I nodded silently, letting her words settle while I processed them calmly.
"Well… I can only tell you this."
My voice came out serene, without judgment—just the logic of someone who had spent far too long analyzing magical patterns.
"Maybe your trait isn't something common. It might act as an amplifier… a catalyst that resonates with the magic of friendship."
I looked at her closely, searching her face for any sign of doubt or conviction.
"What was already powerful… is now even more so because of you. Because of your magic."
She blinked, as if she wasn't used to someone voicing the pieces of the puzzle out loud.
"If another pony tried to use the Elements… they wouldn't get the same result. We already saw it with Luna. Celestia used the same Elements to seal her on the moon, not to save her. Because she couldn't. And over the years, Nightmare Moon only grew stronger."
My tone dropped, almost to a whisper.
"But the Elements didn't do that. On the contrary. It was you all—new, inexperienced bearers who barely understood how they worked. And yet… it worked."
I watched her. I knew I didn't need to say more, but I did anyway, because I felt like she needed to hear it from someone other than her own conscience.
"Celestia could guide you. She could give you answers. But she doesn't. Because she wants you to learn on your own. Maybe… that's where the true strength of that magic lies. Not in knowledge… but in connection."
I turned my gaze forward.
"That's why it's called the magic of friendship. It's not a poetic name. It's literal. That's what you're using when all the Elements come together."
And deep inside, though I didn't say it out loud, I couldn't help but wonder…
What would happen if, someday, that magic didn't answer the same way?
If the spark went out?
Twilight nodded slowly, as if something had finally clicked in her mind.
"You have a point," she murmured. "But it still feels weird. I can't seem to evoke anything in my magic that feels like a trait of the magic of friendship."
She lowered her gaze a little, thoughtful.
"I guess that's why you might be right in saying it's a catalyst. Because I can only use that magic when the girls and I have the Elements… when we're together to activate them."
I stayed silent for a moment. That idea made sense. It wasn't that she carried the magic within her all the time, like some passive artifact. No. It was more like a spark waiting for a specific reaction.
And that reaction… was them.
"For now, maybe that's how it is," I said, not sounding definitive.
"All this friendship magic stuff is still new to you… it's normal you can't do much yet. You don't have a real connection to the Element."
I looked at her calmly. I didn't mean it as criticism, but as someone who had once been lost, too.
"And I say this from experience. Back then… I couldn't summon my special magic either. I knew it was there, that it existed, that it was waiting for me. But I had no anchor. Nothing to hold onto to move it."
I sighed softly. It wasn't a painful memory—just one filled with missteps.
"At some point, I gave it meaning. One that worked as an anchor. That meaning came with ideas… some right, others not so much. But they helped. They made it easier to reach that magic."
As I spoke, without meaning to, my horn began to glow.
A soft, embracing aura spread through the room like a warm breeze. Calm. Fluffy.
That… was my perspective of my magic.
I didn't know how others would feel it.
Or if they even could feel it the same way.
Twilight slowly closed her eyes. Her breathing eased, her expression softened… and for a moment, she even looked happy.
"I get it now…" Twilight murmured, her gaze sharper.
"Maybe that's why Princess Celestia asked me to study the magic of friendship. And to do that, I need to spend time with the girls… understand them, really get to know them, and strengthen what connects us."
She paused, thoughtful.
"Maybe that'll help me connect with my Element."
I nodded slowly, feeling we were on the right path.
"Could be. In the end, there's not really a way to fail… as long as you respect what the Elements represent."
I tilted my head slightly, listing them in a calm but sure tone:
"Finding joy, even in the tiniest moments shared with your friends. Being honest, for the sake of harmony. Loyal to your own principles… and trusting theirs. Generous with others. And above all…"
I smiled.
"…kind. Because kindness is never a waste when forging a new friendship."
Twilight looked at me, blinked, then laughed with a genuine sparkle in her eyes.
"What are you waiting for? Write that down!" I joked, laughing like it was a classroom again.
Twilight stared at me in surprise—then burst into soft laughter, full of relief.
"Wait, I wasn't ready!" she exclaimed between laughs, grabbing her notebook with magic and scribbling hurriedly. "I didn't expect to learn anything here! I just came to reflect!"
The scene made me smile.
There was something deeply comforting about seeing her like that—relaxed, letting her passion for knowledge blend with something so… pony. So sincere.
"It's not my fault if reflecting with me comes with a learning warning," I said, feigning innocence as I leaned further into the couch.
She stuck her tongue out at me like a playful filly before returning to her notes, though she couldn't fully hide her smile.
"Who would've thought the grumpy, crowd-hating pony would understand friendship so well?" Twilight said once she finished writing, looking at me with an amused grin.
I shrugged, not denying the accusation.
"There's a reason we're still friends," I replied with a half-smile. "Look at me—I barely have more than four close friends… well, my only friends, really."
I raised an eyebrow, thoughtful.
"I've made other acquaintances, sure, but I like to keep the circle small."
With a flick of my magic, I conjured a glowing circle in front of us. Inside it, small animated versions of Lyra, Twilight, Flash, and Sunburst appeared, floating gently within the outline like a personal constellation.
The circle shrank slightly, as if to embrace them.
"Small, but precious," I said quietly.
Twilight watched the floating icons, visibly delighted.
Her own mini version waved a hoof in the air.
Twilight waved back at it with her own hoof, laughing. Then she raised an eyebrow, teasingly.
"I don't think the other girls would be too happy hearing you don't consider them close friends… especially Pinkie Pie."
I scratched my chin, unfazed.
"Hmm… harsh as it sounds, I put weight in words, Twilight. If I say someone's my friend, it's because I truly mean it. Someone I smile at from afar and exchange pleasantries with—that doesn't make them my friend. Just a good neighbor."
I gently spun the glowing circle, making it shimmer softly as I continued.
"It takes a deeper bond. So far, out of the rest of the girls, I'd say Pinkie Pie's the only one I could call a friend."
Twilight frowned slightly, surprised, but didn't interrupt.
"And that's… because she comes to visit me every morning. Even if it's just for a quick 'hi'… or to hide things in my house."
I rolled my eyes with a resigned smile.
Twilight perked her ears and squinted slightly, her tone shifting.
"How does she even get in?"
I shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Through the door. I let her in after she knocks while I'm having breakfast. We greet each other, she tells me a bit about her morning… and every time I glance down at my cereal, she's already hiding four objects in absurdly small spaces around my living room."
I brought a hoof to my forehead.
"And the worst part? She never says a word about it. She just smiles like it's the most normal thing to stash a balloon, a box of confetti, a foldable umbrella, and a wind-up hamster under the couch."
Twilight blinked several times. She didn't look surprised—just… resigned.
"Yeah, that sounds like Pinkie."
"I haven't really had time to get to know the others. I mean, I've been here less than a week."
Twilight gave me a look of mock outrage. "Hey! That didn't stop me!"
I let out a low chuckle.
"Says the mare who had an epic adventure with them, faced an evil alicorn, and forged a bond of friendship that's basically impossible to replicate. Not the same thing, Twilight. I showed up with moving boxes, not a magical prophecy about Nightmare Moon."
Twilight nodded gently.
"Fair… but you could try…"
She paused. For a second, it looked like she was biting her tongue, reconsidering her own words. Finally, she spoke again, a little more calmly.
"But I'm not trying to force you or anything. I just… think you could get to know some of the stallions around here. Like Big Mac—Applejack's older brother. Or, I don't know…"
She scrunched her muzzle slightly, embarrassed.
"I still don't know many ponies myself. I'm… also trying to get to know them."
I glanced at her sideways, holding back a chuckle. Her suggestion was clumsy, almost awkward—but it came from a good place.
"Hungry?" I asked, noticing the time.
My stomach had already made the case for me—and it wasn't exactly the kind of signal one could ignore.
Twilight glanced at the wall clock and nodded with a small smile.
"Yes."
But right after that, I noticed a faint blush on her cheeks.
She didn't say anything, and I didn't make a big deal out of it either.
I just nodded and headed to the kitchen.
It was time to fix something quick that worked for both of us.
While pulling out ingredients and lighting the stove with magic, I broke the brief silence with a question that had been circling my mind for a while.
"So… what did it feel like?"
I turned slightly toward her.
"What was it like to use that magic? How would you classify it? Weak, strong… powerful?"
Twilight blinked, pulled slightly from her thoughts.
Then she frowned with concentration, resting a hoof under her chin as she sat at the table.
She took her time, digging through memories. The moment had been intense—fleeting, charged with adrenaline.
Finally, she nodded to herself, as if she'd found the right way to describe it.
"It felt strange at first," she began, her tone soft.
"I first felt the connection with the girls… and then, with something greater. Like the magic of friendship had been waiting there for us. I could feel the trust that bound us—almost as if our bond had weight, like something I could actually touch."
She paused briefly, eyes staring forward but unfocused.
"When that magic activated… it gathered around us. There was this intense sense of power, but it wasn't overwhelming. It didn't make you dizzy. It felt like a hug. Warm. Comforting."
Her expression grew more serious.
"And beneath all that… came ideas, thoughts, knowledge that wasn't mine—but I understood it. Like the magic was whispering options in my ear. I could push it to hurt, to bind, or to heal. I didn't know how… but I knew I could."
She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling it with more clarity.
"And I also knew what the others chose. We all chose to heal. We saw the magical filth, that ugly stain clinging to Princess Luna… and we erased it."
She looked at me then, with the steadiness of someone who had lived something extraordinary.
"So yes… it's a very powerful magic. Almost capable of miracles. I don't know what kind… but it felt like that."
"Hm…" I murmured, serving her plate and then mine before sitting across from her.
"I don't like how illogical all of that sounds… honestly."
Twilight looked at me with curiosity, waiting without interrupting.
"But then again… since when has magic ever been logical?" I added with a resigned sigh.
"It's mystical by nature. And that magic of yours—the magic of friendship—it's just another face of the arcane."
I stirred my spoon a bit, thinking out loud.
"Yeah… I don't think I'd get along with that kind of magic. My logic would probably ruin it. Though… who knows."
I took a bite before continuing.
"I don't envy you, Twilight. But it's amazing what you all can do simply by having strong friendships.
What I still don't understand is how magic even determines if a friendship is good, mediocre, or special enough to become magical."
She lowered her gaze to her plate, as if searching for an answer there.
"Neither do I," she admitted. "And that's what confuses me. There are no books that explain how to approach this. No formulas, no treatises, no solid theories."
She looked up again, a bit of frustration in her eyes.
"The only reference I might have is Princess Celestia… but she told me her magic blooms from sisterhood.
It's not the same. I can't follow that path or take it as a real example."
I rested a hoof on the table and watched her with a half-smile.
"I think what's really bothering you… is that there's no scroll or book you can read about it."
Twilight's eyes went wide, and she raised her front hooves into the air like she'd just been caught stealing cookies.
"Touché!"
We both burst into a brief, sincere laugh—the kind that quietly releases tension without you realizing it.
"Mrrrow!"
Stella appeared out of nowhere—as always—and sat beside her empty dish. Without breaking eye contact with me, she began tapping it with one of her paws to make it clink against the table.
Clack… clack… clack.
I sighed.
"I'm coming, I'm coming, drama princess."
She didn't reply. She simply looked up quickly and then fell completely silent, waiting with a calm that was almost… defiant.
Then Twilight tilted her head, watching her curiously.
"Stella… you do know that Celestia already told me you can talk, right? That you're as smart as a pony…"
Her voice was soft, almost hopeful. There was something in her eyes—a mix of fascination and expectation—that made it obvious she'd been wanting to see Stella in action for a while.
But Stella simply raised an eyebrow. She grabbed her dish with her front paws, turned around, and gave Twilight her back with all the dignity of an offended princess.
Twilight blinked, confused.
"Don't take it personally," I said while placing food in Stella's bowl with magic. "She doesn't like speaking in front of others. Even if they already know what she is… she just keeps her silence. I don't get why. But that's just her."
Taking advantage of the moment, with Stella turned away from us, I slid a small cupcake under the table toward Twilight.
"The bribe," I murmured with a barely contained grin. "The toll or offering to be deemed worthy of hearing her voice."
Twilight caught it with her magic, inspecting it with a mix of curiosity and doubt.
It was a simple cupcake: vanilla, with strawberry jam inside and a glossy sugar glaze on top.
Nothing extraordinary… except it was one of Stella's favorites.
"What if it actually works?" she whispered, as if afraid to break some sacred protocol.
"It will," I said with quiet confidence, like I was speaking from years of experience.
Twilight swallowed, turned slightly toward Stella, and raised the cupcake gently.
Stella reacted instantly.
Without the usual sealing bubble that trapped its scent, the sweet aroma of the cupcake drifted freely through the air. Her small nose twitched faintly, and without a word, she turned toward us.
Her eyes locked first on the cupcake floating in Twilight's magic… then on me… and finally, on the curious mare holding it.
Then she dropped her usual façade.
Her fur shifted into a deep violet, and tiny stars began to shimmer across it as if a miniature galaxy had been lit within her. She took on her truest form—her astral form.
With theatrical grace, she coiled her tail around the cupcake.
"This will suffice for now…" she said, in a soft, feminine voice—dangerously sweet.
She turned slightly toward Twilight.
"But I don't have much to tell you. I like you. You know what I like."
At last, Stella had spoken in front of her.
Twilight sat there, speechless. She smiled, caught between awe and barely contained excitement.
But she didn't understand what that voice truly carried.
I did.
I knew that sweet, harmonious tone.
I knew what it was hiding.
That voice masked Stella's sadism.
A contrast as subtle as it was dangerous. As elegant as it was disturbing.
I enjoy being sarcastic. Flash knows it well, and Twilight has gotten used to my dry remarks now and then… but Stella is something else entirely.
What she does borders on theatrical. Razor-sharp. Merciless, when she wants to be.
I don't know where she learned to be like that. No one taught her that, at least not that I'm aware of.
Could it be some feline trait?
Maybe that's why she favors that form of hers so much.
Light, graceful… but hiding claws.
I've seen her play with enemies like they were prey.
She never loses control, but rarely shows compassion either.
As if her sense of morality were a private joke only she knows the punchline to.
And yet, there she was—curling around a cupcake like a spoiled little girl with her prize.
Twilight remained amazed. She couldn't see it.
And maybe… that was for the best.
We kept talking for a while longer, like in the old days—back when everything felt simpler, even if it never truly was.
Twilight spoke about her research, her theories, her little revelations about friendship as if it were an ancient magic waiting to be deciphered. I listened, offered a few thoughts, and let her enthusiasm paint the air between us.
Stella, meanwhile, quietly enjoyed her desserts.
She didn't speak again, but her tail occasionally swayed, betraying her satisfaction. At one point, she even licked the frosting off her whiskers with a grace that bordered on feline arrogance.
There was something oddly comforting about it all.
The scholar, the shadow, and the anomaly—sharing sweets and stories as if the world outside didn't matter.
And maybe, just maybe, for a fleeting moment… it didn't.
————————————————————————
Far from Ponyville, high in the golden towers of Canterlot, the soft rustle of parchment broke the late afternoon calm.
Princess Celestia sat near one of the western windows, the golden light of the setting sun painting her study in warm tones. Her mane shimmered quietly in the still air, and her expression was serene, but focused.
Before her floated a scroll, freshly delivered, sealed with the emblem of Ponyville's mayor.
She read it in silence.
A formal request to authorize Wizbell as a magical instructor for the Ponyville Schoolhouse. The wording was careful, even deferential—Mayor Mare clearly understood the weight of such an endorsement.
Celestia's eyes lingered on the parchment for a moment longer. Then, slowly, a knowing smile touched her lips.
With a faint flick of her horn, she summoned a quill and signed the document with graceful certainty. The scroll rolled itself back up and disappeared in a pulse of golden light, bound for its return journey.
She exhaled softly.
Reaching to her side, she picked up a vanilla cupcake from a silver tray, its frosting touched with a faint swirl of strawberry. The treat hovered for a moment before she took a small, satisfied bite.
The sunlight brushed against her face. The horizon was dipping into dusk.
"A teacher, then…" she mused aloud, her gaze drifting toward the glowing sky.
The cupcake hovered in place for another bite.
"…I wonder how long it will take before they realize who they've just welcomed."
Her smile deepened, not with pride—though there was some of that—but with something gentler.
Expectation. Hope. A touch of amusement.
She had high expectations—of course she did.
Wizbell had already shown signs of enjoying teaching, especially when the subject stirred that spark in his eyes. He was thoughtful, meticulous, and—though he often denied it—deeply passionate when it came to sharing knowledge.
It was in the way he explained spells, not as formulas, but as living things. In the way he simplified the impossible, or challenged others to question the rules he himself broke.
Yes… he was made to teach. But he didn't know it yet.
Celestia's gaze softened, shifting toward the distant hills beyond Canterlot's spires.
"Taking him out of his little lab… I wonder how he'll take it," she murmured aloud, not without a touch of mischief.
He would resist, at first. He would say it was inefficient. That he had better things to research. That teaching would only slow him down But she had seen what he hadn't. Not just his potential—but the quiet joy he found when someone understood him. When they listened. When they learned.
This wasn't just a push. It was a rescue.
Before he locked himself away behind layers of silence and magic circles.
Celestia took one last bite, licking a trace of frosting from her lip as the sun kissed the mountains on the horizon.
"It's time you learned," she whispered with a soft smile, "that not all lessons are meant for books."