens slightly, as though she can sense my discomfort. "Unfortunately, I cannot attend personally. Royal duties demand my attention today."

Somehow, that almost feels like a relief. The thought of her watching me stumble through the examination would've made things ten times worse. "That's… understandable," I say, doing my best to sound neutral. "I wouldn't want to take up more of your time."

She nods, her expression still warm. "Good luck, Kinetic Flux. Remember, this examination is not about perfection, but about showcasing your unique talents."

I nod, swallowing my unease. "Thanks. I'll… do my best."

Luna gives me a small smile as I rise from the table. "May fortune favor thee, Kinetic Flux. I shall look forward to hearing of thy triumph."

Author's Note:

A sharp mind can outwit itself in fascinating ways.

 

[Riddlest]

The chariot ride to the School for Gifted Unicorns is mercifully short, but my discomfort grows with every passing second. When we arrive, the sight of the massive building—its pristine towers, manicured grounds, and polished stone façade—makes my stomach twist. It's exactly the kind of place I've spent my life avoiding.

The guards escort me inside, leading me through halls lined with portraits of unicorns I assume are notable alumni. The air smells faintly of parchment and ink, and the faint hum of magic permeates the atmosphere.

Finally, we reach the examination room. It's massive, closely resembling a courthouse with its raised seating areas, save the large open space at the center. Rows of ponies are already seated above, their curious eyes fixed on me as I enter. A wave of unease washes over me; I hadn't expected an audience.

I scan the room, taking in the elevated seats where a panel of examiners—likely senior mages or professors—sits, their expressions ranging from neutral to vaguely interested.

The judges stand as the many candidates assemble in the center of the arena. A unicorn at the far left, an older mare with a meticulously groomed mane and a no-nonsense expression, steps forward. "I am Ivory Quill," she announces, her tone brisk. "A specialist in theoretical magic. I will be observing your creative application of spells."

The zebra follows, their voice smooth and deliberate. "I am Zuri. I bring the wisdom of enchantments and magical alchemy. Your approach will show not only your strength but also your ingenuity."

The earth pony grunts, standing without much ceremony. "Name's Stonehoof. Rune mage. I'll be keeping the tests grounded—literally."

Then there's her.

She's seated in the center of the panel, a white unicorn with a flowing blonde mane and a sun covered by couds as a cutie mark. To anyone else, she's just another esteemed judge. But I know better. The subtle tilt of her head, the way she holds herself with an air of serene authority, the deep magenta eyes—it's Celestia in disguise. There's no doubt in my mind.

I suppress a grimace.Of course, she couldn't just let me have this one.

The white unicorn steps forward. Her expression is warm, but her eyes hold a calm intensity. "And I am Sunny Smiles," she says in a measured tone that sends a shiver down my spine. "I represent the harmonious application of magic. Remember, composure is as important as strength."

As the judges finish their introductions, Ivory Quill steps forward again. Her horn glows as a series of runes light up in the center of the arena. "Your first challenge will test your ability to adapt under pressure. The objective is simple: survive the turrets and stay within the designated zone for five minutes."

The floor of the arena shifts, stone tiles moving aside to reveal many rune-covered turrets rising from the turrets are simplistic in design, more of a capped tube on a rock. The turrets hum with latent energy, their runes glowing faintly.

I stare at the rune-covered turrets, my mind spinning. I haven't seen anything this advanced since I came to Equestria. Sure, it's a bit primitive—nothing compared to the tech back on Earth—but the fact that I don't know how it works bothers me. The craftsmanship of the runes is precise, each one carved with purpose, glowing faintly with an energy I can't quite place.

How did they even make these? I've been guessing they're stuck in a medieval era, where trial and error is their best method for getting things done. Did somepony just stumble onto the right combination of runes by accident? Or is there a system here, some kind of logic I'm missing?

Ivory Quill continues, her tone brisk. "Each candidate will defend themselves from four turrets. The turrets will activate one by one until all are operational. They each fire one of the main elements. How you survive is up to you. We encourage creativity."

The candidates exchange nervous glances, but I focus on the turrets, my mind already working through possibilities. The vagueness of the task is deliberate—it's an open invitation to show off. My heart pounds, but I force myself to stay calm. I move to my designated spot.

Survive for five minutes. That's it. You've handled worse.

The first turret activates, its runes flaring red. A jet of flame bursts forth, heading straight for me. I react instantly, using telekinesis to form a tight zone of held air in front of myself. I slow the atoms in the path of the flame, creating a buffer zone that absorbs the heat before it can reach me. The flames dance harmlessly against the invisible shield.

The second turret hums to life, its rune glowing blue. A jet of water shoots toward me, but I maintain my focus. I angle the flow around my barrier, channeling it away like a stream diverted by a dam. The water pools harmlessly on the floor.

The air turret is next, glowing white, unleashing a powerful gust aimed directly at me. The force of the wind threatens to throw me off balance, but i extend the zone to surround me further, creating a denser pocket to counteract the pressure. The gusts buffet the barrier, but I hold steady.

Finally, the earth turret activates, glowing a deep brow and launching shards of stone with alarming speed. The projectiles slam into my telekinetic shield, each impact sending a tremor through my magic. My horn aches under the strain, but I grit my teeth and reinforce the compressed air barrier, deflecting the shards.

All four turrets are active now, their attacks relentless. Fire, water, air, and earth assault me, and the strain of maintaining my defenses starts to take its toll. My breath comes in sharp gasps, sweat dripping down my face.

Then I decide to end it.

My horn glows brighter as I focus on the turrets themselves. The runes are the weak point—the source of their power but to me, it does not matter. I isolate the atoms of the nearest turret with my telekinesis, targeting the bonds that hold them together. With a sharp burst of telekinesis, I separate them, splitting the turret cleanly in half.

The turret collapses, its runes flickering out. I repeat the process with the others, each one falling apart under the precision of my magic. The arena falls silent, the glow of the runes fading as the last turret crumbles to the floor. I wait for the clock to run out.

The timer chimes, signaling the end of the test. I exhale shakily, my legs trembling under me.

Ivory Quill speaks first, her sharp voice directed at me with curiosity. "That was… unexpected. And rather efficient in the use of your mana. I hesitate to say I didn't catch when you began casting the spells you showcased. How, exactly, did you manage that?"

I glance at her, my expression carefully neutral. "Will I lose points for not explaining?" I ask, my voice steady despite the exhaustion.

"No," she replies, her curiosity undimmed. "But we would appreciate your insight."

My smile grows like a weed. "It came to me in a dream," I say, waving a hoof dismissively.

Ivory Quill's expression tightens, her patience clearly wearing thin. "A dream?" she echoes, her voice laced with disbelief. "You expect us to believe that such an advanced technique simply… occurred to you in your sleep?"

I shrug, my smirk widening slightly. "Dreams can be powerful," I say with a casual wave of my hoof. "Inspiration can come from the most unexpected places. Or perhaps…" I pause dramatically, letting the moment hang. "Perhaps the stars whispered their secrets to me."

Her ears flick back in irritation, and she takes a step forward. "The stars—"

Stonehoof cuts her off with a snort of laughter. "Many mages are secretive about their methods, Quill. Let it go. The challenge was to survive, and he did that. Creatively, at that."

Ivory Quill turns to glare at him, but Zuri nods in agreement, her golden rings clinking softly as she moves. "Indeed. His method may be unconventional, but it adheres to the spirit of the test. We are here to evaluate results, are we not?"

Quill looks ready to argue, but Celestia—Sunny Smiles—interjects smoothly. "Kinetic Flux's solution demonstrates both ingenuity and precision. While I share Ivory Quill's curiosity, we must respect his choice to remain discreet. Not all knowledge is easily shared."

The disguised alicorn's words carry a weight that silences further debate. Ivory Quill mutters something under her breath but finally steps back, her frustration palpable.

"Very well," she says curtly. "Your solution is… acceptable."

I incline my head, a faint edge of mockery in my tone. "Thank you."

The room remains tense as the judges make their final notes and comments on the other's tests. Some of the other candidates shift nervously on their hooves, clearly rattled by what they just witnessed. The ones who failed are ushered out of the room heads held low, some sobbing. I suppress a sigh of relief, keeping my composure intact.

As I return to the waiting area, the weight of the judges' scrutiny lingers in the air. I know I've drawn attention—not all of it welcome. But for now, I've survived the first challenge.

Ivory Quill steps forward again, her expression calm but stern. "Your next task is simple: reach the other side."

The floor beneath us begins to rumble. I freeze, my ears twitching as the sound grows louder, the vibrations shaking the entire room. The candidates exchange nervous glances, some instinctively lighting their horns.

Without warning, the center of the room splits apart, the tiles dropping away into a seemingly bottomless chasm. The far wall moves farther and farther, until the gap has expanded to what looks like the length of a football field. The air feels charged with magic—spatial magic, no doubt.

Simple. Sure. Because a giant pit of doom screams simplicity.

I glance around, noting the reactions of the other candidates. Some look confident, their horns already glowing as they prepare to teleport. Others look uncertain, their eyes darting between the judges and the distant edge of the chasm.

The judges say nothing more, leaving the candidates to figure out their methods.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I glance at the stone floor beneath me, thinking of the plan I've had since I made the 'spell'. It's solid, stable. Perfect for my Lift Disk Spell.

I focus my telekinesis, cutting four circular disks from the stone floor. They hover in the air around me, each one perfectly sized for my hooves. I step onto the disks, balancing carefully as I adjust their positions. With a small push of magic, I glide forward, the disks carrying me across the chasm like a skater on air.

The feeling is smooth, almost effortless. I control the movement with small adjustments to my telekinesis, my horn glowing faintly as the disks respond to my commands. The air rushes past me, and for the first time, I feel… relaxed. This is easy. This is mine.

Around me, the other candidates try their own methods. Most teleport, their horns flaring as they disappear in flashes of light, only to reappear—hopefully—on the other side. But not all of them make it. One unicorn teleports too short, reappearing mid-air and plummeting into the chasm below. Another doesn't reappear at all.

A particularly bold candidate tries an earth based spell, launching themselves with a powerful burst of stone from beneath their hooves. They soar through the air with impressive speed, but their trajectory falls short. They vanish into the pit, their scream echoing faintly before it's swallowed by the void.

I glide smoothly to the far side, stepping off the disks as they fall into the pit below. The other side feels almost too quiet after the chaos of the crossing, but I ignore the uneasy silence and glance back at the chasm. The remaining candidates continue their attempts, each one pushing their magic—and their nerves—to the limit.

One mare with green fur and a brown mane, watching me, hesitates before attempting to imitate my method. Instead of cutting disks from the floor, she gathers large stones with telekinesis, moving them under her hooves. Her movements are unsteady, the uneven surfaces making it hard to balance. But with determination and focus, she manages to make it across, her expression a mix of relief and pride.

As the chaos subsides and the surviving candidates gather on the far side, the mare who imitated my method approaches me. She's breathing heavily, her horn dim but still faintly glowing. Her green coat is matted with sweat, but her expression is one of cautious gratitude.

"Hey," she says, her voice low but clear. "I just wanted to say… thanks. If I hadn't seen your method, I don't think I'd have made it."

I glance at her, momentarily caught off guard. "You did all the work," I reply, shrugging. "I just happened to go first."

She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Don't sell yourself short. That was clever. I was about to teleport, but… it would've drained me completely. I'd have nothing left for the next tests."

I raise an eyebrow, glancing over at the other candidates who had teleported. Sure enough, many of them look worse for wear. Their horns flicker faintly, their eyes tired. Even the ones who arent completely wiped are clearly struggling to recover.

"Teleportation's a brute force solution," I mutter, half to myself. "Burns through your reserves fast."

The mare nods, her gaze following mine. "Yeah. I could've made it, but at what cost?" She looks back at me, her eyes sharp. "Your method's just telekinesis, isn't it?"

I smirk faintly, appreciating her honesty. "What gave it away?"

She chuckles softly. "I might've been a little shaky with it, but it's not hard to figure out once you see it in action. Still, it's smart. Simple, efficient. I'll give you that."

I nod, not sure what to say. It's rare for anyone to acknowledge my approach without trying to pick it apart—or accuse me of hiding something.

"I'm Glimmer Spark, by the way," she says, extending a hoof.

"Kinetic Flux," I reply, shaking her hoof briefly.

She steps back, her expression thoughtful. "Good luck with the next challenge. I'll try not to copy you again."

I watch her as she moves to sit with the other candidates, her confidence visibly bolstered. Despite myself, I feel a flicker of something almost… positive. Maybe it's the novelty of someone recognizing my method without questioning it—or maybe it's the relief of knowing not everypony is out to tear me down.

The remaining candidates—twenty, by my count—stand in uneasy silence as the judges rise once more. The failed examinees from the last test are herded out of the room by a pair of guards, their heads hanging low. It's an uncomfortable sight, a reminder of how quickly this process weeds out the less capable.

The floor rumbles softly as it rises, the chasm disappearing as the tiles lock back into place. Though the arena is now whole again, the elongated dimensions remain, giving the space an almost theatrical feel.

Ivory Quill steps forward, her sharp gaze scanning the candidates. "The next test," she announces, "is one of strength, strategy, and composure under extreme pressure. You will face a summoned opponent—a dragon, constructed entirely from mana."

The room stirs, whispers spreading among the candidates. A dragon? That's not something most unicorns encounter in their lifetimes.

"The dragon," Quill continues, her tone even, "will display all the traits of a real dragon. It will breathe fire, lash out with claws and tail, and defend itself aggressively. Though it cannot truly die, it will respond to damage as though it were flesh and blood."

Stonehoof speaks up next, his gruff voice carrying through the room. "Don't think this thing can't hurt you just 'cause it's made of magic. It'll hit back, and it hits hard. Be smart."

"You will face the dragon alone," Zuri adds, her tone more measured. "One at a time. We will observe how you handle the challenge. Remember, success is not measured solely by victory but by your approach."

"Prepare yourselves," Celestia—still disguised as Sunny Smiles—says, her calm demeanor unchanged. "This will be unlike anything you've faced before."

The candidates shift nervously as the judges confer quietly, their magic weaving together in a display of glowing runes and shimmering light. The runes coalesce in the center of the arena, forming a swirling pool of mana that grows brighter with each passing second.

The first candidate is called forward—a young stallion with a bright blue coat and a nervous flicker in his eyes. He hesitates but steps into the arena, the swirling mana beginning to solidify into a hulking dragon. Its scales shimmer with a ghostly glow, its massive wings spreading as it lets out a deep, rumbling roar.

The fight begins, and it's clear the stallion is overwhelmed. His spells are slow, defensive shields buckling under the dragon's relentless assault. He tries to strike back with bursts of energy, but his attacks barely faze the beast. The fight ends quickly, the dragon pinning him with a claw before dissolving back into mana.

The second candidate, a mare with a fiery orange mane, fares better. She summons barriers and uses relatively fast, precise spells to strike at the dragon's weak points. Her agility keeps her alive longer, but the dragon's sheer size and power eventually overpower her. She's forced to concede the fight after depleting her mana reserves.

As I watch, a pit forms in my stomach. These aren't just tests—they're spectacles. Each fight draws murmurs from the crowd and sharp looks from the judges. The candidates give everything they have, but it's clear this isn't a test many are capable of passing.

"Next," Ivory Quill calls, her gaze falling on me.

I take a deep breath, stepping forward as the swirling mana begins to coalesce again. The dragon takes shape, its gleaming form larger and more imposing than I expected. Its glowing eyes lock onto mine, and it lets out a deafening roar that shakes the very floor.

The dragon towers over me, its shimmering mana scales glinting like shards of molten glass. It snarls, the air rippling with the force of its breath. The arena feels unnervingly quiet except for the low hum of magic emanating from the beast.

I stand my ground, my heart pounding but my mind clear.It's just mana,I remind myself.Nothing more. No guilt. No hesitation.

The dragon lunges, its massive claws slicing through the air. I leap back, narrowly avoiding the attack, and gather a small cloud of chalk particles from my bag, letting them swirl in front of me. My horn flares as I focus, compressing the particles into a dense, compact mass.

Physics doesn't care if the target is flesh, stone, or magic.

I accelerate the particles, pushing them to an absurd velocity. The compacted projectile—barely the size of a pebble—launches toward the dragon's head at a blistering speed. The sound of the release is sharp, almost like a whip crack, as the projectile pierces the air with terrifying force.

The dragon doesn't even have time to react. The chalk bullet tears through its head, punching a clean hole through the glowing mana. Its roar cuts off abruptly, its massive body faltering before collapsing in on itself. The shimmering form dissolves into a cloud of flickering light, then vanishes entirely, leaving only silence in its wake.

---

The judges exchange glances, their murmurs filling the room. Some look surprised; others, like Ivory Quill, seem downright perplexed. I can feel their eyes on me, scrutinizing every detail of what just happened.

Ivory Quill is the first to speak, stepping forward with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. "That was… unorthodox," she says, her tone clipped. "I've never seen a spell like that before. How did you achieve such speed? Such force? The cast time was almost nothing as well."

I shrug casually. "Will I lose points if I don't explain?"

Her eyes narrow. "No, but—"

"Then it was an interpretation of the wind," I say, cutting her off, my tone as casual as if I were commenting on the weather. "You'd be surprised what you hear when you just... listen."

Ivory Quill's face tightens, a vein practically visible on her temple. "The wind? You expect us to believe that was inspired by the *wind*?"

I keep my expression deliberately neutral, though I'm enjoying the rising frustration in her voice. "Wind can be powerful, focused, and even lethal if you understand it well enough. I just… followed its example."

She opens her mouth to retort, but Stonehoof's rough voice interrupts. "Ain't about the how," he grunts. "It's about the fact that he did it. The dragon's gone, and that's that."

Zuri nods, her calm tone soothing in contrast. "It is rare for a candidate to end the challenge in such a decisive manner. It warrants observation, no matter the explanation."

Ivory Quill exhales sharply, clearly unsatisfied but unwilling to argue further. "Fine," she says tersely. "Let's move on."

The next candidates step forward one by one, their approaches varying widely. Most put up impressive fights, demonstrating skill and ingenuity, but the dragons prove too much for them in the end. Several contenders sustain injuries—minor burns, scrapes, or magical backlash from failed spells. A few are carried off by medics.

I watch with interest as Glimmer Spark is called up. She steps into the arena, her stance firm and her horn glowing faintly. There's a determination in her eyes that's hard not to respect. The dragon materializes again, roaring as it looms over her.

Glimmer Spark moves quickly, casting while moving, she summons barriers of stone to deflect its attacks. She strikes back with precise blasts of magic, aiming for the joints and perceived weak points in the dragon's shimmering form. For a moment, it looks like she might gain the upper hoof. But the dragon counters with a sweep of its tail, shattering her defenses and sending her sprawling.

She grits her teeth, rising shakily and continuing to fight. Her magic falters under the relentless assault, her barriers cracking and her attacks losing their edge. Finally, a claw swipes toward her, and she's forced to concede, the dragon's claw stopping inches from her face.

As she limps back to the lineup, her expression a mix of exhaustion and disappointment, I offer her a small nod. She fought valiantly, even if the odds were stacked against her.

By the end of the test, no one else managed to kill their dragon. The judges stand once more, their expressions ranging from impressed to unreadable. Ivory Quill steps forward, her voice sharp but measured.

"This test was designed to challenge you beyond your limits," she announces. "It was not expected—nor required—for any of you to succeed in defeating the dragon."

Her gaze flicks briefly to me, and I feel the weight of her curiosity. "Your performance was judged on your strategy, resourcefulness, and composure under pressure. Completion was never the objective."

The room falls silent as the remaining candidates exchange uneasy glances. The implications are clear: we were set up to fail. But I didn't.

Zuri steps forward, her tone calm and authoritative. "You have shown us your strengths and weaknesses. The examination will continue, but for now, take this time to rest and recover."

As the candidates disperse, I can feel the weight of their gazes on me. Some are impressed, others wary. I catch Glimmer Spark's eye as she walks past, her expression pensive. For now, I've set myself apart—but not without consequence.

The room is quiet as we return to the arena, the tension heavier than before. The remaining candidates, myself included, look noticeably more focused—or perhaps just more cautious. The earlier challenges have taken their toll.

Ivory Quill steps forward, her sharp gaze scanning the group. "The next challenge," she begins, her voice carrying an edge of anticipation, "is to create a legacy."

The candidates exchange confused glances, and even I can't help but arch an eyebrow. Create a legacy? What kind of vague bullshit is that?

Quill continues, her tone brisk. "Your task is to design and create an enduring artifact or effect—something that serves the kingdom or advances magical understanding. You will be provided with materials and a three-hour time limit. Use them wisely."

Stonehoof chimes in, his gruff voice cutting through the air. "The goal ain't just to make something fancy. It's gotta mean somethin'. Somethin' that lasts."

Zuri nods, her expression calm. "The artifact or effect must reflect your understanding of magical principles and your ability to apply them creatively. Show us what you are capable of."

Sunny waves her horn, and tables filled with various materials appear at the edges of the room—crystals, enchanted metals, rare herbs, and other magical components. My lips curl into a slight sneer as I glance around. This is tailor-made for me, isn't it?

I glance at the other candidates, noting the way they huddle over the materials, clearly brainstorming. Some are already sketching out ideas or assembling components, their horns glowing faintly.

But me? I'm not about to show all my cards. Not here. Not now.

I scan the materials, intentionally avoiding anything too elaborate. I don't need something flashy or groundbreaking. I just need something… functional. My gaze lands on a small, dull loop of iron, weighing around a pound, among the enchanted metals, and an idea sparks in my mind.

A magnet. Simple, practical, effective.

Using telekinesis, I pick up the iron ring and position it on the table. I focus, manipulating the electrons within the material, using a steady flow of magic to move them in a loop through the iron. The movement induces a current, and, following Ampere's Law, the current generates a magnetic field.

The iron begins to hum faintly, the effect invisible but unmistakable to my senses. I test it by bringing a smaller piece of metal near it. The two snap together with a satisfying click.

Perfect.

I glance around, noting how some of the other candidates are pouring their energy into elaborate, glowing constructs or inscribing runes with painstaking precision. By comparison, my little magnet looks… underwhelming. But I don't care. It works.

I step back from the table, my small, humming magnet resting inconspicuously amid the more ostentatious creations around the room. As I glance around, the contrast is almost laughable.

One unicorn has created an enchanted crystal that emits a soothing light, supposedly designed to calm distressed minds. Another has etched intricate runes into a steel plate, claiming it will absorb and reflect offensive spells. Glimmer Spark, as bold as ever, is crafting what appears to be a barrier of some sort. The way some of the legacies spark and sputter leaves me weary of their effectiveness.

When the time runs out, the judges signal the end of the challenge. One by one, the candidates present their artifacts, each explanation met with murmurs of approval at a working device or disapproval of a failed creation.

Finally, it's my turn.

I levitate the magnet onto the table in front of the judges, its simplicity earning more than a few raised eyebrows.

"And what, exactly, is this?" Ivory Quill asks, her tone sharp with skepticism.

"It's a magnet," I reply plainly, holding the smaller piece of metal up to demonstrate. The faint click as the metal snaps to the magnet echoes in the quiet room. "It attracts metal."

The judges exchange glances. Even Celestia, disguised as Sunny Smiles, tilts her head slightly, her expression calm but curious.

"And what purpose does this serve?" Zuri asks, her tone more measured. "How does it advance magical understanding?"

I shrug. "It's practical. You can use it to pick up metal objects, sort materials, or even hold things in place."

Stonehoof leans forward, squinting at the magnet. "Ah've seen somethin' like that before," he mutters. "What's the enchantment?"

"There isn't one," I reply casually. "It's not enchanted. It's just… a property of the material, enhanced through manipulation."

Ivory Quill narrows her eyes, clearly dissatisfied. "How did you achieve this effect? This is not a known spell or rune."

I smirk faintly, savoring her irritation. "Will I lose points if I don't explain?"

Ivory Quill's expression shifts, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth as a spark of satisfaction gleams in her eyes. "Yes," she says sharply, her voice tinged with triumph. "Part of the task is to serve the kingdom or advance magical understanding. If you cannot explain how your artifact works, it fails the criteria."

Her words wipe the smirk off my face, but I recover quickly, suppressing my irritation. "Fine," I say, my tone clipped. "It's an application of physical principles through magic."

Stonehoof raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Physical principles? Explain."

I sigh, knowing there's no escaping this if I want my bits. "It works through the manipulation of electrons—tiny components of matter. By moving them in a loop through the material, I create a current. That current generates a magnetic field, which gives the iron its ability to attract other metals."

The judges exchange glances, their expressions ranging from intrigue to confusion. Even Zuri looks momentarily unsure.

Ivory Quill sniffs, her tone skeptical. "Electrons? Current? Magnetic fields? These are unfamiliar terms. Simplify."

I rub my temple, biting back my frustration. "Alright. Imagine the material has invisible threads inside it, and I made those threads move in a circle. When they move, they create an invisible pull that attracts metal objects. That's it."

The room falls silent as the judges digest my explanation. Stonehoof nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Huh. Never heard of such a thing, but it's solid. Simple, like you said. Could have practical uses."

Zuri hums softly. "It is unique, I'll grant you that. And it does serve a purpose, albeit a modest one."

Ivory Quill looks less convinced. "It lacks elegance. There is no beauty, no refinement."

"Not everything needs to glow or hum to be useful," I counter, my tone firm but not disrespectful. "Sometimes practicality is its own kind of elegance."

There's a pause, and to my surprise, Sunny Smiles—Celestia—speaks up. "I must admit, I find the concept intriguing. It is… unconventional, but there is value in exploring new perspectives."

Ivory Quill's eyes narrow slightly, but she says nothing. The other judges murmur among themselves, and after a moment, Stonehoof announces, "Alright. We'll deliberate."

As I step back into the lineup, I notice Glimmer Spark watching me, her expression unreadable. The candidates whisper among themselves, and I catch fragments of their conversations—some skeptical, others impressed.

As the judges continue their deliberations, I glance at the other candidates and their creations. Most are clustered near their artifacts, nervously watching the judges or muttering to one another. Glimmer Spark stands off to the side, her focus on what looks like a small, glowing dome.

Curious, I approach her. "That's yours?" I ask, nodding toward the artifact.

She looks up, her expression guarded at first, but then she nods. "Yeah. It's a self-repairing barrier. Well, it's supposed to be."

I tilt my head, intrigued. "Self-repairing?"

She gestures to the dome, her horn lighting up briefly. The surface ripples faintly as if alive, small fractures forming and then sealing themselves almost immediately. The glow remains steady throughout, as if unaffected by the damage.

"It's meant to be a defensive charm," she explains. "Something that could protect ponies in dangerous situations—natural disasters, combat, that kind of thing. The barrier regenerates itself as long as it has magic to draw from."

I whistle softly, genuinely impressed. "That's… not bad."

Her eyes narrow slightly. "Not bad? You could at least pretend to be impressed."

I chuckle. "Alright, fine. It's impressive. Happy?"

Shields like that are beyond me—my magic just doesn't work that way. I've learned to make do, using telekinesis and an understanding of physics to mimic one. But a charm that regenerates and protects, just by feeding magic? That, I would love to have.

She smirks, but there's a hint of tension in her expression. "I'm not sure it'll be enough. The judges seem… hard to please."

"They are," I agree, glancing back at the panel. "But your artifact actually looks useful. That's gotta count for something."

She watches me for a moment, her smirk fading into something more contemplative. "And what about yours? That magnet thing?"

"It's practical," I say simply. "Not flashy, but it works."

She raises an eyebrow. "And you think that'll be enough?"

I shrug. "If it isn't, it isn't. I didn't make it to impress them."

"Then why did you make it?" she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

I hesitate, considering my answer. "Because it's useful," I finally say. "Because it's something new. That's enough."

She studies me for a moment, then nods. "Fair enough." Her gaze drifts back to her barrier. "I just hope they see the value in what we've made."

"They will," I say, surprising even myself with how confident I sound. "Sometimes the best ideas are the simplest."

Glimmer Spark smiles faintly. "I'll hold you to that."

The judges deliberate for what feels like hours but is probably only a few tense minutes. Finally, Ivory Quill steps forward, her expression as inscrutable as ever.

"Kinetic Flux," she begins, her voice carrying across the room, "your artifact is unconventional and difficult to categorize. However, it demonstrates a unique perspective and potential for practical application. It passes."

I nod, keeping my expression neutral, but inside, relief washes over me. One more challenge down.

One by one, the remaining candidates are evaluated. Glimmer Spark's self-repairing barrier earns her high marks, the judges praising its ingenuity and potential for disaster response. By the end of the evaluations, only ten candidates remain. The rest are quietly escorted out, their artifacts and dreams left behind.

Ivory Quill addresses the remaining contenders. "You have proven your worth through creativity, resourcefulness, and skill. But the final phase of this examination will push you even further."

Zuri steps forward, her voice calm but firm. "Tomorrow, you will face each other in the arena. A tournament of duels will decide who among you has the strength, strategy, and composure to hold the title of Archmage."

Stonehoof grunts, clearly enjoying the prospect. "Nonlethal only," he says, his tone gruff but serious. "You're all proven mages, so we trust you know how to control your spells. Injuries are acceptable; killing is not."

The room hums with tension as the words sink in. A tournament. A direct contest of skill against other accomplished mages. I glance at the remaining candidates, sizing them up. Glimmer Spark catches my eye and offers a small, determined nod. Others avoid my gaze entirely, their focus already inward.

"Rest well tonight," Ivory Quill continues. "You will need it. The tournament begins at dawn."

With that, the judges leave, and the tension in the room dissipates slightly. Some candidates start murmuring among themselves, but I make my way back toward the exit, my thoughts already racing.

A tournament of duels. Nonlethal, sure, but that doesn't mean easy. Everypony here is proven, and none of them are going to hold back. I'll have to be careful, precise—one mistake could end everything.

Glimmer Spark falls into step beside me as we leave the arena. "A tournament, huh?" she says, her tone light but with an edge of nervousness. "Should be… fun."

I glance at her. "Fun's not the word I'd use."

She chuckles dryly. "Fair. But hey, we've made it this far, right? Just one more day."

"One more day," I echo, the words heavy on my tongue.

We part ways at the dormitories, the tension in the air making it hard to exchange more than a few words. As I close the door behind me, I lean against it, my mind already running through scenarios, strategies, techniques I'll need to refine.

Tomorrow, the gloves come off.

Author's Note:

Magnetic Field Calculation
Given:
- Energy available: 100 food calories = 418,400 Joules.
- Magnetic field formula: B = μ * N * I / (2 * R), where:
- μ = 4π 10 T·m/A (permeability of free space),
- N = 1 (single loop),
- I = Current through the loop (calculated below),
- R = Radius of the loop (assumed 0.1 m).

Resistance Calculation
Resistance (R_resistance) = ρ * L / A, where:
- ρ = 1 10 Ω·m (resistivity of iron),
- L = 2πR (circumference of the loop),
- A = 1 10 m (cross-sectional area of the iron loop).

R_resistance = (1 10) * (2π * 0.1) / (1 10) = 6.28 10 Ω.

Current Calculation
Using the energy formula, E = I * R_resistance * t:
I = (E / (R_resistance * t)).

Substituting:
I = (418,400 / (6.28 10 * 10)) 8160 A.

Magnetic Field Strength
B = (4π 10) * (1) * (8160) / (2 * 0.1) 0.0514 T.

---

Force and Weight Calculation
The lifting force (F) of a magnetic field is given by:
F = (B * A) / (2 * μ),

Where:
- B = 0.0514 T (calculated above),
- A = Cross-sectional area of the magnet = 1 10 m,
- μ = 4π 10 T·m/A.

Substitute:
F = (0.0514 * 1 10) / (2 * 4π 10),
F = (2.64 10) / (2.51 10),
F 105 N.

Weight Lifted
Weight is the force of gravity:
W = F / g, where g = 9.81 m/s (gravitational acceleration).

W = 105 / 9.81 10.7 kg.

---

Final Result
- Magnetic field strength: 0.0514 T.
- Maximum weight lifted: 10.7 kg (approximately 23.6 pounds).

 

[Riddlest]

As I step out of the school's grand hall, the cool evening air greets me like a reminder that the day is finally over. My legs ache, my mind feels like a tangled web of spells and strategies, and all I want is a quiet place to sit and unwind.

But then I see it—a gleaming golden chariot parked right outside the gates, its polished surface catching the fading sunlight. A pair of armored pegasi stand ready to pull it, their stoic expressions giving nothing away.

I glance around, noticing the other candidates trickling out of the school. None of them have chariots waiting for them. Most are walking back toward the city's inns or dormitories, chatting among themselves or trudging in tired silence.

Why do I get special treatment?

The question needles at me as I approach the chariot. One of the pegasi nods respectfully. "Kinetic Flux, we're here to take you back to the castle."

"Of course you are," I mutter under my breath, climbing aboard. The ride is smooth, the rhythmic beat of wings providing an almost hypnotic backdrop as we ascend over the city. The view is breathtaking, the sprawling lights of Canterlot shimmering below, but I can't enjoy it. My mind is too preoccupied with questions I don't want to ask out loud.

Why me? Is this part of Celestia's plan? A test? Or something else entirely?

The chariot lands gracefully in the castle courtyard, and I'm greeted by a servant who promptly escorts me inside. My unease grows with every step as I'm led through the familiar halls toward the dining room. When the doors open, the sight of the royal sisters waiting at the table is enough to make my stomach twist.

Celestia sits at the head of the table, her serene smile firmly in place. Luna is to her left, her posture more relaxed but no less regal. The table is set with an array of dishes, the scents rich and inviting. But I barely notice. My focus is locked on Celestia—or, more accurately, on the memory of her as Sunny Smiles.

Does she really think I don't know?

The thought is almost insulting. It's not even a good disguise. A change of mane color, a slightly different cutie mark, and she expects me to be fooled? The nerve of it grates on me, but I bite my tongue. Bringing it up now might affect my score, and I can't afford that.

"Kinetic Flux," Celestia says warmly as I approach. "Welcome back. I trust the day's challenges were enlightening?"

I force a polite smile, taking my seat across from Luna. "They were… certainly something," I reply, keeping my tone neutral.

"Thou dost speak with caution," Luna interjects, her voice carrying a curious lilt. "Surely, thou canst spare more enthusiasm for thy own triumphs?"

I glance at her, my polite smile slipping into something closer to genuine amusement. "Triumphs? I wouldn't call surviving a fake dragon or skating across a chasm triumphs, Princess. More like… not embarrassing myself."

Luna chuckles softly, her mane shimmering in the dim light. "Then perhaps thou art too modest. I watched thy performance from the spectators' seats, though I was not visible to thee. Thy ingenuity was most impressive."

I blink, caught off guard. "You were there? In disguise?"

She nods, her expression warm. "Indeed. I wished to observe without drawing undue attention to myself. 'Twas a delight to witness thy approach to each trial."

I don't admit it, but the thought of her watching—actually paying attention to what I was doing—stirs a faint flicker of satisfaction. Not that I'll let her see it. "Well, I hope I didn't disappoint."

"Quite the opposite," she replies, her smile growing. "Thou art a cunning one, Kinetic Flux. Thy methods are unlike those of thy peers."

Celestia watches the exchange with her usual serene expression, though I catch the faintest glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. She says nothing, letting Luna take the lead.

Leaning back in my chair, I decide to lean into my act, playing up the charlatan mage persona. "What can I say? I like to keep ponies guessing. It's more fun that way."

Luna tilts her head, intrigued. "Thou dost revel in mystique, yet thy actions suggest a depth thou dost not often reveal. Why is this?"

I smirk faintly, keeping my tone light. "Maybe I just enjoy being unpredictable. Keeps things interesting."

Luna regards me thoughtfully, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and understanding. "Theatrics may amuse the crowd, but dost thou not think it a burden to always perform? To always wear a mask, even amongst allies?"

"Sure," I say, leaning back and feigning a casual air. "But isn't it better to let ponies see what they expect and leave the rest a mystery? Keeps everypony happy."

Celestia, who had been silently observing us, raises an eyebrow. "Happy?" she repeats, her serene demeanor faltering just enough to reveal a touch of confusion. "How does withholding parts of oneself create happiness—for you or for others?"

I glance at her, debating how to answer without revealing too much. "It's about keeping things simple. If ponies see what they expect, there's less confusion, fewer questions. Sometimes, less is more."

Luna tilts her head, her gaze sharpening. "And what of those who see beyond thy mask? Those who perceive the truths thou dost hide?"

For a moment, I feel like she's referencing more than just our cryptic conversation. "Well," I reply, holding her gaze, "those ponies are rare. And if they do see something … they usually stay quiet."

"Or they attempt to understand," Luna counters gently. "Not every revelation is met with fear."

Celestia's confusion deepens as she looks between us, her expression soft but clearly puzzled. "I feel as though I've missed part of this discussion," she says lightly, though there's a faint pout in her tone. "Are we speaking in riddles now?"

I smirk, shrugging. "Just a little friendly banter, Princess. Nothing to worry about."

Luna chuckles softly, her smile turning mischievous. "Indeed, sister. 'Tis but the idle musings of minds untethered by convention."

Celestia blinks, clearly not buying the explanation, but she doesn't press the issue. "If you say so," she murmurs, though her tone suggests she isn't entirely convinced.

As the conversation meanders into lighter territory, I can't help but feel a strange sense of relief. Luna, despite her probing questions, isn't pushing me to reveal more than I'm comfortable with. And Celestia, while clearly curious, seems content to let the riddles pass without digging deeper.

It's a precarious balance, but for now, it holds. And as I sit there, listening to the royal sisters discuss everything from castle renovations to the upcoming summer festival, I feel an odd flicker of contentment. Even if I can't trust them fully, there's something… reassuring about not being alone in the room.

The soft clink of the guard's armored hooves against the stone floor echoes faintly as I follow him back to my room. My own hooves fall silently by comparison, but my mind is anything but quiet. The upcoming tournament looms large in my thoughts, and I know I'll need to bring my A-game if I want to win.

If it's on a platform, that's simple enough. Platforms are just another surface to manipulate. Cut a section of the floor beneath my opponent, use telekinesis to fling them off balance—or better yet, off the platform entirely. It's crude, but effective. Most mages don't think to watch the ground beneath them when they're focused on casting spells.

Then there's the option of bypassing shields. Magical barriers might be great for stopping projectiles or energy, but what about something subtler? I could force apart the dirt or stone underfoot, exploiting interangular and other forces to create a near-invisible tunnel underground. If I keep the hole small enough, no one would see it coming—not even the judges.

From there, I'd have options. I could direct my magic through the tunnel, bypassing the shield entirely to mess with them directly. Or, if I'm feeling particularly clever, I could send a tiny bit of chalk dust through. The chalk wouldn't be a weapon—not directly—but I could use it to cast an illusion around their head. Disorient them. Confuse them. Maybe make them think they're surrounded by enemies or trapped in darkness. Anything to throw them off their game.

Once they're rattled, it'd be a simple matter of cutting the ground beneath them, using it to trap or force them into submission. A good plan is all about layers—contingencies within contingencies.

As we near my room, I let out a quiet breath, my thoughts momentarily settling. The guard opens the door, nodding silently as I step inside. The room is quiet, as it always is, but tonight the silence feels heavier. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

These strategies are just possibilities, I remind myself. The tournament could throw any number of curveballs at me. But the more I plan, the more confident I feel. This isn't about being flashy or impressive—it's about winning.

I lie down on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling as the faint moonlight dances across the room. The day's events play over in my mind, but they're soon overtaken by thoughts of the tournament. My strategies, potential counters, and the unpredictable nature of unicorn magic churn in my head like an unstoppable tide.

Unicorns are unpredictable. No two spell repertoires are the same, and each one comes with its own strengths and quirks. That variability makes them dangerous. It's not like fighting a textbook opponent or countering something I've seen a dozen times before. Every mage is a unique problem waiting to happen.

And that's why I need to end the matches quickly. I can't afford to let them get creative or find the time to cast some elaborate, game-changing spell. My telekinesis doesn't have a cast time—it's instant, direct, and adaptable. That's my edge, and I have to exploit it.

I turn onto my side, my mind racing through possible scenarios. A mage who specializes in fire magic could try to overwhelm me with an inferno. I'd need to smother it before it grows—a vacuum might work, or directly reducing the heat with my ability to slow atoms.

A defensive specialist might throw up barriers or shields. That's easy enough to circumvent if I exploit the ground, forcing through those intergranular forces. If I can bypass their shield with a small enough opening, they'd never see it coming.

Then there's the wildcard—someone who uses illusions or mind-altering spells. Those are harder to predict, but disorienting them first might give me the advantage. An illusion around their head, perhaps, or forcing their own surroundings to turn against them.

My best bet is to go on the offensive the moment the match starts. Keep them reacting, scrambling to defend themselves. Telekinesis isn't flashy, but it's versatile, and its lack of cast time means I can act faster than most spells require. That's my trump card.

I shift on the bed again, frustration building as sleep continues to evade me. It's not fear or doubt keeping me awake—it's the endless stream of ideas, each one a possible key to surviving the tournament. What if someone tries something I can't predict? What if—

I shake my head, forcing myself to breathe deeply. No. Overthinking is a trap. Keep it simple. Hit first, hit fast, and don't let them get the upper hand.

The thoughts finally begin to fade, replaced by a heavy, restless fog as exhaustion catches up to me. My eyes close, and I drift off, my mind still echoing with strategies and countermeasures.

I wake up to the faint glow of dawn spilling through the curtains, the room bathed in soft golden light. My body feels heavy from the restless night, but the prospect of breakfast—and the looming tournament—forces me out of bed.

The castle halls are quiet as I make my way to the dining room. The guards at each corner stand rigid, their expressions unreadable. Their presence feels heavier today, though that's probably just my nerves playing tricks on me.

When I step into the dining room, I notice immediately that it's emptier than usual. Only Luna is seated at the table, her presence commanding even in the absence of her sister. The spread on the table is as extravagant as always—fruits, pastries, and an assortment of dishes I can't pronounce. Despite the feast, the room feels oddly subdued.

"Good morning, Kinetic Flux," Luna greets me warmly, her voice carrying a more relaxed tone than usual. She gestures for me to take a seat opposite her. "Thou art prompt, as always."

"Morning, Princess Luna," I reply, sliding into the seat she's indicated. My eyes flicker toward the head of the table, where Celestia usually sits. "No Celestia today?"

Luna shakes her head, her mane rippling like a starry river. "Nay. Mine sister attends to other matters this morn. 'Tis only thee and I."

I nod, unsure how to feel about her absence.

Luna studies me for a moment before speaking. "Thou dost appear rested, though thy mind seemed burdened last eve. Didst thou find respite in thy dreams?"

I shrug, grabbing a piece of fruit from the platter. "I guess so. I've just been thinking a lot about the tournament."

Her gaze sharpens slightly, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Thou art preparing strategies, then? Contemplating thy approach?"

I smirk faintly. "Something like that. Unicorn magic is unpredictable. I've got to be ready for anything."

"Wise," Luna says, her tone approving. "The tournament will test not only thy skill but thy adaptability. Yet, I wonder… dost thou see it as merely a contest, or something more?"

I pause, the question catching me off guard. "What do you mean?"

Luna leans forward slightly, her expression thoughtful. "The tournament is a stage upon which thy magic shall be revealed. Thou hast spoken of thy power with both pride and caution. 'Tis clear thou wieldest it with care, yet this challenge may demand thou reveal more than thou art wont to."

I frown, her words striking uncomfortably close to home. "It's just a test," I say, keeping my tone light. "Another hurdle to clear. Nothing more."

Luna's gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then she nods, leaning back in her chair. "As thou sayest. Yet, I shall watch with keen interest."

I nod slowly, turning my attention to the food. The quiet between us feels less strained now, though her words leave a faint unease in the back of my mind.

After breakfast, I make my way back to the castle gates, feeling slightly more composed than I had the day before. The morning air is crisp, the kind of chill that wakes you up whether you want it to or not. I brace myself as I step outside, already expecting to see—

Yep, there it is.

The golden chariot gleams in the sunlight, parked in the exact same spot as yesterday. The two pegasi guards stand stoically in front of it, their armored forms practically blending into the shine of the chariot itself. For a moment, I wonder if they've been waiting here all night.

I chuckle as I approach. "You guys must have the patience of saints. How long do they make you wait for me every morning?"

The guards don't respond, their stony expressions unchanging. One of them simply nods toward the chariot, silently urging me to climb aboard. I sigh, shaking my head as I step in. The chariot takes off smoothly, the sound of beating wings filling the air as we ascend over Canterlot.

The flight is quick, as usual, and before long, the grand silhouette of the School for Gifted Unicorns looms into view. But this time, we don't land in the same spot. Instead, the chariot veers slightly to the right, heading toward an even more imposing structure nearby.

A colosseum.

The massive stone structure rises high into the sky, its arches and columns a testament to Equestrian craftsmanship. The roar of a gathering crowd can already be heard faintly, even from this distance. My stomach churns as the chariot descends toward the open arena floor, where several candidates are already assembling.

The pegasi guards touch down gently, and I step out, my hooves landing on the smooth, tiled surface. The arena is enormous, far larger than I'd imagined, with rows upon rows of seats packed with ponies eager to watch the tournament. The sheer size of the crowd makes me swallow hard.

Focus. They're just here to watch a show. You're here to win.

A familiar voice cuts through my thoughts as I step toward the gathered candidates. Ivory Quill stands at the center of the arena, flanked by the other judges. Her tone is as sharp and commanding as ever.

"Welcome to the final phase of the Archmage Examination," she announces, her voice amplified by magic to reach every corner of the colosseum. "Today, you will face each other in combat, demonstrating not only your magical prowess but also your composure, strategy, and adaptability. Remember: these duels are non-lethal, but they are no less challenging."

The crowd murmurs in anticipation, and I glance around at the remaining candidates. Their expressions range from confident to downright terrified. Glimmer Spark catches my eye, offering a small, determined nod. I nod back, though my mind is already racing with possibilities.

Ivory Quill continues, her gaze sweeping over us. "The rules are simple: victory is achieved by rendering your opponent unable to continue or forcing them to submit. Excessive force or lethal intent will result in immediate disqualification."

The tension in the air thickens as Ivory Quill continues. "Before the match begins, you are permitted to precast one spell of your choosing. You may not release it until the match officially starts."

My stomach ?That complicates things. My methods rely on quick thinking and execution, not drawn-out setups. The others, with their fancy pre-designed spells and layers of enchantments, will undoubtedly have an edge.

"Fantastic," I mutter under my breath, trying to keep the annoyance from showing on my face.

Ivory Quill gestures to a small velvet bag held by Stonehoof. "The first round will involve four participants in two simultaneous matches. The other six candidates will receive a bye and advance to the second round. Pairings will be decided by lot."

The candidates shuffle nervously as Stonehoof steps forward, his gravelly voice calling out names as he draws slips of paper from the bag. I watch, tension coiling in my chest as the first few names are called.

"First match: Kinetic Flux versus Arcane Gleam."

Of course. My name would get drawn first. I glance toward my opponent, a tall unicorn with a pale lavender coat and a mane that seems to shimmer with faint magical energy. He smirks, clearly confident.

"Second match: Radiant Glow versus Mystic Spiral."

The other two step forward, sizing each other up. The rest of the candidates exchange relieved glances. Glimmer Spark, who got a bye doesn't even try to hide her relief as she catches my eye, mouthing, 'Good luck'.

I nod, though my thoughts are anything but composed.Precasting and an audience. Great.

The candidates with byes are escorted to the waiting area, while the rest of us are directed to the arena floor. I step into my designated ring, the tiles cool under my hooves. Across from me, Arcane Gleam stands tall, his horn already glowing as he begins weaving his spell.

I step into the ring, my hooves feeling the cool stone beneath me. The crowd hums with anticipation, the sound like an ever-present static that presses against my senses. Across the arena, Arcane Gleam stands with his horn already glowing, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as if he's already won.

The referee glances at me. "Kinetic Flux, are you going to precast a spell?"

I wave off the notion with an air of nonchalance, a sly grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Why bother? There's no need."

The referee raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further. Arcane Gleam's smirk widens, the glow of his magic intensifying as he finalizes his preparation. I stand there, unmoving, watching him like a hawk.

The referee steps back and raises her hoof. "Begin!"

Arcane Gleam wastes no time. His first move is predictable—a shimmering, multi-layered barrier that materializes around him. Its translucent surface ripples with energy, a spell designed to absorb impacts and deflect magic.

Perfect.

My horn lights up as I focus on the ground beneath his hooves. With a sharp burst of telekinesis, I sever and lift the stone beneath him in a clean, circular motion. The sudden shift in footing catches him off guard, his barrier flickering as his concentration falters.

"What—?!" he stammers, his shield collapsing just as I lift the slab of stone into the air.

He scrambles to maintain his footing, but I don't give him the chance. With a calculated twist, I rotate the slab sharply, forcing him to stumble and lose balance. His legs flail as he's thrown off, landing unceremoniously on the arena floor with a loudthud.

Before he can recover, I lower the slab above him, tilting it threateningly as if about to crush him. It's a show of dominance, the weight of the massive stone looming just inches above his prone form.

The crowd gasps, the murmurs growing louder. Arcane Gleam glares up at me, his horn sparking weakly as he struggles to form a counterspell. But he knows the moment he tries he's done.

My horn burns slightly from the effort of manipulating the heavy stone, but it's nothing I can't handle. I hold the slab in place, watching him closely. His breathing is ragged, his earlier confidence completely shattered.

"Do you yield?" I ask, keeping my voice calm but firm.

For a moment, he hesitates, his pride warring with the reality of his situation. But then, with a frustrated growl, he nods. "I yield."

The referee steps forward, her horn glowing as she signals the end of the match. "Winner: Kinetic Flux!"

I release the slab, letting it drop harmlessly to the side. The crowd erupts into cheers and murmurs, the judges conferring quietly among themselves. I glance at Arcane Gleam as he's helped to his hooves, his face a mixture of embarrassment and grudging respect.

Walking back to the waiting area, I allow myself a small, satisfied smirk. The tournament's only just begun, but I've already set the tone.

Glimmer Spark catches my eye as I pass, her expression somewhere between impressed and amused. I shrug casually.

The crowd settles back into their seats as the referee steps to the center of the arena once again. "Next match: Radiant Glow versus Mystic Spiral!" she announces, her voice amplified by magic to cut through the murmuring audience.

Both unicorns step into the ring, their expressions stoic and focused. Radiant Glow, a golden-coated mare with a bright, fiery mane, exudes confidence as her horn begins to glow faintly. Mystic Spiral, a darker-toned stallion with a swirling blue-and-silver mane, mirrors her determination, his horn lighting up with a steady, icy hue.

The air grows tense as they each begin their precast spell, their focus absolute. They stand still, eyes locked on one another, their horns humming faintly but with no visible effect yet. The audience waits with bated breath, the anticipation crackling like static in the air.

The referee raises her hoof. "Begin!"

The moment the match starts, Radiant Glow releases her spell, a series of radiant orbs materializing around her like miniature suns. They hover, spinning lazily, but their glow hints at latent power. She moves swiftly, keeping her distance, clearly waiting for Mystic Spiral to make his move.

Mystic Spiral counters by releasing a spell that creates a shimmering, spiraling vortex of energy in front of him. The vortex moves with him, absorbing one of the glowing orbs that Radiant Glow sends his way. The absorbed energy causes the vortex to grow, its spirals elongating and becoming more erratic.

Radiant Glow doesn't falter. She dodges around the arena with practiced ease, sending her remaining orbs toward Mystic Spiral in calculated bursts. Each orb that connects with the vortex seems to empower it further, the spirals whipping violently as if barely contained. Mystic Spiral uses the growing vortex to his advantage, positioning it between himself and Radiant Glow to shield against her relentless attacks.

The time between their spells becomes glaringly evident. With each dodge and feint, both unicorns are forced to rely on movement and strategy rather than rapid casting. The arena feels alive with tension, the gaps between spells filled with bursts of evasion and counter-moves.

Finally, the shimmering vortex begins to dissipate, its energy spent. Mystic Spiral's horn glows again, his expression tightening as he begins casting another spell. The strain is clear—his magic takes time to build, leaving him vulnerable.

Radiant Glow seizes the opportunity, hurling her last orb directly at him. He narrowly dodges, the orb skimming past and exploding harmlessly against the arena wall. The crowd gasps at the close call.

And then Radiant Glow does something unexpected.

She pulls out an artifact—a small, ornate pendant that catches the light as it glows faintly in her magic. The same one she had created for her legacy. The audience murmurs in surprise, and even the judges exchange glances. Technically, artifacts weren't restricted by the rules.

Radiant Glow doesn't hesitate, activating the artifact with a sharp burst of magic. A dazzling beam erupts from the pendant, its energy crackling with intensity as it streaks toward Mystic Spiral. He barely manages to dive out of the way, the beam grazing his side and leaving a faint scorch mark on the arena floor.

Mystic Spiral's horn flares as he attempts to complete his spell, but the time it takes leaves him open again. Radiant Glow, clearly experienced in using the artifact, adjusts her positioning and fires another beam, this one aimed with surgical precision.

The beam strikes Mystic Spiral's hastily raised shield, shattering it with a loud crack. He stumbles, the force of the blow sending him skidding across the arena floor. Before he can recover, Radiant Glow activates the artifact a final time, sending a wide arc of energy directly at him.

The energy hits, and Mystic Spiral collapses, the magical backlash forcing him to the ground. He groans, clearly drained, and raises a hoof in surrender before the referee can even step forward.

"Winner: Radiant Glow!" the referee announces, her amplified voice cutting through the noise of the crowd.

The audience erupts into cheers, though the atmosphere feels more charged than celebratory. The unexpected use of the artifact has clearly stirred debate, with some ponies shouting their approval while others seem more skeptical.

Radiant Glow returns to the waiting area, her expression calm but triumphant. As she passes the other contenders, she meets my gaze briefly, her smirk carrying a silent message: I play to win.

I glance toward Mystic Spiral, now being helped up by the arena staff. He looks frustrated but not angry—more resigned than anything. It's clear he hadn't expected such an unconventional tactic, and his magic wasn't suited to counter it.

The arena settles as the final matches of the first round conclude. The referee steps forward once again, her magically amplified voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "The first round is complete! Congratulations to our victors, who will now proceed to the quarterfinals."

The remaining eight contenders are called to gather near the center of the arena, where Stonehoof holds a small pouch containing slips of parchment. "Match pairings for the quarterfinals will now be determined by random draw," he announces.

I step forward with the others, tension hanging thick in the air. One by one, Stonehoof calls out names, and my chest tightens as he draws my match.

"First match: Kinetic Flux versus Brimstone."

I glance at the pony stepping forward—a bulky unicorn with a dark red coat and a mane like flickering embers. Brimstone glares at me, his expression oozing hostility. He sneers, leaning closer as he passes. "Hope you're ready to burn, Flux."

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "We'll see."

The next pairing is announced, and my stomach tightens again when I hear it. "Second match: Glimmer Spark versus Radiant Glow."

I look toward Glimmer Spark, who exhales sharply, her expression a mix of determination and unease. Radiant Glow, on the other hand, stands tall, her confidence unshaken from her artifact-assisted victory in the last round.

As the remaining pairings are announced, I sidle up to Glimmer. "Good luck," I say quietly, offering a faint smile. "You've got this."

She glances at me, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. "Thanks. I'll need it."

We step back to the sidelines, the first matches set to begin shortly. My thoughts churn as I size up Brimstone. His aggressive demeanor suggests a reliance on brute force. Still, I have an advantage: telekinesis is instantaneous, and if I act quickly, I can disrupt him before he even gets started.

The colosseum roars to life as the quarterfinals are officially announced. My match is first, and as I step back into the arena, the plan I've been mentally refining sharpens into focus.

End it quickly. Don't let him set the pace.

As I step into the arena, the roar of the crowd grows deafening. Across from me, Brimstone strides confidently to his position, his dark red coat glistening under the sunlight. The way he carries himself screams arrogance, his smirk practically daring me to take him seriously.

Before the referee can even speak, Brimstone raises his voice, his horn flaring with a fiery glow. "Prepare to be incinerated, Flux! With my Endless Fire charm, I can conjure flames that never die, fueled by the unyielding heat of my magic!"

I blink, tilting my head. "A monologue? In the middle of a competition?" My tone is laced with incredulity, and I can't help but smirk. "Bold strategy, let's see how it works out for you."

The crowd chuckles, and Brimstone's smirk falters for a split second before he snarls. "Laugh while you can. You won't be smiling for long."

The referee steps between us, her expression neutral as she addresses me. "Kinetic Flux, do you wish to precast a spell?"

"No..." I say, shaking my head smugly. "I think he needs all the help he can get."

Brimstone snorts, his horn glowing brighter. "You'll regret it."

The referee steps back, raising her hoof. "Combatants ready? Begin!"

Brimstone wastes no time, activating the artifact hanging around his neck. The Endless Fire charm glows fiercely, and a torrent of flames erupts from his horn, rushing toward me in a swirling inferno.

I watch the fire approach, my horn flaring as I focus on the air between us. By slowing the movement of the atoms, I sap the heat from the flames, rendering them harmless. The once-roaring inferno dissipates into harmless wisps of smoke before it can even reach me.

Brimstone blinks, his confident expression faltering as he sees his attack fizzle out. "What—"

"Was that it?" I say, my voice calm but tinged with amusement. "I thought this was supposed to be 'endless fire.'"

His eyes narrow, and he conjures another blast, even larger this time. I counter it just as easily, the heat dissolving into nothing before it can touch me. He grows more frustrated with each failed attempt, hurling flame after flame, while I stand there, unbothered, the heatless fire dissipating harmlessly.

"You might want to check that charm of yours," I quip. "Seems like it's running a bit cold."

Brimstone grits his teeth, his horn flaring brighter as he pours more power into his attacks. I dodge lazily, letting the flames miss me by inches, playing along for the crowd's amusement.

But then, he changes tactics.

Without warning, Brimstone stomps a hoof, releasing a spell I forgot he was holding, and the ground beneath me erupts in a fiery burst. The spell catches me off guard, sending a sharp wave of heat and force through my legs. I stumble, hissing in pain as the edges of my coat singe.

My amusement evaporates instantly.

"You sneaky little bitch," I growl, glaring through the sting of pain.

Anger flares as I glare at Brimstone. My horn glows brighter, the air around me crackling with latent energy. My instincts scream at me to end this now, to shut him down before he pulls another stunt.

I focus on the air near his head, channeling my magic into compressing it tightly. The plan is simple: generate a shockwave close enough to his ear to rattle him, to show him he's out of his depth without actually hurting him. A harmless scare tactic.

But my anger clouds my precision.

The air compresses too quickly, too tightly. When I release the spell, the shockwave detonates with far more force than I intended. The blast reverberates through the arena with a deafening CRACK, loud enough to make the crowd wince. Brimstone recoils violently, stumbling as his hooves scrape against the arena floor. He cries out in pain, clutching his head, his artifact clattering uselessly to the ground.

For a moment, the world feels frozen, the crowd falling into a stunned silence. Even the referee pauses mid-step, her expression one of shock. Brimstone collapses to his knees, his face contorted in agony as blood trickles faintly from his ears. My horn dims as I take an instinctive step back, my heart pounding in my chest.

What did I just do?

The crack of the shockwave echoes in my mind, louder than it had been in the arena. I hadn't meant to hurt him—not like this. It was supposed to be a scare, a harmless display of power to throw him off his game. But I'd put too much into it, and now…

Brimstone groans, his hooves pressed tightly against his head. The arena staff rush forward, their horns glowing as they begin casting healing spells. One of them looks up at me, her expression grim but professional. "He'll be fine," she says, her voice firm. "Healing magic will take care of the damage."

The referee steps forward, her voice cutting through the tension. "Winner: Kinetic Flux!"

The announcement does little to ease the weight in my chest. The crowd, however, does not react kindly. Boos and jeers erupt from the stands, their displeasure rippling through the arena like a physical force. A few ponies shout insults, calling me reckless, dangerous, and worse.

I stand there, frozen, my mind racing. The rules allowed for injuries—it was part of the tournament. But this wasn't the same as a singed coat or a bruised flank. This felt… excessive.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the judges conferring, their expressions varying from curiosity to concern. Even Celestia, still in her Sunny Smiles disguise, looks unusually serious, her usually serene face drawn into a faint frown.

The crowd's boos and jeers follow me as I walk off the arena floor, the sound growing louder with every step. It's not the triumph I'd imagined—not that I'd wanted to humiliate Brimstone in the first place. I just… lost control.

I don't meet anyone's eyes as I return to the waiting area. My hooves feel like lead, every step heavier than the last. The other examinees watch me as I approach, their expressions a mix of wariness, judgment, and, in a few cases, pity.

I sit down heavily on one of the benches, resting my head in my hooves. The weight in my chest hasn't lifted. If anything, it feels worse now, like a physical reminder of my failure to keep myself in check.

This doesn't feel like a win.

I rub my temples, trying to block out the noise of the crowd. The memory of Brimstone's scream plays on repeat in my mind, each iteration louder and more accusing than the last. The shockwave, the blood, the look in his eyes—all of it churns in my head, refusing to settle.

Across the waiting area, Glimmer Spark approaches cautiously, her expression unreadable. She stops a few feet away, hesitating before speaking. "Kinetic?" she says softly.

I glance up, my voice low and flat. "What?"

"You okay?" she asks, her tone carefully neutral.

I scoff, shaking my head. "Am I okay? You saw what happened. What do you think?"

She shifts uncomfortably, glancing toward the arena entrance where the medics are still tending to Brimstone. "It was an accident, right? You didn't mean to—"

"Of course I didn't mean to!" I snap, the words coming out sharper than I intended. Her ears flatten slightly, and I sigh, pinching the bridge of my muzzle. "Sorry. I just… I messed up."

Glimmer sits down next to me, her voice quiet but firm. "Yeah, you did. But the rules allow for injuries. It's not like you kicked him while he was down. You didn't break any laws, and they'll heal him. It's not the end of the world."

I glance at her, her calm demeanor doing little to soothe my frayed nerves. "Maybe not. But it's the kind of thing that sticks, you know? That crowd out there? They're not going to remember me as the guy who won. They'll remember me as the guy who hurt him."

She shrugs, her tone light. "Let them. You're not here to make friends with the crowd. You're here to prove you're capable."

"Capable of what?" I mutter. "Losing my temper? Overcompensating?"

"Capable of handling magic most ponies can't," she says, her voice gaining an edge. "Look, I'm not saying what you did was perfect, but you've got power. You just need to learn how to control it better."

Her words sting because they're true. I stare at the floor, my mind churning with everything that's happened.

The referee's voice echoes from the arena, calling the next match. Glimmer Spark stands, adjusting her stance and offering me a faint smile. "You're still in the tournament, Kinetic. Don't forget that."

I nod weakly, watching her walk off. The sound of the crowd swells again as the next combatants take the stage, but I barely notice. My mind is still stuck on the shockwave, on Brimstone's scream, on the part of me that felt satisfaction in winning, even if it came at too high a cost.

The crowd settles as the next match is announced, the anticipation in the air practically buzzing. "Next match: Glimmer Spark versus Radiant Glow!" the referee declares, and the arena erupts into cheers and applause.

I lean back on the bench, my legs still heavy from my fight. Despite the noise, my mind is oddly quiet, focused entirely on the two unicorns now stepping into the ring. Glimmer Spark and Radiant Glow are both formidable in their own ways, and this match promises to be… interesting.

Both mares stride to their starting positions, their expressions focused but unreadable. Radiant Glow's fiery mane practically crackles with intensity as her horn begins to glow, and she reaches for the artifact hanging around her neck—the same one that had taken down Mystic Spiral with those devastating laser attacks. But she doesn't activate it right away. Instead, she begins casting a spell of her own, her horn flaring with an unfamiliar energy.

Glimmer Spark mirrors her, the soft green glow of her magic illuminating her determined face. She doesn't hesitate to bring out her own artifact, the self-repairing shield she crafted during the legacy test. It shimmers faintly in the air before her, its presence a subtle but steady reassurance.

As they work through their casting, I can't help but feel a twinge of envy. Their magic flows with a practiced elegance, a simplicity I'll never have. They pick up books, study runes, and follow well-trodden paths of magical knowledge. Meanwhile, I'm left cobbling my spells together from scratch, forcing physics to behave like magic through sheer determination. It's effective, sure, but it's also exhausting. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to have that kind of straightforward power at my hooftips.

The referee raises her hoof, and the arena falls silent. "Combatants ready? Begin!"

The air crackles as the match starts. Radiant Glow immediately releases her spell—a swirling column of fire, radiant and hot, spiraling toward Glimmer Spark. It's not the focused precision of her artifact's lasers, but a broad, sweeping attack designed to overwhelm. The flames hiss as they spread, the heat palpable even from the spectator benches.

Glimmer Spark doesn't flinch. Her horn glows brightly as her shield artifact activates, shimmering into a translucent, dome-like barrier that absorbs the fiery onslaught. The flames lick against the shield, but the artifact hums softly, repairing itself faster than the fire can damage it. The crowd murmurs in awe, clearly impressed by the artifact's resilience.

Radiant Glow narrows her eyes, clearly realizing that brute force won't be enough to crack the shield. Her horn flares again, and the fire shifts, splitting into smaller, more targeted streams that whip around the shield like serpents, probing for weak spots.

Glimmer responds quickly, her horn glowing as she casts a spell of her own. The shield's surface ripples, and suddenly, spikes of green energy protrude from its surface, striking at the incoming fire streams. Each spike disrupts the flames on contact, forcing Radiant Glow to pull back and rethink her strategy.

For a moment, there's a lull, the two unicorns circling each other like predators sizing up their prey. Radiant Glow's horn glows faintly as she reaches for her artifact, her expression calculating. She doesn't activate it yet, though, clearly saving it for the right moment. Instead, she casts another spell—a series of glowing orbs that float around her, crackling with energy. They hover menacingly, waiting for her command.

Glimmer Spark doesn't waste the opportunity. She reinforces her shield, layering it with additional green energy that pulses faintly with each beat of her magic. The self-repairing artifact continues its work, ensuring the shield remains intact despite the stress of multiple spells.

The orbs surrounding Radiant Glow suddenly dart forward, each one streaking toward Glimmer's shield at blinding speed. The first two slam into the barrier, their energy dispersing in brilliant flashes of light. The third manages to break through, exploding just inside the shield's perimeter and forcing Glimmer to take a step back. The shield wavers but quickly stabilizes, the artifact humming as it mends the damage.

Radiant Glow's expression tightens, and she finally activates her artifact. The pendant glows brightly, and a focused beam of energy shoots forth, slamming into Glimmer's shield with a deafening crack. The crowd gasps as the beam cuts through the air, its intensity unmatched by anything Radiant has used so far.

Glimmer grits her teeth, her horn glowing fiercely as she pours more power into her artifact. The shield shimmers under the assault, the edges flickering like a candle in the wind. But the self-repairing magic holds, and the shield endures, if only just barely.

Radiant Glow presses the attack, directing the beam with precision, forcing Glimmer to stay on the defensive. But then, Glimmer does something unexpected. She lets the shield drop, dodging the beam.

The sudden absence of the barrier catches Radiant off guard, and her beam strikes empty air. Glimmer steps forward, her horn glowing as she casts a spell of her own. A surge of green energy races across the ground, splitting into jagged lines that converge on Radiant Glow.

Radiant Glow stumbles back. She grits her teeth, struggling to regain her footing as Glimmer Spark presses the advantage.

Glimmer's movements are calculated, her magic flowing steadily as she advances. The air around her crackles with residual energy, her confidence growing as she closes the distance. She's clearly in control now, her shield artifact hovering behind her as a safety net while she shifts to a more aggressive approach.

The crowd begins to cheer louder, sensing the tide of the battle turning. Glimmer's precision and resilience have earned her the favor of the spectators, their excitement building as she prepares her next move.

Radiant Glow, for her part, doesn't look panicked. If anything, she looks… frustrated. Her artifact remains active, glowing faintly as it charges for another beam. But she doesn't fire. Instead, she takes a defensive stance, her eyes narrowing as Glimmer draws closer.

And then it happens.

Glimmer steps into striking range, her horn glowing brightly as she prepares a close-range spell, likely intended to finish the fight. But instead of retaliating with magic, Radiant Glow shifts her weight and delivers a powerful buck with her hind legs.

The blow catches Glimmer completely off guard, slamming into her chest with a dull thud and sending her sprawling across the arena floor. The audience gasps, the unexpected physical attack cutting through their cheers like a blade.

Glimmer Spark hits the ground hard, her shield artifact flickering erratically before deactivating entirely. She groans, clutching her side as she tries to push herself up, but her legs give out beneath her. The referee steps forward, her horn glowing faintly as she examines Glimmer's condition.

"She's out," the referee declares, raising her hoof. "Winner: Radiant Glow!"

The crowd's reaction is instant and visceral. Boos and jeers echo through the colosseum, their disapproval at Radiant Glow's unconventional—and arguably unsporting—tactic filling the air. Ponies shout accusations of foul play, even though the rules technically allow for physical attacks.

Radiant Glow stands in the center of the arena, her expression defiant as she lets the boos wash over her. She doesn't look triumphant, but neither does she appear apologetic. Her artifact dims as she deactivates it, the faint glow fading into the necklace's golden surface.

Glimmer Spark is helped off the field by medics, her face a mix of frustration and pain. She doesn't look toward Radiant Glow, her focus instead on the ground as she's guided to the sidelines.

I watch the scene unfold from my seat among the other contenders, my chest tightening with a mix of anger and unease. Radiant Glow had been winning the crowd over with her magic, her clever use of spells and her artifact's power. But this? This was something else entirely. It felt wrong.

As Radiant Glow leaves the arena, her head held high despite the crowd's scorn, I glance toward Glimmer Spark, now sitting on the sidelines with her shield artifact resting dimly beside her. She's been healed but she looks drained, her usual determination dimmed.

For a moment, I think about going over to check on her. But I stop myself, unsure of what to say. Instead, I stay seated, my mind churning with thoughts of the upcoming matches—and how I might have to face Radiant Glow myself.

She's not just ruthless; she's unpredictable. And unpredictability can be dangerous.

Author's Note:

To generate a shockwave capable of bursting an eardrum:

1. Threshold Sound Pressure Level (SPL) = 160 dB.
Sound Pressure, P:
P = 20 10 10(160 / 20) = 2000 Pa.

2. Energy Density (E_d):
E_d = P / (2 ρ c)
E_d = 2000 / (2 1.225 343) 4759.92 J/m.

3. Volume of the spherical region:
V = (4/3) π r
V = (4/3) π (0.1) 0.00419 m.

4. Total Energy (E_total):
E_total = E_d V
E_total 4759.92 0.00419 19.94 J.

5. Convert to kilocalories:
1 Joule = 0.000239006 kcal.
E_total_kcal = 19.94 0.000239006 0.00477 kcal.

Final Result:
- Energy required 19.94 Joules or 0.00477 kilocalories.

 

[pricefree]

Thanks for the chapters! I was surprised to get three of them, but welcome it.

Kinda sucks Kinetic slipped up, not for any slight to him as a character or how it may make his interactions more difficult. It sucks to me because I can see how this might just make him become more closed off. He already viewed himself almost as a monster despite not committing any atrocities, but it looked like that was starting to shift following his conversation with Luna. Then he slips up, because everyone makes mistakes especially when emotions run high, and is horrified by what he did. Then the crowd boos him, in a way confirming, to him, that he is what he sees himself as. Hope this doesn't cause him to double down on his wariness and inherent distrust, but that's probably wishful thinking. His, at the end of the day, human… even if in a different form.

Keep up the great work!