I had spent the whole morning gathering information about Flash Storm's physical capabilities. Nothing complicated yet, just the basics. It was time to analyze him for what he really was: a pegasus. Not a unicorn with wings, nor a soldier disguised as an athlete, but a true child of the sky.
I wanted to know how fast he could fly. How tight his turns were without losing speed. How much weight he could carry while staying stable in the air. What his thrust limit was. All of that was necessary if I wanted to understand why, when he moved, it looked like he could tear through the wind with a single thought.
Flash was ready. He breathed calmly, without tension. His chest rose and fell as if he had no rush to prove anything, but I knew that inside he was already running the course in his mind, again and again.
I finished placing the magical limiters at the edge of the field. Small seals floated in the air, forming a line that marked the track. Then I traced a basic magic circle on the ground, large enough to register his passage. I engraved a rune number into each one: the sequence he had to follow to break them in order. At the end of the course, I placed another, more advanced spell—one that would read his speed in real time and leave marks in the air as he passed each checkpoint. It was my own adaptation. Nothing complex, but precise.
As I was adjusting the final details, I felt a gaze fixed on me… or rather, on Flash.
A filly had approached. She didn't say anything. She just watched. She was small, with orange fur and a messy violet mane that gave her a rebellious air. Her eyes were locked on Flash with a mix of restrained admiration and pure expectation. She didn't ask anything. She didn't get too close. She just stood still, as if not wanting to interrupt but also unwilling to walk away.
I didn't say anything to her. She wasn't in the way, and I had no intention of scaring her off. Truth be told, what Flash was about to do… could very well be a spectacle. One worth watching.
"Remind me what you want to achieve on this circuit," Flash asked, his wings twitching slightly, impatient. I could see in his eyes that unique gleam he only showed before taking off—a mix of hunger, freedom, and pure desire to fly.
"Control and speed," I replied bluntly as I checked the anchoring of the last floating seal. "I want both. Then, when you reach the straight section, each ring you break will increase the weight you carry. The effect is gradual, so when you can't go on any longer, land in the designated area at the end. Catch your breath if you want, and then..."
I paused, my voice lowering slightly, like a secret meant for him alone.
"Then, I want you to try to reach your top speed. The return stretch ends right here. At the end, there'll be a sack—one reinforced with magic. Hit it at your maximum speed. I want to know the highest amount of damage you can deal in a direct charge."
With a small magical impulse, I projected a simulation into the air. Lines of light traced the route of the course while an illusory figure, similar to Flash, completed it in seconds. The final impact kicked up a cloud of dirt, a dry burst of dust as it struck the sack waiting at the end of the path. The recording circle lit up intensely in the air, marking a fictional result… one that might not be too far from reality.
Flash raised an eyebrow, observing in silence. Then he let out a snort and laughed quietly with that confident chuckle I knew so well.
"I see you only remember how I flew when I was a colt," he said, stretching his neck like he was casually loosening his muscles. He looked at me with a half-smile. "Remember, Wizbell… we're adults now. And neither of us is normal."
He didn't respond to my silence with words—just launched himself with force. One flap of his wings was enough to leave the ground behind, leaving a trail that shimmered in the air, charged with static. I could feel it in my fur, like the environment had woken up with him.
The course reacted immediately. The floating seals lit up with a spark of golden magic, responding to the flow Flash generated as he passed. In the moment I lifted my gaze, he had already shattered four rings. Four. Each one over two hundred meters apart, with turns so tight I wouldn't attempt them myself even with active magic. And he was doing it effortlessly. As if the air itself was guiding him.
"Woah!! THAT'S IT!! YOU GOT THIS, FLASH!!" a high-pitched voice screamed at my side.
I turned, surprised. The filly had gotten closer than I noticed. At some point she must have walked over and sat on the blanket I left spread on the grass for my things. She was completely focused on Flash, her wings trembling with pure excitement.
She's got good lungs…
…and apparently, Flash already has a fan.
Flash was pulling off impossible turns.
It wasn't an exaggeration. These were turns with an angle smaller than ninety degrees, executed in straight, instantaneous trajectories, without losing momentum. There was no room for corrections. He simply changed direction as if air had no resistance, as if physics itself bent with each flap.
And then I felt it.
The ambient magic… was vibrating. Reacting to him, not the course or my spells, but to him. Something in Flash was modulating the environment, subtly bending it to his will. And it wasn't just speed or physical strength. It was pegasus. Pure pegasus magic, expanded beyond what I considered natural.
I could understand if he were using his instinctive magic to manipulate the air, making it flow in a way that it wouldn't hinder him. That was reasonable. All experienced pegasi did that to some degree.
But what I saw next...
It made no sense.
Flash was creating footholds in the air. Not with his wings or strength, but with something else. Every time he turned abruptly, something in his hooves gave off a tiny flash, almost imperceptible, followed by a change in direction that defied logic. As if he were stepping on the sky.
And that…
That reminded me of that night.
The way he moved among the monsters. How he changed direction with erratic motions, impossible even for me to track. At the time, I attributed it to instinct, to training. But now… I'm sure.
I suppose he's somehow releasing tiny magical pulses from his hooves. A kind of micro-explosion of energy that hardens the air just enough to gain traction—like creating invisible platforms that vanish right after he passes.
And if I think about it… it's feasible.
After all, pegasi already walk on clouds, on gaseous bodies. Walking on air isn't madness… it's just one step further.
A step Flash already took.
"Did you seeeeee it?! You saw it, right? Tell me you did!"
The filly shook me with both forehooves, eyes glowing with pure excitement as she pointed at the sky.
"I saw him take that 180-degree turn in an instant! It was like whoosh! and then fwoosh! Like he bent himself in half!"
I didn't know whether to laugh or frown. I was too focused on watching Flash, who had just completed the base circuit. Now he flew at a lower altitude, passing through the rings that added weight progressively.
Four hundred kilograms.
That was the mark he had just passed.
Almost half a ton.
For any average pony, that would be catastrophic for their bones, spine, muscles… but that doesn't apply here. I could see it clearly: Flash wasn't just enduring—he was adapting. His magic churned inside him with every flap. It vibrated in a steady pattern, reinforcing his structure from within, as if his body had learned to recalibrate magically under pressure.
He finally landed with a solid thud that didn't even shake the ground, and took a deep breath that echoed all the way to me.
The filly jumped with excitement, eyes still locked on him.
"Now comes his Sonic Boom...!" she whispered, like saying it any louder might ruin the surprise.
"His what?" I managed to ask, frowning… just as I felt it.
A shift in magical pressure.
A deep, distant rumble, still contained.
And then, the world seemed to bend.
Flash was fifteen meters away. Fifteen.
And he was closing in at an impossible speed, without a windup. He was already in motion, and we were directly in the rebound trajectory.
I didn't think. My horn lit up purely on instinct.
A magical barrier rose around me and the filly just as the sonic blast hit.
The impact rumbled through the ethereal structure of the shield, shaking the air and kicking up a wave of dust behind it.
There was no warning. Just speed.
And Flash, wrapped in a blue aura, tearing through the field like a living spear.
The impact gauge exploded in numbers.
Not literally, but the glow it emitted was so intense that for a second I thought it had malfunctioned. It blinked, vibrated, and then stabilized… showing a value that far exceeded any previous record in my magical tests.
Colossal. There was no other word.
Flash had broken the sound barrier. And not only that… he had hit the sack.
Correction.
He had obliterated the sack.
There was nothing left of the sack. Only fragments of reinforced fabric scattered across the field and a deep mark in the ground, as if the impact had dragged a wave of compressed earth beneath the surface. I still wonder if his hoof actually touched it, or if it was the pressure from the compressed air—the concentrated shockwave—that caused all this chaos.
It all happened in a second.
But I was focused. Dazed, yes. The ringing in my ears didn't lie.
Even so, I registered everything.
My magic held firm, tracing the trajectory, measuring the force, storing the data in the recording circles while the system slowly repaired itself.
The filly was no longer beside me. When I looked, I saw her running across the field, full of excitement, straight toward Flash.
He was standing.
He had landed without any apparent injury, imposing like a statue in the center of the field. But I knew him too well… his posture gave him away. The exhaustion was visible. His chest rose and fell heavily. His wings trembled slightly, still spread wide as if his body hadn't realized yet that the flight was over.
He didn't say anything. He just waited.
And I just watched.
Pegasus magic… pushed beyond its limits.
"You did it again, Flash! Another Sonic Boom! Just like the one you did last time with Rainbow Dash! You're amazing!!!"
The filly was practically bursting with excitement. She bounced in place, her small wings flapping out of control, and tried to get close to Flash like she wanted to pin an invisible medal to his chest. He, still panting, gave her a soft smile. Tired, but genuine. One of those smiles that said thank you, but please stop yelling. It didn't work.
The filly bounced again.
And again.
And with each of Flash's attempts to calm her down, she just got more excited.
I couldn't stop watching her. Part of me was silently recording everything, with the registry magic still active, and another part... was simply stunned.
Where had this filly been all this time?
"This is pure gold…" said a familiar voice suddenly, low and perfectly opportunistic.
I looked down. The flap of my magic bag had lifted slightly, revealing Stella peeking out, her eyes shining with a spark of pure chaos.
"Where had this filly been? If she hadn't shown up today, I'd have missed out on this sweet blackmail material!"
She had a cookie in her mouth. I don't know where she got it from—probably my stash—and she crunched it like chewing with glee made her point stronger.
Her pupils followed every bounce of the orange filly like a hungry hawk.
And in that moment, I knew.
Flash Storm hadn't just broken the sound barrier.
He had also opened another kind of door… one that, for his sake, maybe I should have kept closed.
"The prismatic mare joins the stage!" Stella shouted from my bag, her voice overflowing with joyful malice.
I didn't need to look to know who she meant. The characteristic roar in the air and the wind gust at my sides announced a dramatic arrival—as always. Rainbow Dash landed next to Flash with a proud flap of her wings and an expression somewhere between outrage and overflowing excitement.
"Hey! Wizbell!" she called, raising an eyebrow like I had committed a personal offense. "I want to try whatever it is Flash just did too! I bet I'll be 20% cooler and 20% faster!"
Flash, still recovering, rolled his eyes without hiding it.
"Of course you do…" he muttered, barely audible, like someone who had lived through this more times than he'd care to admit.
And between them, right in the middle, Scootaloo—now identified thanks to Rainbow's excited shout—looked at both of them with adoration so intense it was almost tangible. She held her chest with both forehooves, trembling with emotion, as if at any moment she might float from the sheer adrenaline. Her eyes jumped from Flash to Rainbow, Rainbow to Flash, like she was witnessing two shooting stars crossing right in front of her.
"Today couldn't be any better!!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking from the emotion.
I remained silent.
Part of me wanted to let it all play out. Let the day end in a multicolored explosion of flying egos and unleashed atmospheric magic.
The other part… was already drawing new containment circles on the ground, in case one of them decided to literally break the sky.
"Great," I muttered as I activated a new lateral impact containment barrier.
Because if Flash had been a spectacle...
Whatever Rainbow was about to attempt was going to be a beautiful disaster.
"Watch closely, kid, and learn from the amazing Rainbow Dash!!" shouted the mare herself, puffing out her chest like she was about to save Equestria in style.
"On your marks…! Get set…! Go!!"
And then she vanished.
She didn't fly.
She didn't lift off.
She disappeared.
One instant she was there, and the next, a multicolored streak cut through the air with the chaotic precision of a lightning bolt with no fixed path.
If Flash was control and discipline, Rainbow Dash was something else.
She was instinct.
Raw talent.
Wild, fast, unpredictable.
A storm in the shape of a pegasus.
She didn't need instructions. No analysis, no explanations. She took the course as if it had always been made for her, as if the rings, the curves, and the meters were just obstacles in a game she had already mastered.
And I knew it. From the first flap, I knew.
"She was watching us from the start," Stella murmured in a sing-song voice, without even waiting for my question. She stretched inside the magic bag like a cat satisfied with its prey. "I saw her peeking from a low cloud, right when Flash started warming up..."
I turned a little, but I already knew what she was going to say.
"You know how she is. If the prismatic pegasus is nearby…"—she paused dramatically, like she was spilling real gossip—
"…it means Flash is nearby too."
She said it like it was a deep revelation, a cosmic inevitability. But her smile...
Her smile didn't hold any good intentions.
And there was Scootaloo, eyes overflowing with stars, shouting every time Rainbow turned or skimmed a ring at top speed, like she was witnessing the final act of her fulfilled destiny.
I just sighed.
This wasn't a flight test anymore.
It was a duel between winged prodigies.
And I… was the poor unicorn caught in the middle, forced to clean up the aftermath of their ego clash… and simmering hormones.
Rainbow completed the course…
In the exact same time as Flash.
Well… if we round the numbers.
If we're generous with interpretation and let the margin of error work in favor of a "tie." Because if I get picky—and I usually do—Flash still wins by a fraction. But I suppose the universe won't collapse if I let it slide just this once.
The amazing part was that she could do it too.
The same sharp turns, the same impossible curves.
The same sense of defying the laws of air and logic.
I suppose they sharpen each other, little by little.
I can see it: Flash, strengthening step by step, as if forging his flight through repetition, discipline, and effort.
Rainbow, on the other hoof, grows in bursts. Spontaneous. Excessive. Like a spark that ignites the very air.
It should've been like that…
…if it weren't for a certain quiet pegasus pushing her to always go one step further, just to keep up with him.
Their flying styles were so similar that, for a moment, the sky seemed to reflect itself. One turned with precision, the other with momentum, but both traced the same paths, as if they shared an unconscious choreography.
"Hehehe…" Stella chuckled, and I instantly felt my contemplative silence about to be ruined. "I could tell Flash they fly in sync because they're destined to be together… The perfect couple."
She rubbed her little paws with that twisted enthusiasm of hers, like she had just discovered a goldmine of emotional leverage.
And, as if he had heard her, Flash twitched slightly. A light shiver, like a feather brushing his instincts.
He turned to look at us with suspicion.
But Stella… was already gone.
She had dived back into the magic bag as if she had never existed.
I just kept my eyes forward. Neutral.
As if nothing had happened.
But inside…
I laughed.
Rainbow landed in front of us. Dust rose at her sides, but there was no sonic boom.
Not this time.
I noticed it instantly. Her posture. That minimal drop in her shoulders, almost imperceptible. To anyone else, it was just fatigue. But to me… it was discouragement. A bitter taste disguised as pride.
Scootaloo didn't notice. She jumped with excitement and showered Rainbow with praise, which Rainbow barely received with a forced smile. Flash walked up too, gave her a pat on the shoulder, and said something I couldn't hear. It didn't matter. She nodded, pulled herself together, and lifted her head with that fire of hers that never goes out.
"If I've already done it twice, a third time isn't impossible!"
Without saying anything else, she left. Said she was going to train. That she had new maneuvers in mind. That next time, she wouldn't just break the sound barrier… but the barrier of awe.
Scootaloo swallowed the lie with absolute devotion.
But I saw what Flash saw.
The reflection of frustration in her eyes before she left.
And Flash… said nothing. But he understood.
He kept his opinion to himself, as always, behind that stoic silence of his.
I, on the other hoof, had other priorities.
"That'll be enough to write the report," I said, registering the final data as the recording circles faded one by one.
It had been a pleasant surprise to discover Flash could break the wind.
But…
"You're still slow, Flash."
I turned to him.
"Slower than light."
I said it just as that sly grin appeared on his face—the one he always wears when he knows he was impressive and is waiting for my inevitable acknowledgment.
That was exactly when I delivered the verbal blow.
And to drive the point home, I teleported.
Five positions, simultaneously.
I nearly created visual clones.
The air distorted around me as I reappeared again and again, from different angles, closing the circle around him like an impossible optical illusion.
It was worth it.
Yes…
Totally worth it.
Even if the magical cost was absurd. I felt my energy draining like water through a broken sieve. I had to juggle just to stay balanced in the final position.
Flash froze, his grin half-formed.
His eyebrow twitched. His eyes narrowed. Annoyance spread across his face like a slow-building wave.
"Seriously, Wizbell?! Seriously you had to steal this moment from me?!"
He wasn't angry.
Just annoyed. The kind of annoyance you only feel with a friend… or a rival.
He threw a jab at my shoulder.
I returned it.
And as always, we resumed that old routine. That dance of blows, feints, and provocations that had gone on for years. Only this time, the intensity escalated too fast.
From simple, casual punches…
To him needing to use [Flash]—his signature technique—just to dodge and counter.
The air buzzed with every clash.
The ground was marked beneath our hooves.
And in the middle of the chaos… Scootaloo—
—watched us with her mouth wide open.
Frozen in place.
As if she had just witnessed the beginning of a legendary war.
That's how Scootaloo stayed. Paralyzed. Eyes sparkling. Jaw slack. Not moving, not blinking, as if her brain were still trying to process what she had just seen.
The game ended when I restrained Flash with telekinesis. Just for a second.
Long enough to leave him hanging mid-impulse, frozen in the air.
"Alright, that's enough fun," I said, barely catching my breath.
"See you later. Take care!"
Flash let out a huff, more theatrical than real. But his smile betrayed him.
It always does.
That lunatic was on top of me several times.
Literally centimeters away. I could feel his air flow, the vibration of his passing, the magical pressure of his wings brushing against me. I could predict him, read his movements… but keeping up was another story.
A nightmare for my mind.
But a nightmare I needed.
Because if I wanted to survive the kind of enemies we face…
I needed to be able to match that combat rhythm.
Scootaloo was still the same. Like a statue. She didn't even react when I said goodbye.
It was Flash who carried her on his back, like he was used to it.
She let herself be taken without resistance, her eyes still fixed on the spot where we had just been fighting moments earlier.
And so they left.
The pegasus who broke the sound barrier.
The filly who idolized him.
————————————————————————————————————
When I got home, Stella was the first to move. She jumped out of my magic bag straight onto the couch, stretched like she had just run a marathon—when in reality, she'd only been a spectator—and then flopped onto her side with a satisfied sigh, falling back asleep in less than ten seconds.
I just headed to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a soda. The silence was comforting. The kind of silence you earn after a day where everything exploded—literally and emotionally.
I made my way to the study, unhurried.
And that's when I saw it.
A letter. A scroll sealed with the golden emblem of the sun.
Her personal seal.
I opened it with the same expectation as always: maybe a comment on my progress, perhaps a formal request, a new assignment from the agency… something to keep me busy, grounded.
But no.
It was a long scroll.
And just reading the first few lines, I knew this wasn't a mission.
It was a confession.
Celestia was speaking from the depths of her being. Not as a princess, or a teacher, not even as a historical figure. She spoke as a broken individual who had held back too much for too long. She detailed her anguish, her guilt. How, in her desperation, she had ended up treating everyone—her loyal subjects, her students, her people—like chess pieces. Each with a role, a purpose… and an emotionally calculated distance.
She regretted not having spoken to anyone.
She regretted how the secrecy, the hope, and the fear became a silent burden that ate away at her heart.
How, even in her madness, Nightmare Moon only cast her punishment upon her… an exile without violence.
There were no blows. No shouting.
And that was what hurt the most.
But it was in a moment of clarity, of cruel lucidity, that she understood the extent of the damage. The game of chess she played with everyone… and especially with Twilight. And with me.
That's where I stopped reading.
Not because I couldn't.
But because I didn't want to keep reading… not yet.
I sat in my chair. The comfiest one. The one with extra padding and a soft back that I rarely use because it relaxes me too much. I left the scroll on the table in front of me and, with my eyes lost in thought, looked at the ceiling.
My ceiling.
I had carved details of the sky into it long ago: a sun, a moon, some stars, and magic runes. Sometimes they glowed. Like reminders, like echoes of things I can't forget—even if I wanted to.
And while one of those stars blinked silently, I could only think one thing:
I didn't expect her to actually write it.
It was just a response. A whim.
An outburst full of frustration that day.
A "do it if you want" thrown to the wind.
And she… did it.
I slowly massaged the spot between my eyes.
That point always ached when something overwhelmed me…
And Celestia had just opened an emotional floodgate I hadn't expected.
I sighed. And I kept reading.
Soon, the letter filled with What ifs…
A parade of alternate scenarios, of choices she never made, of paths she refused to take.
And how those thoughts—the ones that begin as whispers and end up devouring you from within—were what tormented her the most back then.
What if I had spoken to Twilight sooner?
What if I hadn't pushed her to the center of the board?
What if I hadn't waited… so long?
Then, the tone shifted. It became more rational. More logical.
She began outlining possible solutions. Ideas of how she should have handled the situation, the steps she could have taken. She even detailed why, in theory, those options would have been healthier, more honest, more just.
But then I saw something that made me stop.
Small. Just a single line.
Written in the margin, as if she didn't want it to be noticed, as if it had been added after writing everything else.
And yet, that wouldn't have worked either…
It came with a brief explanation. A justification.
Not aggressive, not defensive… but with a subtle echo of defiance.
A final attempt to protect her decision, to not crumble entirely beneath the weight of regret.
And there, between the lines, was her.
The princess.
The teacher.
The sister.
The chess player.
And also the pony who, no matter how wise or ancient she was, still got frosting on her hooves when she thought no one was looking.
That small gesture…
That line written almost like a sigh of resistance… childlike.
One last echo of pride in a letter that, at times, seemed to bare everything… and then took a step back, as if afraid to show too much.
The letter contained Celestia's heart.
Not the regal figure, nor the patient mentor.
But the entity who had lived long enough to fake perfection.
One who could wear any mask with ease…
…but who, here, for the first time in a long time, didn't wear one.
She laid bare her intentions.
Her guilt.
And finally, the ideal path that she, from the distance of time and reflection, had crafted as her perfect solution.
A scenario where the Elements weren't gathered in a desperate moment.
Where the world wasn't caught off guard by eternal night.
Where security systems were ready, agencies coordinated, and leaders informed.
A prepared Equestria.
A plan without improvisation.
No gods battling in the sky.
In that vision, Celestia wasn't the heroine.
She was the sacrificed piece.
Someone who had to leave the board voluntarily to prevent a war between two alicorns.
Because even with all her strength, all her power, she knew that facing Nightmare Moon would only lead to the worst possible future: one where the sky split in two, and the sisters destroyed everything they had sworn to protect.
That's why her real plan—the only viable one—was to be defeated.
Or exiled.
By her. By Luna.
Because Equestria couldn't survive a war between them.
And even if it hurt…
Even if it shattered her inside…
She knew that the solution wasn't herself.
It lay in the Elements.
In those who could still resonate with their light.
Because with her loss… with her sister's fall under the influence of that dark sorcerer…
Celestia had ceased to be worthy.
Not because she was evil.
But because her harmony… had been broken.
And while her words still echoed in my thoughts, I could only stare at the ceiling of my study.
At that sun, that moon, those stars carved so carefully.
At the end of the letter, after all the pain, the repressed thoughts, the unrealized strategies, and the confessions never said aloud…
…there was a single fragment left.
One line.
A message of gratitude.
Written like someone who had, at last, regained a loved one she thought was lost forever.
Thank you, she wrote.
For being there when I couldn't be.
For allowing someone to come home.
For giving me Luna back, not as punishment… but as hope.
I read that final line several times, as if hoping it would change, as if doing so would help me fully absorb what it truly meant.
Well…
I don't think this letter should continue to exist.
The emotions were a tangle in my chest. A mix without a name. Not pure sadness, nor pride, nor relief. Just… a thick turbulence, hard to sort. I didn't really know how to react.
Because deep inside—and I know this very well—
in a similar situation… I wouldn't have done better.
I wouldn't flatter myself.
I wouldn't have acted with more dignity.
Or more wisdom.
Maybe… even less.
I took a breath. Slow.
Deep.
Trying to release, along with the air, all those irrational thoughts, those images that came on their own: imaginary scenarios I never want to face, impossible choices, inevitable losses.
And for a moment—just for that absolute instant of silence in my study—I chose to stop thinking.
The letter floated before me, still open, still warm with the emotion it carried.
And then, without words or ceremony, I conjured a spark.
The fire rose gently, wrapping the scroll without violence.
The flames danced, suspended within a magical field that contained their heat, their light, their ending.
I didn't do it in anger.
Nor with contempt.
Simply… because it shouldn't be kept.
Because what mattered wasn't on the paper.
But in what it had left inside me.
As the letter vanished into smoke and glowing embers, I sat at my desk and picked up another scroll.
I wrote a brief response. Nothing lengthy. Nothing solemn.
Just a few lines.
I'm satisfied with your reflection.
And I sincerely hope you keep making sweeter memories… alongside your sister.
I signed it calmly.
Rolled up the scroll.
And sent it with a small flash of golden light.
With that finished, I extracted Flash's flight records and began drafting the recruitment request document. I included everything necessary: maximum speed, control, endurance, behavior under pressure… even details others might consider irrelevant.
I didn't.
Everything matters.
When I was done, I sealed it and sent it directly to Celestia.
She would be the one to make the final decision.
I had only presented the evidence.
With that taken care of, I left my study.
I returned to the living room with the intention of lying down for a while and letting the weight of the day slowly fade away.
But then, three soft knocks echoed at the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Steady rhythm. No rush. Familiar.
I didn't need to open it.
I didn't need to sense the magical signature.
I already knew who it was.
"Hey! Twilight! What brings you to my humble abode? Come on in!"
"Eh? Oh, right! Thanks…"
She stepped in with that nervous tone she only used when it was clear she didn't have a single reason to be there… or had too many.
"I just came by… um… to see if Princess Celestia gave you your tickets. The letter said she would, but I wasn't sure if she remembered!"
Her words spilled out quickly, as if they were slipping from her tongue without a filter.
"And… well, also… I was wondering if I could study here for a while… the heat outside is unbearable and, well… Rainbow got a bit too excited today and destroyed a lot of clouds, so it's going to be a very sunny day…"
Her voice trailed off at the end, like she wasn't sure if she sounded ridiculous or completely transparent.
I just watched her from the couch.
Part of me knew I could ask questions, joke, challenge her to tell the truth.
But another part… was just happy to see her.
"Of course," I said at last, pointing to the corner with the best ventilation and shade.
"Yeah, I've got my tickets right here," I added after rummaging a bit through the inner pocket of my hoodie.
I pulled out the two golden passes, embossed with the sun's seal.
Twilight nodded in relief, as if that had resolved ninety percent of the anxiety that brought her here in the first place.
"So, what are you studying?" I asked, settling back into the couch. "Some old historical tome? Something by Star Swirl the Bearded?"
She shook her head with a slight smile.
"No. I'm keeping a record of what friendship magic is… and how my magical trait reacts to it like an amplifier and a bridge."
She looked at me, more confident now that she could speak about her topic.
"Do you remember that magical trait I never really understood? The one just vaguely tied to general magic?"
I nodded silently.
Impossible to forget.
That day had been special. A clear before and after.
"Well… I have a theory that it's the magic of friendship. It makes magical sense. I'm the spark. That's what I represent within the group of the Elements—emotions and values that have to exist in a real friendship."
Her voice rose with excitement. Her eyes gleamed with that passion she only showed when talking about meaningful discoveries.
"That's why I was able to channel the magic when we purged Nightmare Moon's darkness, in the Sisters' Castle. The girls helped gather that power… but I was the catalyst."
I just stared at her.
It wasn't just pride I felt.
It was something more complex. More silent.
Because behind all that logic, theory, and excitement… there was something she wasn't saying.
Twilight wasn't just trying to understand her magic.
She was trying to understand herself.