The early education of a princess to be, and the final gift of the wizard Star Swirl
Although he may or may not have been expressly forbidden to, Star Swirl the Bearded (who had not quite grown into his facial hair at the time) has on occasion peered into the future. He beheld the return of Nightmare Moon, of Discord, of Sombra, and worst of all, to him, he beheld the loneliness of his immortal Tutor and Master, Celestia.
It is always sad, more so when one is experiencing the shame or anguish for oneself, but sad too to the casual observer when one is confronted with a comfortless, crying youth. The young feel passion more honestly, if not with the depth that comes from long years of wear on the heart, and so, when confronted with the sight of a truly sad foal, one cannot help but feel an instant swell of pity.
Therein lies the difficulty, though, as with the surge of pity comes a desire to repair, and it is not typical of the youth of any species to wait to mourn until there is truly something wrong.
So it was on this day, very early in her life that a young filly ran, wailing like the damned, down the darkling streets of Canterlot. Such was her distraction that she crashed more than once into those good-hearted souls who took no mind only because they knew they probably could not help. Indeed, her distraction was such that more than once she fled the grip of those better-hearted ponies who sought to comfort the strange foal.
Convinced in her grief that there was none to comfort her—bitterness and frustration cancelling out all the good and better folks she'd passed—she fled to the refuge she'd frequented most in her young life: The Canterlot Public Library.
The public library of Canterlot, at that time, was not the library that you or I might think of today. What is now called simply "The Canterlot Library" was at that time (and still is, technically) The Royal Canterlot Library, and while access has long been available to all walks of society, that library was much further from this filly's magic kindergarten than the much smaller library to which she fled.
The little public library on this side of town was one of those squat, stone buildings that have seen too much of history and have been re-purposed and rebuilt countless times. The heavy, mahogany door that she could only push open enough to squeeze through had been installed after a fire that burned down the hospital it had been at the time. There were rumors that before that it was a house of ill repute, and before that it was a little smaller and housed weary travelers on their way to petition Celestia the Undimmed (for thus she was known commonly at the time).
History was sketchy before that—records couldn't be trusted, really, beyond about 600 years, and the immortal Princess never bothered to say what was there before. If you were to ask the proprietress of the library, though, she'd have told you (and she'd have been right) that the ancient parts of the building had once been the family residence of Star Swirl, who had only recently become known as Star Swirl the Bearded.
All Twilight knew, though, was that here she could be alone, and it was quiet.
Paperback, the Librarian, had seen and spoken to Twilight a number of times, since even as a filly Twilight read a great deal. When she slid in the heavy door and shot past, Paperback was rightly concerned, and she stood to follow her. "Twilight Sparkle? Was that you? Are you alright, dear?"
Twilight didn't respond; she just kept running, galloping madly down the hallway, down the stairs, and into her favorite reading nook between some shelves in the basement. She loved it down here because, even though it was close and dim, the smell of old books permeated the room.
She collapsed into the cushion she was wont to use and sobbed. Behind her she heard Paperback's slow clop down the stairs. She wished she could be left alone. She reached up to the top of the cushion, where most of the good padding seemed to have migrated, and pulled it down to bury her face, when she saw the most peculiar thing.
Twilight paused in her weeping, sniffed, rubbed her eyes, and checked again. Behind the cushion there was an ornate "TS" embossed on the old stone and seemingly unworn like the rest of the ancient wall.
She pulled harder on the cushion, then climbed it and wedged herself between the cushion and the wall and pushed. When she'd finally unearthed it, the full inscription read:
T.S. On the day she cried.
The clacking of pursuing hooves had grown louder and louder and all at once ceased. Now that she was curious about this inscription, and fighting her natural instinct to assume that it was meant for her, she felt silly about the wailing, and about rushing past Paperback without even a hello. She didn't want to come out from behind her cushion.
"Hullo. You must be Twilight Sparkle."
That was not Paperback. That voice sounded deep, it was a stallion's voice, and one she'd never heard before. She peeked up over the cushion.
Grinning at the sight of a wide-eyed filly peeking her watery eyes and nub of a horn over the top of the cushion stood a youngish-looking stallion of midnight blue, sporting a long, matted, grey mane and a short, sparse, grey beard. The beard both gave him a somber, wise demeanor and made him look curiously like a goat.
"Yes," she sniffed, still peering over the cushion, "Who are you?"
"I am called many things, but you may know me as Star Swirl."
Twilight was nothing if not polite, but at that time, for she was still very young, she had no idea of who Star Swirl was. "Nice to meet you. How did you know my name?" Twilight said.
"I know many things, Twilight Sparkle. So will you, someday. What brings you down here today?"
"I wanted to be alone."
"You were crying?" Star Swirl asked, ignoring the hint.
"Yes.”
“Why?”
Twilight sighed; this wasn't really any of his business, and he was a stranger, should she even be talking to him? “Because school is hard,” she said shortly. “Did you leave the message?"
Star Swirl seemed to find that funny, as he was suddenly suppressing a laugh. "I did. I'm glad you found it. Come, Twilight. There is much to do, and little time." He turned.
Used to obeying adults, Twilight climbed up over the cushion. When she'd lifted herself fully out of her hiding place, she discovered that the room was quite different. Instead of bookshelves, there were new-looking barrels in long lines, piles of fur in one corner, and near the stairs, a small table without a chair or anything upon it. The book smell was gone, too. Twilight stopped. "Where am I?"
"An inquisitive mind," Star Swirl said without turning, "is a good thing, but only so long as it does not keep you trapped in a musty basement. Follow."
She did so, and came to the stairs, now made of rickety wood, and followed him up to a door that hadn't been there before. The library was not a library anymore. A huge fireplace stood where Paperback should've been sitting at her desk. The building was much smaller and no longer had stairs going up to a second floor. An elderly mare sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace with a hugely fat dog curled up next to her.
Twilight was beginning to be apprehensive about being in a new, strange place with new, strange people. She was just about to say something to that effect when a startlingly loud snore shook the room. Twilight leapt back, which was fortunate, because Star Swirl had stepped toward the sleeping mare and he took an unconscious step back at the sound, and would have trodden on her hooves. The fat dog looked up, roused, but seemed to be unable to muster the will to bark—instead, it leaned heavily against the old mare.
"Mmm?" The old mare muttered.
"Mother, you're awake?" Star Swirl said quietly.
"Of course I am!" The old mare snapped. "You think I sleep all the time? There's work to be done." She seemed suddenly to notice Twilight. In a moment she was fully awake, and all abrasiveness was gone from her.
"Hello, dear. Welcome. Who are you?"
"My name's Twilight Sparkle, ma'am."
A platoon of wrinkles formed up around the old mare's eyes and mouth as she grinned. "A beautiful name. It is a pleasure, young miss Sparkle.”
"You two get acquainted, I'll return presently." With that, he retreated into his study. The smells of cinnamon and wood smoke tickled Twilight's nose briefly, and were gone.
Alone for the first time in this place, Twilight suddenly missed the eccentric Star Swirl. The old mare heaved herself up out of her rocking chair, with much groaning and the popping and cracking of protesting joints.
"My name is Starlight, dear. You may call me ma'am, though, if it pleases you. You must be starving."
Now that she mentioned it, Twilight was hungry. She said so.
Starlight's grin got even bigger and more wrinkly, and she shuffled off to the kitchen with Twilight in tow.
The kitchen was where the bathrooms should have been, were this the library. It looked a lot like a normal kitchen, except that everything---the cabinets, the table, the brick oven—was extremely ornate and hand carved.
"Um... ma'am?"
"Yes dear?"
"I don't really even know why I'm here, or where I am."
Starlight ceased her bustling, head held low, "That boy never was good at making a filly comfortable. Perhaps if he had been, I'd be somepony's grandmare by now." She seemed to notice Twilight for the first time, again. "Star Swirl has been talking my old ears off for long about ten years about taking an apprentice, miss Sparkle---though you're so young, dear."
"Apprentice? but I'm just in Filly School! I'm barely out of magic kindergarten!"
"Oh, don't worry about that, dear. For all he's a complete wreck with mares, Swirly's got almost as much magic in him as her highness. I'm sure he'll be able to teach you."
"Was that a compliment, mother?" Star Swirl had followed them into the kitchen. Starlight looked flustered.
"I was talking to her, you braggart. Honestly, you haven't told the poor girl anything. I'm trying to make her feel at home!"
"Quite right, quite right." Star Swirl said. He approached her and bowed a little. "And I apologize, Twilight. I am the Wizard Star Swirl. I am the dean of the College of the Applied Arts Magic. I am, since Her advent, the Most Faithful Student of her Highness, Celestia the Undimmed."
His voice had begun to echo, and to resonate in Twilight's chest and down to her hooves. He raised himself up and loomed slightly over the now thoroughly impressed filly "I have created more spells, more new magic than anypony that has ever lived, their majesties included! I am the second most powerful spellpony who has or will ever trod this earth!"
The air was electric after that---something deep inside her whispered that everything he'd said was true: not vainglory, but an understatement. She was standing in the presence of a pony like she'd dreamed of becoming since she started learning magic.
Then a thought struck her.
"Who is the first-most powerful?" she whispered, star struck.
The wizard lowered himself way, way down to where the little filly was sitting on her haunches, looking up with big eyes. His grin was wolfish, but his eyes sparkled like Santa Hooves'.
His perception was limited, as is the perception of all rocks, to what he felt. And feeling, mind you, for a rock, is an altogether different thing than it is for us. Their feeling is primarily formed of temperature and vibration, or pressure, which are the only two things that exist in their world. When their collective being was formed, it was in immense pressure and heat, and now pressure and heat is really all they know.
Tom's separateness, his self, had begun to form many thousands of years before, yet only recently was Tom a true rock, lone and unattached to mother earth since he broke off of the mountain he'd been formed in and rolled down to lie amid this garden. Tom had come to rest lying upon a flat piece of unfinished labyrinth in the garden behind and to one side of Canterlot Castle. Being a rock, he was generally disinterested in the goings-on about him, or anything else in general. (That is not entirely true—unlike most rocks, Tom was strangely concerned with what other rocks thought of him. He would often try to convince them that he was a very large diamond, and not just a wad of granite; but, since rocks cannot speak to each other, Tom mostly hoped to appear impressive to them.)
The afternoon was still hot. Tom liked it hot; it meant that for a while, and if only slightly, he was a few millimeters larger than usual—more impressive. Plus, it felt like his childhood in the magma. Cicadas were grinding out their pulsing song from the leaves on the nearby shrubs and in the trees further back. With no tall bushes here, the sun beat down on the clearing Tom ruled over the center of, his shadow the only shadow of any considerable size.
Presently, Tom began to perceive the conversation of two approaching ponies.
"This embarrassment you seem to insist upon regarding your shortcomings in your schooling. We're going to fix it."
One of the ponies was much larger than the other, and the way he walked made him seem too sure of himself. The other was either young, or merely clumsy and very small. Tom thought his most impressive thoughts, hoping that perhaps they'd compliment him.
The two ponies stepped into Tom's clearing.
"The first part of the lesson:" The larger one said, "I need you to try and move the rock."
"That rock?" Twilight asked. It was, obviously, the rock she motioned to, being the only stone of remarkable size in the clearing.
“Move the rock" Star Swirl affirmed. "You may use anything you can think of.”
"How is that going to help me with my schoolwork?" Twilight countered.
Star Swirl tilted his head slowly to one side. For a long time, he just stared at her and did not speak. Finally, when she started to fidget under his gaze, Star Swirl said, "Did you not, Twilight Sparkle, say that you were excited to become my apprentice?"
"Well, yes," she answered.
"And do you know, Twilight Sparkle, what it is to be an apprentice?"
Twilight just sighed and moved toward the rock.
"Very good," Star Swirl said. To Twilight, he sounded smug.
"Hah! Not likely," thought Tom as she approached for Tom knew that he was a stone of no mean mass.
Since these were meant to be lessons to help her in magic school—at least, that's what Star Swirl had said when they started—using magic seemed to Twilight like a good place to start.
Twilight strained, she squinted, she scrunched up her forehead until the skin between her horn and her down-drawn eyebrows felt like it would split. She shook. She began to sweat, and beads of it slid down her forelegs. Light sputtered and drops of what looked like liquid, purple fire formed at the base of her horn and ran up, dripping off in all directions.
...and nothing happened.
She panted for a moment.
"Twilight?" Star Swirl said, but she was beyond hearing him. She threw her magic at the rock, her horn emitting an audible fizzling noise, like bacon freshly dropped into a pan. Teeth bared and eyes shut, she willed desperately for the rock to budge, to float, to roll, to shift.
Still nothing.
"Twilight?" Star Swirl said again.
After glancing quickly around the clearing to try and locate a lever or wedge or cleverly concealed bulldozer, and finding none, Twilight lunged bodily at the rock, shoving with her tiny shoulder, her hooves scrabbling along the lower surface trying to find some purchase that would allow her to attempt to flip the stone. She circled slowly, seeking and pushing, her expression growing haggard and shaky.
"What you're asking is impossible!" she grunted.
Star Swirl sighed, and with a flicker of power running along his horn so briefly Twilight wasn't sure she even saw it, the stone lifted up off the ground and floated, perfectly still.
"Twilight, Twilight... has there not been something nearby you could use to lift the rock?" Twilight scrunched up her face in confusion.
"Alright, has there been somepony you could use?"
Twilight opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. Twice. Finally she said, "This whole time, all I had to do was ask for help? I don't believe it."
"That is why you fail,” Star Swirl said, affecting a raspy voice for some reason. Twilight just watched him, confused and irritated. When Star Swirl saw she did not catch the reference, he coughed.
"I guess that part of the future will have been a little before your time? I loved it when I was just a colt."
"What?"
"Never mind. Is there something you'd like to ask me, Twilight?
Twilight scowled at him under brooding, childish eyebrows. Unfortunately for both of them, Star Swirl found this adorable. When he grinned at her angry face, Twilight snarled out the request:
"Star Swirl, would you please move the rock for me?"
Immediately, Tom's world was upside down and spinning below him. The tiny crater he'd occupied a moment ago was empty, a bush was broken, and Tom was lying on a patch of bare earth out of the two ponies' sight.
"I chose to move here! I was not rejected! He dropped me! I am too large and impressive for his tiny magic!" Tom thought desperately, hoping that none of the other rocks thought less of him.
None of them cared. Or, indeed, perceived that he had moved.
Twilight was still sulking.
"Is something wrong, Twilight?" Star Swirl asked, affecting his most innocent tone.
"No." Twilight lied.
"Come now, Twilight Sparkle, what is bothering you?"
"It's just that you could have...never mind."
"Twilight..." Star Swirl just stared now. He stared that disinterested teacher's stare that means they don't believe an excuse. Twilight buckled under the glare almost immediately.
"Wouldn't it have been easier to volunteer that information, or to just move the stone yourself?" To her credit, she almost didn't sound exasperated.
"Undoubtedly so." Star Swirl nodded.
"Then why didn't you?"
Again Star Swirl stared. He looked very much like he was actually considering the question. "Perhaps it was part of the lesson," he ventured.
Twilight stopped glaring at the old pony and scrunched up her face as she tried to figure out the meaning of the lesson. "I'm sorry, I really don't see—" She began.
"Of course you don't," Star Swirl interrupted, "Don't look for the meaning, Listen,"He commanded, and a ripple of power accompanied the word. Suddenly the world was totally still. The cicadas stopped singing, the leaves stopped rustling. The wind didn't blow.
Then a voice came from nowhere: "Nothing's happening. What's he on about?"
Twilight's head darted around, looking for the source. Beside Star Swirl and herself, there was nopony there.
"Who said that?" Twilight asked. She looked to Star Swirl, who leaned his head as though he was pointing to the hole in the bushes at the side of the clearing.
After a few moments of expecting to see somepony come through the hole, and looking back at Star Swirl's patiently pointing expression, it became clear to Twilight what the old wizard was trying to say. The very idea strained reason, though, so she hesitated a long while before asking, "The stone?"
"Yes! That stone, I think, will do nicely for teaching you the rest of the lesson. Let us go and talk to the stone." Teacher and student moved across the grassy clearing to pass through the line of unkempt bushes that now concealed Tom.
"Little stone, are you there?" Star Swirl called. The bushes were rather thick back here, and they'd lost sight of him.
"Hello? Are you calling to me?" the voice Twilight had heard called back.
"Aha!" said Star Swirl, and he pushed against some invisible force to the left and right with his horn. Grass and bushes, and even one tree, leaned out of the way to give the two ponies an unobstructed view of Tom, who had rolled quite some distance when he landed. Twilight and Star Swirl stepped carefully over the bent shrubs and roots, arriving presently at what was more of a gap than a clearing, barely large enough for the two of them and the stone. This gap was much nearer the wall of the castle.
Star Swirl just stood there looking terribly proud of himself.
"Um, Star Swirl?" Twilight ventured.
"Yes, Twilight Sparkle?"
"Why are we talking to a stone?"
"Yes, Star Swirl, why are you talking to a stone?" Tom said.
Star Swirl whirled around to face away from the group. "Well Star Swirl? What do you have to say about this debacle...oh!" Star Swirl turned around. "I'm Star Swirl, aren't I?" Twilight giggled. Acting appropriately chagrined, Star Swirl continued. "Well, Little Stone and Twilight Sparkle, I had hoped that you," he pointed to the stone, "Oh, I'm pointing to you, Little Stone...I don't suppose you can see me."
"'See' you?" asked Tom.
"Can't, then. No matter. I'd hoped that you, Little Stone, could teach young Twilight here the remnants of her lesson for the day. She needs somepony with more experience in the matter than a dottering old stallion."
"But he's just a rock," Twilight said.
"Twilight! You'll offend him!" Star Swirl said.
"No," sighed Tom, "She's right. I'm just a rock."
Star Swirl paused. "Had you wanted to be something else?" he asked.
"I don't know what business it is of yours, wizard, but yes, if I'd had any say in it I should have liked to be more ...valuable than 'just a rock'."
Star Swirl's manner became suddenly gentle. He smiled weakly and said: "Little stone, do not despair. You are what you were always meant to be."
"You have no way of knowing what I was meant for, wizard. You ponies, you other stones, you all undervalue me!"
"Is it not the nature of ponies to value a good, solid granite stone? The castle behind me—the most important building in our country—is made up of your ancient brethren."
"...You lie."
Star Swirl's piteous smile vanished. His eyes bulged and he started backwards. "How dare you, stone?! Me? Lie?"
"How can I know that what you speak is the truth?" the stone demanded.
Star Swirl made a number of indignant, squeaking noises. He looked at Twilight as if to check whether she was offended, too. Returning his gaze was an innocent, tiny filly, watching him with the sort of attention that can only be attained by a child who will learn by imitation. Star Swirl spun away from Twilight to compose himself, took a slow, deep breath to steady his speech, and readdressed the stone through clenched teeth.
"For future reference, should the occasion arise, wizards like myself tend to be quick to anger. Try to avoid antagonizing us."
Tom said nothing.
"I will show you, little stone, that what I speak is true. Not for your impudence, but to teach my pupil. What are you called?"
"Tom." the cranky stone muttered.
Star Swirl watched Tom under crooked, fuzzy eyebrows for a long time.
"Tom?"
Again, Tom said nothing.
Star Swirl turned away from Tom and took three steps toward the castle. He took almost a whole minute to let his ire subside.
Although it was still deathly silent in the clearing, and Star Swirl was holding almost perfectly still, Twilight did not ask why nothing seemed to be happening; Twilight could feel a building magic.
Then Star Swirl began to sing a gentle, cheerful melody in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
The tiny hoof that 'pon you treads is gone within a breath
All life that walks on mother's face walks briefly 'til its death
But you rise up from mountains' birth, and have long 'til your end,
And when in death you downward plunge, you'll upward rise again.
Your vigil, lonely, quiet, cold, sees everything we do,
Observing folly, hearing dreams, the countless cent'ries through,
I, from your long and earn-ed nap, a few moments will take:
Speak now! Shout forth the things you've learn'd!
Awake! Awake! Awake!
With each word, Twilight felt the rushing of the built-up power. It flowed toward the stones, but seemed merely to wash over them when it struck. When the song was over, Star Swirl didn't move. Twilight and Tom waited for something to happen. Twilight looked at Tom. Tom did not look back. At the moment they were both about to give voice to their doubts whether it worked, a deep voice began to speak.
"I hear you, Wizard. I have slept long. It is good to feel the sun again, but I am weary. What do you want of me?" Star Swirl approached a stone embedded deep into the ground. It was one of the upper foundation stones of the castle, wider than twice Star Swirl's length, and rising a head taller out of the ground. Ivy climbed up one corner, not having been cleared off due to the disrepair of this side of the garden. As Star Swirl began to speak, he carefully plucked the ivy from the surface.
"A young and fearful stone, one 'Tom,' lies but a few steps behind me." Star Swirl began.
"Truly?" boomed the stone.
Star Swirl stopped plucking the ivy. "...You doubt me?" he asked.
"Why would I do that?" responded the stone.
Star Swirl resumed plucking. "He is sure that because he is granite, and not diamond or some other shiny thing, that he is not valued by ponykind. I ask that you speak some assurance to him."
"And he shall hear me?" the stone asked.
Star Swirl turned to face Tom. "Well?"
"I...I hear you now, great brother." Tom said. Apparently, he was much more polite to ancient stones than he was to wizards.
"Do you believe that I am granite, like yourself?" the massive footing boomed.
"Yes."
"I was hewn from our living mother when a stonecutter—a master craftspony chose me. When he did, he said "Here is a fine stone" and a team of his comrades spent a whole day carefully lifting me down the mountain, polishing me smoother than a gem, and setting me in place. I was lain here twice—the first time I was lain here my alignment with my brothers was off by a hair's breadth. Another whole day was spent repositioning me. None of the finest gems enjoy the attention I was given in my creation."
Tom was silent.
"I carry the burden," the massive stone continued "of four thousand and seventy-four stones smaller than I, from which the edifice we comprise is made. Many hundreds of stones like me likewise stand with me, similarly upholding many thousands of our smaller brothers. I have upheld my burden for many years, and will do so for many, many more."
"Does that help, Tom?" Star Swirl asked.
"I ...suppose. I would still rather be beautiful, but it is nice to know I am not worthless."
"Granite is certainly not worthless," said Star Swirl.
"Whether is greater? To hang from a neck, or to shelter a race?" echoed the great stone. "I return to my slumber. Remember what has transpired here, brother."
Tom was thrilled to be called the brother to a cornerstone, though he did not show it.
Star Swirl called Twilight to him. Twilight turned back to Tom.
"Goodbye, Tom. I hope you feel better."
"Goodbye, tiny pony," Tom said. He sounded pensive.
To Star Swirl, Twilight said "I'm glad you could help Tom. I didn't know stones could talk."
"Without encouragement, they cannot. It is a sad thing not to be able to ask for help when you need it." Star Swirl looked solemnly at Twilight below his bushy eyebrows and the dark brim of his hat. "Because he was able to ask for help, a problem he has probably had for centuries (for Star Swirl did not know that Tom had only rolled down the mountain weeks ago) could be resolved in seconds."
Twilight nodded.
"What can we learn from Tom?"
Twilight thought for a long time. Fortunately, the heat of the day had passed by now, and a cool breeze made the bare, sunny area barely tolerable. Still, Star Swirl hoped Twilight would come up with an answer soon—there were disadvantages to mysterious robes in late spring—bugs, for one.
"That we should ask for help when we need it."
"Exactly," Star Swirl said. "So the stone was a good teacher after all." he turned and began the walk home. Twilight giggled, waved to the rock again, and followed Star Swirl.
"Was that song a spell?" she said at length.
"All songs are spells, Twilight Sparkle. All songs are always spells."
That had some deep ramifications. She made a mental note to ponder it later. "Will you teach it to me?"
Star Swirl stopped walking and looked up. He rolled his eyes backwards, as though he was trying to read something off of the front of his own brain. "I'm not sure I remember it," he said. He resumed walking.
Twilight stared. "You...you made it up?!"
"Composition is one of the most important of a wizard's skills. Though it is a shame I hadn't a quill with me... it was quite good." He grinned down at Twilight. "This is why we take notes. The weakest ink is stronger than the strongest memory. Don't worry, with some practice you'll be able to burst into song when needed. I'm sure you'll have a beautiful singing voice." he said, and under his breath he muttered, "I've heard it."
As the two odd ponies walked away, Tom sighed to himself (or some stony-equivalent thereof).
"That was nice. Still, perhaps someday," thought Tom, "somepony will have the decency to treat me like the diamond I feel I am."
For the first time, Tom felt a little sparkle of hope.
Twilight followed the old wizard back to his manor that would become a library in her time. Starlight had prepared them a delicious, if simple, meal of spiced hay and mint tea (Apple family cider was not yet the household item it is now, nor would it be for some eight-hundred years). Twilight told the story of meeting Tom, gesturing wildly, and Star Swirl had joined in, in places. When she'd eaten, Starlight put Twilight to bed in a guest room, and when Twilight woke up, she was home.
Twilight was, in her innermost, intrinsic nature, an excellent learner. The lesson from Star Swirl about asking for help stuck, and once she'd overcome the obstacle of getting assistance, Twilight picked up the material quickly, the despair that had accompanied her in her transition into primary school was dispelled, and her love of studying magic began to show through in full.
On a sunny morning a few weeks after Twilight's lesson with Star Swirl, while Twilight Sparkle's mother, Twilight Velvet was preparing Twilight's sack lunch for the day, she saw a note tucked in among Twilight's school things. It was addressed to her, so she withdrew it from the pile.
Grades.
She'd know the shape of this envelope anywhere. It wasn't so long ago (she liked to think) that she'd been getting similar report cards in college. She dreaded this---ever since that last PTA meeting where Twilight---her Twilight---had been called 'slow.' She left it on the arm of the couch until after she'd seen Twilight off that morning, then sat down to face the music.
The letter read:
Nightlight and Twilight Velvet,
It is a rare and wonderful thing to have to contact a filly's parents with happy news. Enclosed you will find Twilight's grades for the most recent term. I wanted you to know that I wrote them all with my own hoof, and I meant every A+ on the page. I even had the principle witness the grades when I wrote them. Never had I seen such a sudden and obvious improvement to a foal's schoolwork.
She is a delight to have in the class, never tardy, always alert, she comes up with answers before I've even asked the questions. What's more, she's coming to me with her problems. This change has probably been the key to most of her success. The shyness she was suffering from has, at least toward me, melted away entirely.
Whatever you are doing at home must be working. She is also retaining her studies impressively, and I should very much like to speak with you regarding your methods of enforcing it at home, should the occasion arise. We are all very impressed.
As much as I wish I could keep her, I cannot in good conscience omit the following:
With your permission, I would like to present Twilight for the magical examination for Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. I know she is a bit young, but she is surpassing our curriculum with such ease, it would be wrong to hold her back by requiring her to stay here.
As the day of her test approached, Twilight became nervous. She wasn't very good at handling her nerves, and after studying for two straight days her mother evicted her from the house, commanding that she "Go find some friends to play with, and not to return to [her] studies until she had calmed down." Initially, Twilight had started walking to see her sometime babysitter Cadence, but on the way she passed the library, and wondered whether she could visit Star Swirl and Starlight again.
She passed Paperback, much more cordially this time, with a proper 'hello' and a 'how are you?' and some proper nodding as though she understood the old mare's comments about rheumatism. She made her way down to 'her' cushion and pulled it from the wall.
At first, there was nothing. Not even the graven words from before. The stone was completely smooth. As she stared at it, though, words began to sink into the granite as though they were being pressed in by an enormous, invisible stamp.
My Pupil,
In Preparation for Her Examination
And when she turned around, she found herself walking up a steep, rocky hill.
“Today,” the older-looking and white-bearded Star Swirl said, “you're going to have to learn to fly.” Twilight was trotting to keep up with his lanky, loping walk as he trudged along the cold heather in the sunset light. They were well outside of Canterlot (which was much smaller then), stomping through an emerald and amethyst plane of flowering grass that would later become a lower district of the capitol. Brilliant orange and an off-putting magenta stained the sky in a beautiful, but garish display, giving a soft glow to the grass and the purple mountains surrounding them.
“To fly?” Twilight asked between gasps for breath. Her words wrapping up and around her head in cool tendrils of mist.
They arrived at the top of a black, stone outcropping at the edge of the field. A steep slope, almost a cliff, halted their progress and from the top, they could look out over almost all the western reaches of Equestria. They'd have been able to see Ponyville, if it had been settled at that point.
“Yes, Twilight. You've got to learn to fly.” Star Swirl dropped to his belly on the hard stone, putting him at eye-level with the tiny filly. “Since you've been recommended for Celestia's school, we haven't got much time. Besides, there is nothing in all the world so much like magic as flying.”
“But I can't fly. I don't have any wings, and...” she sniffed and stared at her hooves, “I can't even levitate my quill.”
“Twilight,” Star Swirl said. When she looked up into his eyes, he continued “Do not try to impress me with your shortcomings. I know exactly what you can and cannot do. I have seen the mare you will become someday.” He spun quickly away and moved to stare off the edge of the cliff into the dying sunlight.
“You've hit upon the problem, though: While I could give you wings of a sort, or the seeming thereof, no mere pony has the power to cross species, not in the true sense, and you don't have wings...”
“No pony?" Twilight asked, "So who can we ask for help?”
Star Swirl spun back toward her so suddenly that he almost slipped off the cliff. “Exemplary!” he shouted, and he grinned his cockiest grin at Twilight, then turning his head to point almost straight up at the sky, he called out: “Susagep a sa eram siht tpecca yldnik eh dluow dna sueZ ot stnemilpmoc s'lriwS ratS?”
Suddenly, above the castle edifice, and a little behind it, there appeared on a small, black cloud an enormously muscle-bound pegasus with dinky wings and a lightning bolt marking his flank. Around the lightning bolt, still puffy and healing, his flank had been shaved and a heart had been tattooed so that the lightning bolt now pierced it like a cupid's arrow. The word 'Hera' had been written across it in beautiful scrollwork, crossed out, replaced with three other mares' names, each crossed out, and now had a darker version of 'Hera' tattooed over the top of those.
A moment before, he had simply not been there, in that empty patch of blue sky, and now he was.
He gave an accepting frown as he glared imperiously down at the little unicorn, and heaved his massive frame suddenly backwards to stand on his hind legs, then he fell forward, slamming massive hooves against the dark cloud. Lights began to shift and flash between the billowing lumps of cumulostratus beneath the huge pegasus. He leapt up and stomped again, and this time a crackling rumble accompanied the lights, now flashing purple and green and yellow. A third time he leapt, and the world, for Twilight, went white.
Hundreds of years later, certain that her daughter was out playing with her friends...which was true, in a sense...Twilight Velvet was enjoying a well-earned afternoon nap—one of the first since Twilight Sparkle was born, actually. Something had woken her up suddenly, but as she looked around the room, she saw that everything seemed to be as it should be. The warm sunlight was pouring through the large window in their living room, splashing against her back and running down the tips of her wings. She stretched them, then tucked them against her sides like she always did when she slept, and laid her head back down on the long couch she was napping on.
Something was bothering her as sleep took her again. Something important was out of place, she was sure...but she couldn't think of what it was, and she was so comfortable...and so tired.
The first thing she noticed as she came to herself, was that her head felt light. If you have ever gotten a manecut after leaving it off for too long, you can perhaps relate. Twilight blinked and stood on wobbly legs.
Legs that were much too long. Her eyes rolled as she looked at the ground way, way down by her feet.
“I'm tall,” she said. "And my voice is deeper."
“Not so very tall,” said her teacher. Star Swirl was now only a little taller than she was, not counting his horn. It made him look awfully tiny to be so close to his size. Twilight tried to move toward him, but immediately she tripped on the front edge of a hoof and crashed into the dirt.
Star Swirl smiled fondly at his protegé, “In order to allow you to learn to fly, you had to become an adult pegasus. When the lesson is over you'll be your normal size, never fear.”
Twilight had been whimpering on the hard, dark ground, but now she looked up in surprise, and spun her head around to see her back.
Sure enough, two massive, purple wings shimmered in the fiery light of the sunset, sprouting from new, muscular shoulders above her withers. Twilight gasped. “I'm beautiful!” She looked back to Star Swirl.
"You're surprised?" Star Swirl asked.
"Yeah." She said, and returned to admiring her wings.
“Twilight, you really must stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Doubting yourself. Nothing is more of a dampening force on magic—nor on flight, which we should get back to.”
When Star Swirl said “magic,” though, Twilight had stopped listening and moved a hoof to the top of her head.
Her horn was gone.
There was nothing in its place: her mane ran unbroken from the back of her head to the front. She pushed in a little harder, but her skull was smooth under the skin of her forehead, as if the horn had never been there. Twilight's eyes went wide as she tried to push outward with the magical senses her horn normally afforded her; although she was a very young filly, and her magic was sputtering and weak on a good day, all unicorns can feel, if not affect, the stirrings in the magical fields around them.
And she was totally numb to them.
In their place she felt a languid field of something else, something powerful and enormous and fluid, looming in a large blob over the mountain she stood on, rushing in little eddies along the sides of the stone faces, ebbing to the north and flowing from the south, wringing some other fluid from itself away to the west.
Star Swirl watched her closely and silently, trying not to show any worry as she panicked. She seemed to have relaxed some, now, so he ventured to speak.
"Twilight?"
"What is that?" Twilight whispered. Her hoof was frozen on top of her head, and the far-away look in her eyes made it seem she was staring through the ground.
This would have been an excellent time to show Twilight how knowledgeable a tutor she had—a well placed answer to her quandary would show her how wise he was, and how safe she could feel in her lessons.
But it took Star Swirl too long to answer; he was trying to figure out what she meant.
"...What is what, Twilight?" he finally asked.
"I can't feel magic anymore...but there's something else, and it's so big!" Now Twilight did look up at him. Big, childish eyes, though mounted now on an adult face, were searching his eyes for understanding, and Star Swirl smiled in relief—he did know the answer. Maybe he was as wise as he'd hoped.
"Very perceptive, Twilight. That's very perceptive indeed," he said. "That is the air, the shape and form of Father Sky. The Pegasi can perceive his shape and his flow, as can all beasts of the wing. It helps them to fly properly. Pegasi and Gryphons have a more detailed perception than most."
Star Swirl was very satisfied at how hard Twilight seemed to be concentrating on his explanation. She was nodding in time with his words and wearing a very becoming sagacious frown.
"Is that also why they make good weather ponies?" she asked at length.
"Twilight, it is truly a joy to see you extrapolating. That is exactly right," Star Swirl said.
Twilight beamed at him.
"Now," Star Swirl said, "The first thing to learn is how to take off."
"I would have thought landing was more important."
"A little praise and they become impudent," Star Swirl muttered to himself. "If landing were something that could be taught on the ground, I would teach you how to land first."
Twilight blushed a little. "Oh."
"There are two ways to take off," Star Swirl began, watching for a moment to see whether she'd interrupt. When she didn't, he continued.
"The first way is to take off at speed. Pegasi are built well suited to this since, from the withers down, they are ponies with powerful muscles and extra-light bones. You will find, however, that with powerful wings like that, a running start is rarely necessary. Takeoffs at speed can also be accomplished by dropping from a great height like this cliff—but we will not be trying that today."
Twilight's eyes had gone wide when he'd mentioned dropping off the cliff, and she looked relieved when he said this. She turned her nervous eyes back to the green, heathery field opposite the steep slope at her side.
"No, today's takeoff will be a straight, vertical climb. This is the most challenging, physically, but it is also the safest."
"So I just...flap?" Twilight asked.
"Basically, though there is a bit of science to it. It's harder than-" Star Swirl stopped when Twilight turned her head back to look at her wings, clearly not listening.
Twilight gave a timid, experimental flip of her wingtips. Nothing happened. She braced her feet wide apart, straightened her wings out at her sides, and pushed at the air with all her strength. Dust flew everywhere, stinging her eyes and catching in Star Swirl's beard. When it settled, and Star Swirl was irritably spitting dust out of his mouth, Twilight looked a question to him.
"Oh? You'd like to know what the science is?" Star Swirl asked.
Twilight looked annoyed. Star Swirl said nothing as he took his hat off and beat it against his foreleg.
"Yes!" Twilight finally said. "What do I have to do?"
"Very good, Twilight. A bit slow that time, but very good." Star Swirl straightened out his hat and replaced it atop his wild mane. "Try again. This time keep flapping until I tell you to stop. Wait," he said—she'd braced herself again. "At first, until you take off, try to clap your wings together at the top of the stroke. That will help you get off of the ground."
Twilight nodded. "Keep flapping, clap the wings," she listed. She lifted her wings back and up as far as they would go and felt the primaries touch at the top of the arc. She shut her eyes and took a slow, deep breath.
And another.
And another.
"Twilight?" Star Swirl said. "Is something wrong?"
Twilight blushed. "No, no...just, getting ready."
"The light is fading." Star Swirl said. Sure enough, barely any of the sun was visible between the far-off hills. Twilight took one more long, slow breath, held it, and started.
Flapping like this was much harder than her previous attempts. It felt like she was scooping her wings through water or something thicker. A part of her idly wondered whether she could learn some way to express how hard it was to drag something through the air. And whether temperature or moisture could affect it. Might there be an easier way? She shook her head to clear it, and tried again to focus on the task at hoof. She'd study that later.
Each flap whooshed loudly, and the next began with a clap that forced her ears down against her head. She squeezed her eyes shut in a grimace at the noise and the strain, focusing on the effort of flapping harder and harder, and on the burning in her shoulders.
She was very surprised that after a short while, the effort became sustainable. She was even more surprised when she opened her eyes and found herself her own height off of the ground, looking down at a very proud Star Swirl.
"I did it!" she yelled down, "Star Swirl, I did it!" Twilight pumped two victorious hooves into the air, forgot to flap, and began a quick and awkwardly controlled landing. She collapsed to the ground with an undignified squawk.
"A good first effort, Twilight."
Twilight huffed, visibly winded and sweating. Again, she glowed at the praise.
"When you're ready, try again," Star Swirl said, again he looked to the western horizon. The sun was now quite gone. "Do hurry."
"I...I don't know. I've learned a lot...are you sure we need to keep going?"
Star Swirl looked back at his tired pupil. "What's the matter?"
"It was kinda...scary," she admitted. "It was exciting to be up there, but then I fell..."
"You have to trust Father Sky, Twilight. To flow with him, to follow him up to the top of the sky and see what he sees. I'll be right here, and, if you keep flapping, he won't drop you." Star Swirl cautiously nuzzled her shoulder to push her out toward the cliff. "And I am right here. You must do things, sometimes, that are scary. That is when you grow the fastest."
Twilight still looked nervous. "I don't know if I can do this by myself."
"Do not whine, Twilight Sparkle" the wizard cautioned. "Fly."
Twilight shut her eyes tight and began again the arduous task of lifting off, wings clapping furiously above her. She was breathing hard, both from exertion and from nervous tension by the time she was a hoof's width off the ground. “Come with me!” Twilight shouted over her beating wings.
Star Swirl opened his mouth to respond. He looked like he was about to refuse, but whether it was the desire not to leave her to flounder in the sky by herself, or (the writer suspects) the fact that no real adult female had paid him any attention in a long time, he took off at a run, parallel to the cliff, twisted suddenly and leapt up into the sky, and instead of plummeting off the edge, grey wings hefted him upward.
He'd passed Twilight in a few flaps, so she clumsily rounded a tight turn and flapped her own wings hard to follow him in a steep climb, clapping them behind her back like he'd showed her to gain height.
Up only a few feet, the wind was terrible. Not so much that it was fast (although it was a mountain breeze, which are never gentle) but with the varied rises and valleys in the mountain around her, the wind buffeted Twilight with sudden changes in direction. She cried out in surprise, but the sound was drowned out by the roaring of the wind in her ears.
After fighting for only a few minutes, she was getting very tired. Star Swirl had lifted himself up much higher than Twilight, and seemed to be floating gently around in circles with practiced ease. She took a deep breath and yelled up to her master.
“This is really, really hard!”
“Yes!" Star Swirl shouted back, "Yes it is. But Twilight, like anything worth learning, magic and flying are both really, really hard at first. Come up here!”
Twilight spun on a rogue burst of wind. Flapping desparately to stay aloft, she couldn't spare the energy to turn and face him.
“I don't think I can!”
“TWILIGHT SPARKLE!” boomed the wizard, his voice much louder than it should have been at that distance. “You will stop telling me what you cannot do, and you will COME HERE!”
Twilight was shocked for a moment, then plunged all of her strength into plowing her wings into the air. She was clumsy and slow, and she felt so heavy. Her wings burned and quivered as she lifted herself the last few feet... and suddenly the wind was holding her aloft. Her wings flared out wide and twitched unconsciously, catching invisible eddies of the suddenly up-drafting wind beneath her. The roaring stopped, and the two of them began to rise.
“Is this some kind of magic?” Twilight asked.
“You could call it that,” Star Swirl answered, “but it is not my doing.” Star Swirl flew in close to Twilight and just forward of her in an acrobatic arc. His proximity seemed to be cutting a path through the air that made flying even easier than the updraft had. "This is called an “updraft.” Some are caused by heat rising off of sand or stone, this one is caused by wind crashing into the cliff," he explained.
Twilight made a mental note to find a book on updrafts when she got home. She had quite a mental list of books to find.
"This makes flying so much easier!" Twilight exclaimed.
"You will find, if you take up watching them, that all winged-things look for thermals they can ride up, for pockets of high pressure they can glide across. With a little practice, you will be able to feel them. How could this help you when you study magic?"
Twilight thought for a moment, closing her eyes as they slowly drifted on the soft, cool air. "Magic flows, too, sometimes..." she began.
Star Swirl fought to hide his excitement as he listened to her. "So?" he prompted. His mad grin was fighting with him for control over the edges of his mouth, so he looked away from her.
"So there might be...Star Swirl, are there updrafts in magic?"
"Aha! Then you've understood the lesson!" Star Swirl laughed. Twilight laughed too.
They floated around on the evening breeze until just after it was too dark to see each other, landed (which was not so hard, with confidence in her flying), and walked back to Star Swirl's home. Twilight was too busy telling and retelling her experience to notice that Star Swirl and the buildings around her seemed to be getting taller as they walked. She retold it again to Starlight when they entered, and at least once more that night. The first time she told Starlight the story, she flapped her (now tiny) wings to illustrate. By the end of the day, the wings were nothing but a memory.
Starlight gave Star Swirl a scolding glare as she took the little filly to prepare for bed. She muttered something Twilight couldn't quite hear about 'wearing the poor dear out.' Once Twilight was all tucked in, Star Swirl came in to wish her goodnight.
"That was amazing...er...educational, Star Swirl. Thank you," Twilight mumbled. She was too tired to retell the story a fifth time.
"I am glad that you enjoyed yourself, and gladder still that you learned something."
"I'll miss my wings, though." Twilight sighed.
"Not forever." Star Swirl said. Twilight was already falling asleep as he stood and left, and she thought she heard him chuckling as he went.
Twilight was, at first, happy to be waking in her own bed. She was happy until her mother came in to her room and thrust open the curtains; somehow the way she bustled suggested to Twilight that something had made her mother tense. That tension she sensed reminded her that something had been weighing on her own mind recently. It was something important, and terrifying, she recalled. Her mother was hurrying, too, setting out different outfits and deciding against them, only to draw them back out again.
"Something to do with me, then," Twilight decided.
"The test is today." the more awake part of her memory reminded her.
Twilight let her head fall back on her pillow and sighed. Her left eye had begun to twitch. The day had come. Apparently, her mother had noticed the action.
"Twilight, get up honey; you'll be late."
"Not exactly words of encouragement, Mom," Twilight thought. Aloud, she only whimpered.
"Do not whine, Twilight," her mother said, sternly.
"Fly" said another voice. Twilight opened her eyes, expecting to see the old wizard the voice belonged to. He was not there, and her mother seemed not to have noticed anything.
Her attention now on watching to see, and listening to hear, whether Star Swirl would interfere with the day, Twilight was able to (almost) completely forget her worries, and felt only curiosity and excitement in preparing for the test.
Until the moment arrived.
Old ponies, wise ponies, all of them unicorns dressed up in important-looking clothes and wearing important-looking frowns, encircled the testing area, sitting in important-looking, high-backed chairs or leaning on the (subtly armored) alabaster breastwork of each row of seats. In an important-looking central location, on the largest of the important-looking chairs sat Princess Celestia herself; taller than everypony else by half, and not a day older than when Twilight had last seen her. Near the Princess, and looking quite cowed by their proximity to her, Twilight's mother, and her teacher, Shimmering Mist, were leaning forward giving encouraging smiles. Her father and Shining Armor were on the other side of the princess, waving shamelessly.
The rules of the test were explained to her: she was to use magic (apparently the only thing that could open a dragon's egg) to open a dragon's egg in a hay-filled box on the floor in the center of the room. She was allowed to take all the time she needed until she succeded, gave up, or her Highness called a stop to the test.
Celestia seemed to be wearing a worried expression as she looked at the egg. She caught Twilight watching her, and gave a halfhearted, encouraging smile.
Celestia thought she would fail.
The sudden realization shocked Twilight. Normally, Twilight would have been hurt by the lack of confidence, but unlike foals who mocked failed attempts at magic, Celestia didn't look like she took pleasure in the assumption; Celestia looked sad. No... Twilight decided, Celestia looked afraid. That same nervous feeling that Twilight had begun the day with. Celestia looked as though she herself were the one in danger of failing. Twilight was surprised to find that she ached to help the ancient Princess. She found herself wondering how many other foals had taken this test and failed.
In truth, though Twilight couldn't know this, nopony had ever taken this test. It was unfair in the extreme; the effect of some perpetually cranky bureaucrats demanding a harder test for a better-reviewed savant. It was a political maneuver that had been slipped past Celestia in a last minute effort by some power-hungry nobles to retain their horseshoe-scraping position of perceived importance by blocking out what was, from reputation, a more impressive filly than any previous entrant from their own families.
Celestia suspected this, of course. She was growing more certain of it by the second, but that didn't take away from the cruelty of the test. Celestia was absolutely certain—and she was right—that no little filly could do this on her own. The little filly seemed totally unaware of the sheer impossibility of the task as she bowed to the princess, turned, and squared her shoulders, pointing her horn at the egg.
Twilight poured every ounce of her concentration into this moment, trying to feel the magical flow around her like she felt the air when she had been a pegasus. As she focused, she began to perceive it. Other ponies in the room were their own little swirling eddies of magical power, Celestia was a vortex toward which the other ponies' magic leaned precariously, as though it would be dragged in. The center of Celestia's vortex seemed to rage chaotically rather than to swirl or flow, as though there were a waterfall or a fire at it's core. Try as she might, Twilight could not siphon the tiniest bit of magic off of anypony else, and the flow around her seemed to be quite slow and stagnant.
There were no updrafts here; she would fail.
Her teachers would be so disappointed. The other foals at school would laugh. All of these ponies that had come to see the youngest filly ever to enter Celestia's school would be disappointed. Her brother would try to comfort her, but that would only make her feel worse; she'd failed to make him proud. And her mother! And her father, too! They'd be so disappointed. And the tall, beautiful princess who was subtly pouting at the other end of the room: she'd been right.
"TWILIGHT SPARKLE! You will stop telling me what you can and cannot do and you will COME UP HERE" her mind echoed. She shrank under the guilty feeling it gave her—she'd almost allowed herself to fail Star Swirl, too. She braced herself for one last try, took one of her slow, deep breaths, and searched again.
There was a faint pulsing somewhere. She could feel it...almost taste it. It was not nearby, but distances became a blur as she felt around for it's source. An amethyst, crystalline hum calling to her from far away...or was it far at all? The thumping of that pulse reverberated down her horn and into her spine as though it were a very deep noise, pulsating here in the room. It was speeding up, almost like the heartbeat of some massive, excited being. Other 'hums' (for it was her best analog for the sensation) joined in different tones, each pulsing along with the first, their chaotic, harmonized ringing sending shudders of power down into her core through her vibrating horn.
Faster and faster they pulsed... suddenly she felt the wind flying past her face, cold and tearing. Gravity's grip on her was slipping as she plunged faster than mother earth could pull on her.
And then even more sensations came all at once: on top of plunging toward the earth faster than gravity, she was standing among a veritable zoo of animals in the warm sunlight, all at once deeply aware of her purpose; she was alone in a dark field of stones, weeping that she would never be free of wherever it was; she was in the upper room of a high-class manor somewhere, wishing she'd never left the...farm? She was staring at a huge rock on a stony cliff, cursing her destiny...
The wind rushed faster and faster, and for some reason she did not understand, and in a manner totally uncharacteristic of Twilight Sparkle, she thought the words "The only thing better than racing, is winning!"
And then the sky cracked.
Rainbow light filled the air around her, filled the clear sky above her, filled the far away sky of a hometown that didn't belong to her, above a farm she'd never been to.
Twilight opened her eyes. The room was dim, or rather, her eyes were so full of light that the room seemed shadowy by comparison. Ponies that had come to judge her were cowering behind chairs or taking cover behind the low stone wall they'd leaned on. Princess Celestia was wide-eyed and smiling in disbelief. Twilight looked down at the floor, a few feet below her levitating hooves. There sat the egg.
"Crack, please," she thought.
The egg exploded.
Fiery light rippled and pulsed and gathered and shattered around every object in the room. alabaster plating over the reenforced steel breastwork cracked, or liquified, or changed into a myriad of other things (it was later reported that an entire section of it had been replaced with lime-flavored fondant). Ponies were now hidden completely, or had been transformed into random objects (her father was a potted cactus). Celestia, who was the only pony not cowering, was clapping her hooves so loudly that it could be heard over the reality-searing flame.
Finally Celestia approached the illuminated filly and gently placed a gold-shod hoof on her shoulder. The fire died, and the room, to Twilight, regained its normal luminance, Twilight descended again to touch her hooves to the floor. Ponies that had been transformed were released from the magic that held them in impossible forms. Ponies that had been fast enough to hide began to peek cautiously from their razed hiding places. The cutest, pudgiest baby dragon ever calmly sucked on his tail amid the pulverized remains of his egg.
"Exemplary," an old stallion's voice near Twilight whispered. When she looked, there was only the princess, who seemed not to have heard.
