The day had been long… but useful.
I had wandered aimlessly for a while, exploring the quiet paths of Ponyville while my mind kept working. The idea had been tangled up in sketchbooks and spell diagrams for days, but today, it was finally starting to take shape: a spell that would allow me to replicate objects from other worlds. A complicated spell, designed to tap into an infinite thread of knowledge and, with help from that place, magically recreate those objects without needing to summon them or tear the veil.
It sounded difficult—impossible, even—when you thought of the Akashic Records. But there were already methods to reach the mystical through magic; it was just a matter of knowing what to look for.
And I did.
I didn't fully understand it. Not yet. But my mind had formed a working concept—enough to serve as an anchor.
With every step, my excitement grew. It was just a sketch, an incomplete experiment, but the possibility of recreating objects from other worlds by accessing their concept through an external thread of knowledge kept me more awake than any coffee ever could.
By the time I reached my house, half a rune was already resolved in my head.
But something changed.
The peaceful atmosphere in town remained the same—undisturbed. However, my magical perception told a different story. My house, which should have been exactly as I left it, looked the same… but not in essence. I couldn't clearly feel the inside. The magic within was saturated, slowly spilling out like steam from a poorly sealed cauldron.
It was Stella's magic, without a doubt. I recognized it instantly. But it was overflowing. Spilling out around the edges of the doorway. No signs of anger, pain, or fear… just an intense presence. Emotional, but not aggressive.
I approached cautiously, already on alert. The magic swirled against my sensory field. It wasn't dangerous, but it was so much that I could barely read what was behind it.
I turned the knob.
And just as I opened the door—
"WIIIIIIIIIZZY!!!"
A blast of confetti, laughter, and colorful lights blinded me for a moment, followed by the coordinated jump of two mares I barely managed to identify before canceling and redirecting my magic. I held them mid-air, letting them enjoy the weightlessness as I guided the flow of my magic back into my internal circle.
"Surprise!" shouted Pinkie Pie, holding a cake-shaped horn while pretending to swim in the air, a big silly grin plastered on her face.
"Welcome to your new home!" added Lyra, laughing as she clung to Bon Bon—who hadn't invaded my personal space and was therefore unaffected by the spell.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
My house looked like a traveling star shop: streamers hung from floating frames, golden balloons with hand-painted runes—clearly decorative—floated mid-air, and a piñata with my face stared at me from atop a shelf. But nothing was glued to the walls. Everything was detachable. Nothing broken. Nothing altered.
Decorations secured with soft spells and magical ribbons. Pinkie Pie had gone all out… without damaging a single fiber of my space.
I sighed in relief.
"…You could've warned me," I muttered, heart still racing, slowly dispelling the leftover magic.
"And ruin the surprise?!" Pinkie asked, as if that were the most ridiculous idea in the world. She began to do little moon-jumps, slowly floating toward me thanks to the residual spell, getting close enough to talk while everyone else watched the scene with a mix of fascination and amusement.
I let out a long, resigned sigh.
The party was in full swing. It wasn't a crowd—thankfully, the space wouldn't have allowed for that... not in its current state.
With a quick thought, I located a particular rune, invisible to the mundane eye but not to me. I cast a thread of magic toward it and, to everyone's delight and amazement, the room—which had been a modest space—expanded. Significantly.
It could now easily fit thirty adult ponies without issue.
With more space, the guests began to move more freely around the room. Of course, now everything was farther away.
Pinkie Pie gave an enthusiastic leap at the change, rearranging tables with an almost rehearsed speed, organizing everything with a logic only she understood.
I looked over the decorations: balloons, ribbons, floating structures that defied gravity with magic so simple it almost hurt. But it was still entertaining to spot the mistakes in the drawn runes… some of which, I must admit, I had made myself a few years ago.
Fortunately, everything was held in place with temporary spells. Nothing damaged. Nothing forcefully attached.
My gaze slid toward the back—toward the basement entrance. When I saw the childish signs, clumsily made by Pinkie Pie, I relaxed a little more. They were a clear sign of respect for my privacy.
There they were: crayon drawings blocking the door, crooked signs with messages like "NO ENTRY!" and "Wizzy's Secret Lab – Maximum Magic Level." The ridiculous-looking seal was unmistakably Stella's work, likely with help from an adult… probably Pinkie.
Not wanting to risk any accidents, I discreetly activated the lab's concealment function, along with the rejection rune. A spell that would teleport any intruder straight out of the house if they crossed the line without permission. It would consume a great amount of energy… but not mine.
The house's magical battery—powered by rechargeable crystals hidden in the basement—was designed for that kind of defensive measure. And if there were going to be parties, surprises, and curious ponies walking in and out, I felt more than justified in using it.
It wasn't a valid containment method… but it served as a warning.
That was enough.
I turned my eyes toward the central table. And then I saw it.
"Are those… watermelon lollipops with chamoy?"
I stopped. The surprise was genuine.
Chili—or anything spicy, really—wasn't common in pony diets. At least not in Canterlot or the surrounding regions. Over there, your average palate considered black pepper a bold choice.
My house was an exception.
My mother, originally from Mexicolt, had a particular fondness for spicy food and candy. It was something only she and I truly enjoyed. The rest of the family kept their distance whenever anything came with a warning label about heat levels.
Still, seeing something like that at a local party was disorienting.
And at the same time, intriguing.
I approached. The table was brimming with sweets: tamarind strips, enchanted wafers, bubble-effect candies, meringues that gave off tiny sparks… and in the center, the lollipops dusted with bright red powder. Chamoy, clearly, with something extra. The kind of candy almost no pony would touch without a second thought.
I grabbed one without hesitation.
It was spicy. Very.
But it didn't bother me.
Bon Bon, standing on the other side of the table, was watching me intently. Her eyes widened slightly when I didn't flinch, didn't struggle to swallow, didn't ask for water. I just calmly tasted it. Her anticipation shifted into genuine surprise.
"That didn't burn your tongue?" she asked, openly amazed. "That has a pinch of dragon fire and burning essence! Some adults don't make it past the first lick without spitting it out."
I took another, this time a gummy coated with the same powder.
"They all taste sweet," I said neutrally—because it was true.
Bon Bon fell silent, processing the scene like she was witnessing a biological anomaly.
Behind her, Lyra rolled her eyes with a crooked smile.
"It's not the first time I've seen him do that," she muttered under her breath. "His mom's from Mexicolt. Tongue of lava. Literally."
Bon Bon blinked a few times.
"That explains a lot," she said, half-joking, still watching me as if expecting a delayed reaction.
There was none.
I simply grabbed a third lollipop. For later.
To the side, some ponies laughed. Others wandered around with drinks in their mouths and curiosity in their eyes. Even though I tried to stay neutral, the tension of seeing strangers freely moving through my house lingered in the background. It wasn't paralyzing, but it didn't go away either.
I didn't like it. But I wasn't going to ruin the party.
I tried to focus on the positives. No one had crossed where they shouldn't. The spells were still intact. The food was decent. And so far, no balloon had exploded in my face.
"You look tense," said a soft voice beside me.
Lyra.
I hadn't noticed when she sat down, but there she was—on my left, drink in hoof, with a calm smile on her face. Not the kind of smile that expects a response, but the kind that simply… is.
"There are ponies all over my house," I replied, not bothering to hide my tone.
She let out a small chuckle.
"Yeah. But at least they're not touching your stuff… the important stuff."
I didn't deny it. In fact, that was the reason I was still sitting there instead of finding an excuse to climb to the roof and be alone.
A second presence joined us. Pinkie Pie—this time without a party horn, without confetti—dragged a tray of cupcakes with a surprisingly restrained expression.
"All under control," she said, as if assuring me she wasn't about to turn my living room into a multicolored war zone. "I promised not to be too Pinkie… and I'm sticking to it. Look! No active cannons. Just cupcakes with stabilizer frosting."
I raised an eyebrow. Pinkie simply winked at me.
Lyra cleared her throat softly.
"I explained how you are," she whispered. "That you don't like noise, that you prefer order. That you can tolerate social interaction, but not being put at the center."
"She also told me you like thinking while eating," added Pinkie, pointing at the perfectly aligned tray of cupcakes.
I didn't reply. There was no need. Any attempt to deny it would've been an outright lie.
Lyra stretched comfortably, like there was no hurry and no need to move. She was simply there, without forcing anything. In the background, I could hear Stella laughing with a group of foals as they spun around a glowing lamp.
"It's your welcome party," Lyra said calmly. "You don't have to enjoy it the way others expect. Just… be here."
I gave a single nod.
That, I could do.
I kept chatting with Lyra, Bon Bon, and Pinkie Pie. Nothing too deep. Comments about the weather, the music, the strangely resilient pecan cake with bright pink frosting. Bon Bon explained, with quiet pride, the magical properties drawn from a secret blend in her sugarless topping. Lyra cracked a few jokes at the expense of Canterlot ponies, and Pinkie held back—worthy of academic note—from popping a balloon shaped like my face right in front of me.
That's when a mare started walking in our direction. She stood out completely, not just because of her presence, but because of her way of walking: measured, refined… the kind you'd expect to see at a gala.
A white-coated mare, her purple mane styled into elegant curls, lashes groomed to perfection… and three diamonds as her cutie mark.
She approached with deliberate steps, as if every move had been rehearsed before leaving the house. Her eyes swept over the scene like someone analyzing a painting. And then they landed on me.
"Good afternoon, darling," she said in a melodic voice, slightly affected but still graceful. "I'm afraid I haven't had the chance to introduce myself… Rarity, designer and enthusiast of all things tasteful. I heard that Celestia's young prodigy has moved into the neighborhood."
I stood up out of respect… and reflex, in response to her markedly noble demeanor.
Not because of her tone or the forced elegance. Just out of habit. From years of training by my mother, and every occasion when Celestia had made me practice formal greetings like they were spells of etiquette.
I gave a slight nod.
"Wizbell. A pleasure," I said politely, not overdoing it. "Thanks for stopping by, Miss Rarity. I hope the improvised decor hasn't offended your aesthetic sensibilities."
She laughed, lightly covering her mouth.
"On the contrary. I find… charm in contained chaos. Though I must say, that party hat does nothing for you," she added, gesturing gracefully toward a poorly adjusted cone hat Pinkie had apparently placed on my mane without me noticing.
"I figured," I replied, removing it without hurry. "Not really my style."
"That much I noticed," she said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And I must admit, I'm intrigued. Not every unicorn can wear casual hoodies without looking disheveled… or pair a beret with a tunic without ruining the proportions. But you make it work. Very Canterlot, and yet, completely removed from traditional fashion."
She paused, tilting her head slightly.
"Though I must confess I'm a bit disappointed… you're not wearing your hat."
I frowned slightly, confused.
"Hat?"
"The wizard one," she clarified enthusiastically. "Tall, dark, with enchanted folds! You used to wear it a few years ago. It was part of your… what did they call it? Oh, yes. Portable lab style."
A twinge of embarrassment twisted in my stomach.
Not because of the hat itself, but because I'd forgotten just how ridiculous I must have looked wearing it every day like it was a natural extension of my body.
"I don't wear it anymore," I muttered. "Stella kept it. She adores it. Treats it like a sacred artifact."
Rarity smiled fondly.
"A worthy heir, then."
I didn't add anything else.
I knew it had been a passing trend. Something among the young unicorns of Canterlot when my image started appearing near Celestia more often. It didn't help that I supposedly had "attractive" features, according to certain magazines—traits I never asked for, nor wanted to highlight—or that whispered comments floated through the advanced spellcasting halls.
I preferred not to dwell on that.
Even less with a designer who had clearly been observing more than I liked to admit.
Lyra was still by my side, quiet but attentive. Pinkie reappeared with another tray of sweets and a knowing smile that told me she'd expected this to happen.
I wasn't sure what to say next.
Rarity held her noble posture a few minutes more, guiding the conversation with that high-society air that felt more like a cape than an authentic part of herself. But something in her eyes—keen, slightly amused—hinted that she didn't take herself nearly as seriously as she let on.
And then, just like that, she dropped it.
"Oh, please," she said suddenly, letting out a more natural laugh. "Enough of that. If we keep talking like this is a royal gala, I'll end up serving tea in invisible cups and giving speeches in ancient Prench. Horrifying."
The transformation was instant. The affected accent melted into her real voice—cheerful, closer, much less formal. It was like she'd removed an invisible corset. Her words became looser. Her gestures more expressive.
And without meaning to… that relaxed me.
The wall I'd put up at the first sign of glamour—a reflex sharpened by years in Canterlot—began to lower. Not out of a conscious decision, but because it was no longer needed. Rarity wasn't inspecting anymore. She was talking.
She noticed the shift, of course.
"Ah, there he is," she said with a crooked smile and a raised brow. "Much better. The unicorn who doesn't swallow protocol dry. I was wondering when you'd show up."
I exhaled, almost a laugh.
"Sorry. It's… instinctive. Canterlot didn't leave me with the best impression of glamour. Or tradition. Or deep ceremonial bows."
"Oh, don't get me started," she replied with a dramatic toss of her mane. "Glamour can suffocate more than a scarf in summer." Believe me, I've lived that contradiction. And I've had to fight it in my own way."
I simply nodded.
She watched me for a moment longer, with that spark of someone who smells gossip… but chose not to press. I appreciated that in silence.
"So tell me," she changed the subject with grace, "what's with the hoodie? A rebellious statement? Enchanted gear? A cursed item you can never take off?"
"Comfort," I answered without hesitation. "And versatility. It has a magic pocket."
Rarity laughed. A real laugh. Warm.
"That's the most functional thing I've heard all week! Pockets, of course. Always the pockets!"
The conversation flowed more easily after that. No tension. No masks. Even Pinkie Pie seemed to move more calmly around us.
And Lyra…
Lyra let out a sigh that almost sounded exaggerated—but was entirely understandable. She'd been alert from the beginning, measuring every word, every gesture, ready to step in if things went off track. But now that Rarity had shed the noble act—the one that suffocates her so much—her expression softened.
She slipped back into her natural tone, even joking with Bon Bon while picking at sweets on the table with a casual air. So relaxed, in fact, that she'd taken on that odd posture she sometimes used: sitting almost like a human, front legs hanging freely as if that let her reach a higher state of rest.
That was her sign. Her version of maximum relaxation.
The conversation with Rarity continued smoothly—even interestingly. For the first time that afternoon, I didn't feel the need to calculate every word. It was enough.
Until a breeze cut through the air a few meters above us.
"You made it," said a familiar voice, just before landing in front of me.
Flash.
No shouting. No dramatic entrance. Just his imposing presence, with that usual calmness others mistook for coldness. But his eyes gleamed with something subtler. Satisfaction, maybe. Curiosity.
Before I could say a word, he gave me a light jab to the shoulder. Measured. Precise. Not too strong, but clear enough to mark the start of the game.
This time, it was easy to match his rhythm. Something I'd only been able to do with magic before now came naturally to me.
I responded with a jab of my own.
"Didn't think you'd come," I said.
"And I didn't think you'd show up without notice," he replied, composed as ever. "I could've gotten you something better than wood and tiles. There are special clouds that cushion even insomnia."
The next blow came faster. I dodged it out of habit, just a tilt of the head.
"I didn't come here to sleep," I said.
"You sure? Because your posture says you haven't sat down in hours."
I shot him a quick glance. He was already bracing for another jab. I deflected it with ease. We were playing—but it wasn't a game just anyone could follow.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Rarity stepping forward with an alarmed expression.
"Excuse me…? Are you two… fighting?"
"Do those look like jabs?" she whispered, staring at Lyra wide-eyed. "At a party? Indoors?"
Lyra just gave a small smile and shook her head.
"That's just how they are. Since they were colts. It's not aggression, it's conversation," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Conversation?" Rarity repeated, horrified.
"Physical, yeah. Between mages and speedsters, it's pretty common," added Pinkie from another corner, as if she'd been waiting for just that moment to chime in. "A way to measure respect without words!"
She paused, then, for some reason only she understood, added with enthusiasm:
"HIT HIM WITH THE CHAIR!"
Rarity blinked. Flash just shook his head.
I… decided not to ask.
I turned back to Flash. He was watching me with one eyebrow slightly raised, as if weighing something he hadn't quite figured out yet. He said nothing. He didn't have to. We knew each other well enough to understand between the lines… or between light shoulder jabs.
"Your reflexes have improved," Flash commented, without boasting.
"You're not going all out," I replied.
"Neither are you."
We both fell silent for a moment.
It was true.
The game didn't last much longer. A few steps, a feint, a shoulder roll that ended without contact. Just enough to take measurements. Just enough to keep the bond intact.
In the end, Flash simply gave a slight nod.
"I'm glad you're here."
"No one told me there'd be a reception," I replied.
"That makes up for it."
We stood still. He took a step back, respecting the space, without another word. Rarity still didn't know whether to breathe or call a guard. But Lyra had completely relaxed by now.
I was still recovering my rhythm after the exchange with Flash when I felt another presence approaching—this time with fast-paced, impatient energy. I didn't need to see who it was. The sharp flapping of wings, the confident steps, the electric tone in the air. Rainbow Dash.
And by the way she arrived, it was clear: she wasn't here to greet. She wanted action.
"So!?" Rainbow Dash said, landing energetically beside Flash, wide grin and raised eyebrow. "When are you going to introduce me?"
Flash glanced at her sideways, uninterested. He didn't turn his head, didn't change his tone, didn't even smile. Just raised one brow… slightly.
On purpose.
He knew exactly what he was doing: ignoring her just enough to annoy her. And it worked.
Meanwhile, I grabbed another lollipop from the ones Bon Bon had brought. A solid base: watermelon with chamoy, nicely balanced. Then I opened my pantry with magic and pulled out a small jar of rainbow sauce I kept for very specific occasions.
A blend of the artisanal and the forbidden. The best of both worlds.
I calmly applied it to the lollipop without looking at anyone and took a bite, just as Rainbow kept waiting for someone to react to her arrival with the proper level of awe.
I noticed her looking at me.
And I said nothing.
Which only exasperated her more.
"Ugh!" she huffed, flaring one wing in frustration. "Is everyone in this house this calm!?"
"Most of us," I replied, unbothered.
Flash, next to me, still showed no expression. I knew him well enough to tell he was doing it on purpose—just to throw her off.
And I also knew he was enjoying every second of it.
Before Rainbow could continue her attempt at a grand entrance, a gray blur shot across the room like a distracted arrow.
"Muffiiins!" shouted Ditzy Doo, her yellow mane flying wildly as she zipped through the expanded hall with… optimistic direction.
This time, there were no decorations in her way. The space had expanded so much that the tables and floating ornaments were now far apart—which, far from helping, left her without visual references.
She nearly crashed into an unsuspecting pony.
"Ditzy, right!" Rainbow yelled, just as a chair wobbled from being clipped by the mare's saddlebags.
"Sorry!" Ditzy called back without stopping, making a clumsy last-second turn and skidding slightly, narrowly avoiding disaster.
Flash simply raised a hoof in her direction, pointing her out with the kind of casualness that said this wasn't new at all.
"Wizbell, this is Ditzy Doo. Local mailmare. Doesn't seem dangerous."
Ditzy trotted up happily, still chewing on a half-eaten muffin. Her mane was even more ruffled from the run, and her saddlebags were clearly stuffed with the rest of the pastries she'd helped herself to without hesitation. She was trying to hide them under one wing… without success.
She looked at me with her misaligned eyes, offered a wide smile, and kept chewing as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
I couldn't help but let out a short laugh.
Not mocking. Just… genuine.
"Nice to meet you, Ditzy," I said as she nodded enthusiastically, still with her mouth full.
"Banana flavored!" she mumbled excitedly, as if that explained everything.
Rainbow Dash, who had been watching the scene out of the corner of her eye, stepped forward to reclaim the spotlight, still somewhat frustrated that her entrance hadn't caused the desired impact.
"And I'm Rainbow Dash," she said firmly, raising her chin slightly. "Flight partner of Flash, and in case nopony tells you... the most awesome and 20% cooler pegasus on this side of the map. Just saying—so you don't get confused later."
"Noted," I replied with a slight nod.
She pointed at me with a hoof, still full of energy.
"I'm scanning you!" she added jokingly. "Wanna know if you're the kind who can cast spells and move fast at the same time. I like those types."
"I can try," I said—not enthusiastically, not dismissively. Just an honest reply.
"Well, that's something!"
Behind Rainbow, a softer voice rose above the ambient chatter.
"Um… hi."
A yellow mare with a pink mane peeked out shyly from behind Rainbow's extended wing. She didn't seem nervous—just used to letting others speak first.
"Fluttershy," Lyra whispered in my ear. "Takes care of animals. Very kind."
"Hello," I replied with a brief nod.
Fluttershy gave a small smile and stayed where she was, not forcing the conversation.
Honestly… I appreciated that.
Then a firm voice, honest and with a country accent, cut effortlessly through the group.
"Well, well, look at y'all," said a hat-wearing mare, approaching with a sincere smile. Her tone was friendly, like she was trying to break the ice without being too direct.
She walked over confidently from the area where the food had been set up. Her steps were steady but calm. The scent of apples and fresh earth followed her.
"Applejack," she introduced herself, tipping her hat. "Welcome to Ponyville, mister unicorn. Hope the sweets weren't the only thing that convinced you to stay."
I shook her hoof without hesitation.
"Wizbell. Thanks for coming."
"Wouldn't miss it. Pinkie's been talkin' about you nonstop for three days. I had to come see if the famous apprentice had a real pony face."
"Still checking on that," I replied, earning a quick grin from her.
And to the side, Pinkie Pie bounced slightly in place, barely containing her excitement. Her gaze met mine for a second… and she nodded calmly. As if to say: There you are.
I didn't say anything.
But I'd already lost track of how many ponies were in my living room.
The party carried on after meeting Applejack, who quickly got into what looked like a friendly rivalry with Rainbow Dash the moment they locked eyes. It was automatic.
And of course, Pinkie Pie didn't help. Quite the opposite—she encouraged them with exaggerated enthusiasm and half-teasing comments about who could catch the best apple: the amazing Rainbow or the expert farmer Applejack?
I stood a bit aside, observing from a safe distance, out of reach of the inevitable splashes of water. Apparently, they had decided to go all in—literally—on a contest to catch a real apple instead of the enchanted fakes floating among them.
———
The party was like sugar: cloying at first, energetic halfway through, and quiet at the end, when the inevitable crash came.
As night fell, many ponies began heading home. Rarity and Applejack were among the first to leave, each with their own reason, both equally valid. It didn't take long for the house to empty.
And to be clean.
Pinkie Pie, inexplicably, never ran out of energy. She cleaned everything up with precision and speed that defied magical logic. By the time the last balloon floated out the door, the room no longer looked like it had hosted thirty ponies just minutes earlier.
I tapped the floor lightly with my hoof, activating the rune anchored at the center of the room. The space shrank back to its original size, the walls adjusted with a soft magical sigh, and silence returned.
A good night awaited me.
Or almost.
There was still one last thing to do: write a letter to Celestia.
It had been her suggestion—well, more like a kindly worded request—as part of the agreement to stay in touch. She had even given me an enchanted magic flame, a modified version of the spell Spike uses, to send letters directly to her. No dragon needed. Just a little intent, some magical heat… and honest writing.
I pulled out the scroll, dipped the quill in ink, and prepared to summarize what had been my first day in Ponyville.
That's when I felt a gentle weight on my back.
Stella.
She had been quiet almost all day, clearly uncomfortable with so many ponies coming in and out of our home. But now, with the calm restored, she approached and settled onto my back like it was her natural place.
"Looks like it was worth coming after all," she murmured, letting out a yawn she barely managed to hide. "These ponies are really friendly… I like them. Especially the pink one. She knows how to make things fun!"
I didn't say anything.
"It was nice. Stickily nice, if I'm being honest. But it's a good start. Way better than waking up to a line of nobles trying to introduce me to their daughters," I replied to Stella, without taking my eyes off the scroll.
As I spoke, a memory came back to me with more clarity than I wanted: that first day at the castle. And then, the "maids." Too young, too polished… and too obvious. They hadn't gotten there on merit, but through connections. Sent by their parents with intentions that needed no explanation.
I sighed.
At least here, ponies seemed interested in what I did, not what I represented.
Even that indifference to my existence… was kind of nice.