Twilight’s Final Exam

by Pascoite

Rating: everyone
Tags: Drama, Adventure, Princess Celestia, Twilight Sparkle, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 32603

“It seems to me that you never properly graduated,” Celestia said. And so initiates one of the most unusual experiences Twilight Sparkle has ever had. She will fight a war, go back to school, and work middle management, all to prove her worth.

“It seems to me that you never properly graduated,” Celestia said. And so initiates one of the most unusual experiences Twilight Sparkle has ever had. She will take part in a war, navigate the social scene of high school, and stolidly work her way through middle management, all in order to prove her worth.

Cover art by phallen1

Thanks to Themaskedferret for pre-reading feedback.

Featured on Equestria Daily!

Published 2016-02-20 15:00:03 UTC
Last updated 2016-03-20 01:01:23 UTC

Chapter 2: Taking Sides

Twilight Sparkle awoke to a gentle but insistent shaking. She blinked a few times, squinting into the expected darkness, but… light. Bright sunlight flooded her vision, leaving yellow blotches dancing over everything. Wait, why would it be dark? Middle of the day, outside. Except… how exactly had she gotten… wherever this was. It didn’t look familiar, but she couldn’t quite picture “familiar” anyway. Something about stone and castles, but the more she chased the thought, the further it retreated. Celestia. She loved Princess Celestia, her mentor.

“You alright, sugarcube?” said a blonde pony, wearing a cowpony hat and leaning over her. “Best not to stay here too long—the law don’t like it much.”

Twilight sat up and rubbed her head. It seemed like she should know this place. It looked like Ponyville, but… not. There stood the boutique, the town hall, the library, and down the street, the bakery. But they looked off somehow. It should be rural here, thatched roofs, farmland and forest around, bustling with ponies greeting each other. Why couldn’t she remember? Ponyville shouldn’t look like this, she loved Celestia, and… nothing.

She sat in a small grassy town square populated by an assortment of benches and statues. A border of granite blocks lined the edges of the square, and past those, cobblestoned streets ran among groups of tightly packed buildings, largely of masonry and exposed timber construction. Dormers atop tile roofs overlooked the avenues and boulevards lined with broad, shady elms and willows. Rather urban and developed for Ponyville, but the trickle of thoughts her mind had doled out told her that everything was quite as it should be and fought the shred of memory that insisted she shouldn’t trust her eyes. What was wrong with it again? It looked… okay. It looked okay.

It would have made for a beautiful city, if not for the utter emptiness. And upon closer inspection, many of the buildings had broken windows, crumbling stonework, scarred doors sagging open. Several even appeared near ruin, with gaping holes and collapsed roofs.

What had happened here? The last time she’d seen this town, it had such vibrant… life to it.

The mare’s fidgeting grabbed Twilight’s attention back from the past; she kept glancing between Twilight and one of the side alleys. “C’mon,” said the strange pony, “there’ll be another patrol comin’ by soon, and if they see you’re unregistered, you’ll be in a heap load o’ trouble.”

Twilight brought her hooves back down from rubbing her head—the stranger gawked at her… forehead?

“N-no way! A unicorn!” She whipped her gaze around at the few buildings that still had shadowed interiors and backed away. “I didn’t do nothin’ to you! I just found you out here like this, and I tried to help you. You saw it, right? I didn’t hurt you one bit!”

Twilight shoved herself against a nearby bench. That mare had freaked out so quickly, like flipping a switch. What about unicorns had scared her? And no telling what she might do about it. “No, no!” Twilight said. “It’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. Okay? J-just go. Just go away. Leave me alone.”

Quickly, the mare turned and took a step away, then peered at Twilight’s forehead again, pursed her lips, and let out a sharp sigh. “Nasty… nasty bump you got there. Maybe I… maybe I should…” She kept shaking her head at the ground and biting her lip. “Can’t just abandon somepony out here,” she muttered.

Twilight clenched her teeth and forced her eyes to stay open. In the warm sun, she could fall asleep again, so easily. “What? Can you tell me what’s going on here? This all looks… weird.”

“I-I ain’t fallin’ for no tricks!” She punched a hoof at the dirt and leaned in for another look at Twilight’s side.

Following her gaze, Twilight asked, “What, my cutie mark?”

“Naw, just makin’ sure I saw right the first time. You’re not registered. I ain’t never seen an unregistered unicorn.” Her wide eyes soon gave way to an easy smile, and for all Twilight knew about her, she seemed so… simple, straightforward. Twilight couldn’t help but trust her.

But—“Registered?” Twilight raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know… Oh, horseapples, here they come. You’d best make yourself scarce.”

Following the pony’s ashen gaze to the street behind her, Twilight stood and gulped down a wave of nausea before steadying herself on her hooves. Several uniformed stallions had entered the square from the main thoroughfare, heading directly for her. And by the time she looked back to her mysterious helper, the mare had gone, already galloping down a tight alley barely wide enough for her and her saddlebags. “C’mon,” she shouted as she gained the shadows, and Twilight bolted after her. Normally, she’d have welcomed the chance to have law enforcement sort all this out, but the way the leader had stared at her… And he’d drawn a shortsword.

Stone walls rushing past her, Twilight raced through the passageway, but she had no idea where to go. She was running blind! But no, up ahead! The blonde mare had stopped to let her catch up, and then they both surged forward, away from the shouts and clanking armor behind them. Twilight hadn’t gotten a good look at them, but if none had taken to the air, maybe she could… Wait, what made her think she had wings? Unicorns didn’t have wings. And even the little magic charge she’d tried sending out to enable flight felt… stifled, less plentiful, like a normal—

She was a normal unicorn, so what kind of daydream kept telling her otherwise?

“Keep up, sugarcube!” the stranger hissed ahead of her, and Twilight nodded, digging as hard as she could against the stone pavers and clumps of rubble. Twilight might have followed her for an hour through constant twists and turns—she could barely maintain a good canter anymore, but the mare held up a hoof and peeked into the sunlight streaming in from an intersection. The sounds of pursuit had faded into the distance, but still her guide held a hoof to her lips and shifted her eyes across the line of derelict storefronts. Finally, she beckoned Twilight forward and slunk along to an empty lot a few doors down. She ducked behind the remains of a low wall, sidled against a trash pile, and pulled Twilight to her.

Surely anypony out there could hear Twilight panting, but… the stranger’s chest heaved, too, as she caught her breath. “Takin’ a big chance by helpin’ you,” she wheezed, “but if you’re for real, we could sure use somepony like you.” She tipped her hat back. “Name’s Applejack, by the way, but folks call me AJ.”

Twilight smiled and tried to swallow, but her dry mouth had nothing to soothe her scratchy throat. “Twilight Sparkle,” she croaked. “But can you tell me what’s going on here? I don’t know where I am. I come from Ponyville.”

With a shrug, Applejack waved a hoof at the surrounding town. “Well, this here’s Ponyville.” She leaned in closer and squinted. “You sure you’re alright? Whoever conked you on the head must’ve done a number.”

“I’m fine. I think. I just feel really tired,” Twilight replied, holding a hoof to her temple.

Clicking her tongue, Applejack shook her head. “Wrong place for sleepin’, sugarcube. And you prob’ly shouldn’t in your condition anyway.” She craned her neck over the wall and surveyed the road, then ducked down again and swung open a piece of sheet metal on the garbage heap. “C’mon. Follow me. You shouldn’t stay out here.”

Twilight crawled after her, down a set of concrete stairs, but she stopped at the bottom when she heard Applejack fumbling around for something. She closed her eyes lightly and soon coaxed a soft purple glow from her horn; when she opened them again to see where Applejack had led her, a gaping face stared back.

“Land sakes! You… you are for real! I assumed you were one o’ them duds, but you got it for real!” She shook her head and chuckled, staring a bit longer, but she soon slid a cabinet aside to reveal a tunnel behind it.

Twilight trailed her in, and then… another maze? At least the cool air helped keep her awake, but she’d never remember enough of this to find her way out again, and… well, that was the point, she supposed. More tortuous wandering, seemingly mile after mile, and right when Twilight nearly sank to the ground for good, they emerged into a large cavernous room, probably the basement of a warehouse. A crowd of earth ponies rushed up to greet Applejack, but one by one they all turned to gawk at the purple light source bobbing along with their friend.

“Yee-haw, looky here! I found me a real honest-to-goodness unicorn!” Applejack said, and the other ponies immediately scattered for what little cover the room offered. “Hang on, hang on! She’s alright,” Applejack called out. “The soldiers chased her, too. She ain’t one of ’em.”

At first, a few intrepid souls ventured out to have another look, and low murmurs started up from the shadows. She couldn’t see all the way to the room’s end, but by the way the voices echoed, it must be a couple hundred feet in either direction. At the edge of her horn’s light, along with the few candles lit, a small number of faces showed. How many more couldn’t she see? In particular, a very large stallion separated from the group and walked up to Applejack’s side. Like the rest, he leaned forward and peered at the spark burning on the tip of her horn. His mouth hung open.

“This here’s my brother, Big Macintosh,” she said, then poked him in the shoulder. “Big Mac, Twilight Sparkle. She’s got herself knocked on the ol’ coconut or somethin’ and got no clue what’s goin’ on. Look, she ain’t registered!”

He peered at her side and perked his ears. “Eeyup.”

With a tousle of his mane and a grin, Applejack leaned against him. “Big Mac here’s kinda my general. We’re the underground, quite lit’rally, it seems.”

Twilight slumped her shoulders and sighed. “Underground what? Can somepony please tell me what happened in this town? I don’t remember it being so big, or run-down, or… dangerous.”

“You really don’t know?” Applejack scratched her head.

“No,” Twilight said, frowning at the couple of dirt-streaked foals who poked their heads through the press of ponies for a better look.

Applejack flicked an ear. “Well… c’mon over by my spot, and I’ll give you the highlights.” She weaved her way through the parting crowd with Twilight in tow until she squeezed into a small alcove with a bedroll, a firefly lantern, a small alcohol burner, a few cooking utensils, and a battered, mostly empty crate of first-aid supplies. She beckoned toward the ground, and Twilight sat while Applejack undid the string holding a canvas flap back. It swung into place, muffling the outside sounds.

“As you can see,” Applejack said, squeezing into the bit of floor space still left, “we got a small conflict goin’ on. Us earth ponies got a little tired o’ doin’ all the grunt work without much reward for it. Celestia’d have none o’ that, though—she made all sorts of laws about when ponies had to work, and what jobs they could do, and what became property o’ the state. It went on to no end. We got plumb tired of it and told her we wouldn’t take any more. Then the few who spoke out the most found themselves under arrest for sedition. Lots of ’em wouldn’t step up and help—they feared for their loved ’uns and thought we shouldn’t make trouble. But for the sake of Big Mac, my little sister Apple Bloom, and all the other earth ponies, I couldn’t stand by and let it go on.”

Twilight sank against the scrap-wood wall. Celestia was the gentlest pony she’d ever known! No way she could have done any of that! Applejack had some vendetta against her, some reason to lie, but… Applejack shook her head, tossed up her forelegs, and let them fall into her lap. Not the posture of someone eager to make a convert. It was a lie. It had to be. But Applejack believed it.

“We started fightin’ back, refusin’ to work. Had whole cities shut down, workforce on strike—” she smiled and sat up straighter, but soon slumped again “—still, too many couldn’t bring themselves to oppose the throne. Celestia recruited them for her side and put her sun on ’em, down by their cutie marks, to show who was loyal. Fightin’ their own kind…” She pressed a hoof between her eyes. “We hide out now, underground, which suits us fine. There’s magic in this here earth, and we’re stronger for it.”

Twilight glanced at her own cutie mark. No sun there. Still… There must be some mistake. That didn’t sound at all like the Celestia she knew. Applejack peered at her strangely, so Twilight gave a quick nod. Just play along. If she started arguing, she might never get out of here.

“We must be doin’ somethin’ right, ’cause there’s nary a unicorn or pegasus around much anymore. We outlived ’em all.” For a moment, she brushed at a trace of gold beneath the three apples on her flank. “Heh. She started markin’ ponies loyal to her so she could tell the difference. We can fake it sometimes, but the real ones are put on by magic, and unicorns can detect it.”

And Twilight couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Why? Why would Celestia do that? I’ve never seen her be anything but kind. I can’t believe she’d be responsible for this!”

Applejack stared at her, and a few gasps sounded from outside the curtain. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just wanna be able to walk free, up in the sun, and live like any other pony.”

Shaking her head, Twilight muttered, “I don’t know. I-I don’t know.”

“Tell you what,” Applejack said, smirking as Twilight’s head bobbed during a particularly long blink. “Why don’t you sleep on it? You can use my bed.”

“I-I guess. It’s… it’s a lot to absorb.” Twilight let her head drop onto the folded cushion, as if she could have actually stopped it. “I promise—” she yawned “—if what you say is true, I’m not your enemy.”

“Fair enough. You look like you’re gettin’ over that knock to the head, but I’ll check in on you a couple times to make sure.” Applejack beckoned to somepony and slipped through the canvas flap. Soon, a very large silhouette took up position right outside, but Twilight didn’t have long to watch it before she drifted off to sleep.

A hum of conversation and the distant sound of pots clanking together roused Twilight from her sleep, little by little. Did somepony have guests for breakfast downstairs? Wait—

She jumped to her feet and banged her head on a small bookshelf, knocking its contents off. She’d managed to get most of it replaced when a familiar blonde head stuck through the curtain. “Awake, I see.”

Twilight nodded and slid the last trinket into place. “S-sorry…”

“Never you mind about that,” Applejack replied, gesturing for her to follow. “We got some oatmeal ready. Ain’t much of it, but it’s better than nothin’.”

When Twilight stepped out, the small amount of daylight streaming through the slitted windows against the ceiling illuminated more of the room than she’d seen the previous night. She’d guessed right about the size of the room, but not the number of inhabitants. There had to be close to a hundred. Well over half of the residents were children, wearing a few tattered scraps of clothing, if any. Grimy coats, protruding ribs… and yet bright smiles as they tumbled over each other for a closer look at the new curiosity.

Applejack followed her gaze. “Yeah, the young ’uns been askin’ after you, too. Most haven’t seen a unicorn before.”

“Why?” Twilight stopped and cocked her head. “They don’t come here?”

“That’s some of it,” Applejack answered, swiping a hoof across her nose. “Just ain’t that many of ’em around, though.”

Twilight’s face ran cold. Was there a plague or… something worse circulating? Could she be in danger, could she… infect these ponies? “Why?”

But Applejack only shrugged. “I dunno. Been that way for a while. You’d have to ask Celestia about that.”

“I just might…” Twilight muttered.

Applejack gave her a sidelong glance. “How’d you even do that? ’Sides, you’re stayin’ here for the time bein’. Until we know you’re alright. And until we have reason to trust you.”

Down on her foreleg, a small hoof prodded Twilight. The offending filly immediately raced off with three or four more in tow. “See?” she shouted. “Told you I’d do it!”

Twilight chuckled. But her smile faded as she looked over the few adults watching the children. If the foals seemed at all malnourished, the parents even more so. Near the center of the room, a cauldron steamed, and behind it sat a row of beat-up metal lockers with a dwindling supply of food. One of the mares dipped a pitcher into a barrel and drew out a scoop of brown-tinted water. By the looks of the pipes, it was some sort of rain-catch cistern fashioned from the downspouts of the building above, but not a very clean one.

She shook her head and followed Applejack the rest of the way to the pot, where she served Twilight a heaping bowl, far more than any of the other ponies had. “No, no, I couldn’t. Not when—”

“We show hospitality. It’s part of what makes us earth ponies. We start givin’ that up, and what comes next?” A pointed stare followed.

So Twilight mumbled her thanks and took the steaming bowl. It tasted of rust as much as grain, but at least it silenced her grumbling tummy. And another gaping crowd of children formed to watch her levitate her spoon back and forth.

Before long, it had gotten a little too repetitive for them, and some game had occupied their attention. Twilight leaned closer to Applejack between bites. “How do you live like this?”

“Better than the alternative, sugarcube, though enough have gone that way.”

Twilight finished her meal in silence, and Applejack took her bowl off to a far corner. She didn’t have to do that—Twilight would gladly clean up after herself. Maybe it was another one of those earth pony things. She stood to walk over there anyway, but a filly, maybe two years old, sidled up to her and stretched her forelegs up that way children had. So Twilight cracked a smile and levitated the filly onto her back. “What’s your name?” Twilight said.

“Sweet Pea,” she replied, and pushed her doll toward Twilight. Stringy mane, button eyes, and even dirtier than its owner. Twilight gave it a pat on the head. “Miss Smarty Pants likes you.”

“Seems you got a fan.” Applejack smirked at her. “Tell you what—I gotta go on a raid today, food runnin’ low an’ all. I’d be much obliged if you’d help watch the kids till we get back. And don’t try escapin’. We leave a few guards behind, and they’ll have their eyes on you.”

Twilight nodded quickly and gulped. “I-I wouldn’t. I don’t want to cause trouble—”

“Good. And you can mull over your answer while you’re at it.”

“Answer?”

Applejack jabbed a hoof toward her. “You with us or not?”

“Oh…”

Hours later, after many imaginary tea parties and rounds of bouncing a ball with the few children who would actually come near, Applejack, Big Macintosh, and a half-dozen other ponies marched in, each with a bag or two draped over their backs. Mostly rice, but a couple of oats, and one with wheat flour. The foals all jumped around, and the adults shook their hooves in the air, but it was all… strangely subdued.

Of course. They had to keep quiet.

After dropping off her cargo, Applejack made her way over and winked at Sweet Pea, perched on Twilight’s back with Miss Smarty Pants. “Why don’t you go fetch your brother for dinner?” she asked.

“Aww,” Sweet Pea replied with a frown, but she hopped down and galloped off.

Applejack hooked a foreleg around Twilight’s neck and steered her to an empty spot by the wall, away from all the ponies organizing their spoils. “So, you got an answer for me?”

Did she? Twilight sighed and sank to her haunches. She could agree to it all, play along, bide her time. But Applejack had quite possibly saved her life and had treated her very well. Lying to her seemed… wrong somehow.

“I-I don’t know if I can defy Princess Celestia,” Twilight said. Applejack’s face instantly darkened. “I don’t know why she’s done this, or if it’s even her doing it. I’d like to find out if I can. But this is no life for these children. Can I do anything to help them?”

Applejack’s frown soon faded. “Fair enough. But if you ain’t bringin’ the goods back from our raids, then… to be blunt, you’re just another mouth to feed.”

“Where… where are Sweet Pea’s parents?” Twilight fidgeted with her hooves and looked at the ground.

“Dunno. One o’ the prisons. They were some of the first few arrested.” Applejack shrugged, but by the way her whole posture slumped…

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said.

“Not your fault.” She did glance up at Twilight’s horn.

Twilight waited for a moment, but Applejack scuffed a hoof at the ground and watched the little trails of dirt form. “Look,” she finally said, “I won’t lie to you. We could use your help. We’re strong, but not that strong. Maybe unicorns ain’t either, but it’s somethin’. Those ten bags o’ food? Not even a quarter of the wagon we hit. Couldn’t get any of the other stuff—medicine, spare parts, what have you—’cause we need the food more right now. Left it all behind.” Applejack ran a hoof down her muzzle. “If we’re lucky, another resistance cell found it, but more likely than not, an army patrol got it. Right back into Celestia’s hooves.”

More silence, except Applejack’s jaw kept trying to let something out. She turned toward the wall and shielded her mouth with a hoof. “You did great with the kids today, or so I hear from Miss Cheerilee. And you didn’t so much as case the joint or try spottin’ a way out. Guards would’ve seen. I…” She clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut. “I could cotton to the idea of takin’ you along. Maybe. Maybe in a week or so.”

A chill shooting up her spine, Twilight took a step back. Applejack looked up at the sound of her hooves scraping the concrete. “I-I don’t… I don’t know. I couldn’t hurt anypony. N-not if anypony gets hurt. I couldn’t do that.” Or could she? What would those soldiers have done if they’d caught her? Would she have fought back? Or if they came for the children…

“Can’t exactly promise that, sugarcube. We gotta protect our own. But they’re mostly earth ponies, too, so I ain’t lookin’ to cause any more ruckus than I have to. I’ll promise you that.”

“Okay,” Twilight said, her voice sounding distant even to herself. Please, Princess Celestia! What are you doing? “I’ll go with you. I’ll help carry. That’s all.”

Applejack flashed a grim smile and patted Twilight’s shoulder. “I can agree to that.”

Twilight’s skin, nerves, hair all buzzed as she trailed Applejack through another maze of streets and alleyways. She’d run out of breath long ago, but if she fell behind, she’d be left out here alone. Again.

Big Macintosh ran up front with his sister, and abreast of Twilight were two others whose names Applejack hadn’t mentioned. They’d stop for a breather before crossing any open space—at least Twilight took it as a chance to rest—then duck behind crumbling walls or overgrown hedges and scurry along to the next exposed spot.

She didn’t see another pony the whole way. Where had they all gone? House after house, empty, no businesses. How could so many ponies just get up and leave?

Ahead, Applejack motioned for Twilight to move up with her. The group crept into a destroyed building and peered through the broken-out ground-floor windows. “There,” she whispered, pointing out a pair of guards down the road. They stood on either side of a doorway that actually looked to be in good shape. Unscarred granite columns and a pair of banners with Celestia’s sun mark adorned the facade.

“That’s where the deliveries go,” Applejack said. “Normally, we hit the wagons further away. But we have to change when and where all the time. Gotta keep ’em surprised—it’s all we got. Just wanted you to see that, but we won’t make the intercept this close, or reinforcements’ll come from there, lickety-split.”

With a quick nod from Applejack, the squad skulked back a few blocks, picking through burned-out storefronts and overturned carts to find another vantage point. They’d just ducked beside a half-rotten wood fence when hoofsteps echoed down the street, but it wouldn’t provide them enough cover. Twilight huddled against them as hard as she could, but at that angle, the guards would see them long before they could set an ambush.

So Applejack jabbed a hoof forward, and everypony simply rushed them without the benefit of concealment. Big Macintosh charged the wagon itself, snapping the tongue in two and leaving the pair of dray ponies tangled up in the traces. One of the soldiers tried to spin past them, but the nameless pony to Twilight’s left tackled him. Two soldiers left—Applejack bucked one in the ribs, and he crumpled against a set of rusty iron steps.

“Braeburn!” Applejack hissed, and the other unnamed teammate quickly lassoed the last guard. All with Twilight standing there, mouth agape.

The drays had gotten off a couple of good shouts before Applejack could quiet them, though, and a commotion sounded from back toward the building she’d shown Twilight. “Git! Now!” Applejack shouted as the garrison galloped into sight. The other four ponies immediately stuffed everything they could into their saddlebags, lugged a box or sack onto their backs, and took off toward the nearest alley. Still, Twilight stared. “C’mon! We got all we can!”

Twilight shook off her stupor. Now wasn’t the time! Useless, just watching. “Hold on,” she said while Applejack gritted her teeth and beckoned insistently. A purple glow spread from her horn, and she picked up the entire wagonload, as much as everypony else had taken together and then some. She dashed into the alley, but now the others only stood and stared. So Twilight took her best guess at which way to go, a pile of purple-engulfed boxes and barrels in trail. Soon enough, they’d all regained their senses, and Applejack worked her way to the lead.

She wore a broad grin and winked as she passed Twilight. And that alone made it all worthwhile. Helping her all those weeks ago in the town square, giving her a hot meal when so many others went without. Applejack had taken her in and shown such kindness. Maybe this would begin to pay her back.

Twilight couldn’t help smiling, too.

An hour later, they walked into their hideout to a heroes’ welcome. Not quite so loud, of course, but… everypony wanted to shake Twilight’s hoof. The fear, gone. All the children crowded in, calling her “Miss Unicorn” and reaching out to get even a brief touch. She set her cargo down with the rest, and then…

She sank to the floor. She’d hadn’t even realized how tired she’d gotten, but now free of her burden, her legs shook and her horn ached. She vaguely heard Applejack’s voice as a hoof slapped her shoulder. “You done good, sugarcube! We never got a haul like this before. It’ll last us plenty long!”

The words echoed in Twilight’s ears, like in a tunnel. Her hooves, they wouldn’t… they wouldn’t stop!

“You okay, Twilight?”

Twilight fixed her gaze on the dirt in front of her. Okay? Was she okay? “I… I don’t…”

“Make room, everypony!” Applejack barked. With a strength Twilight never would have expected, Applejack hefted her and carried her back to the curtained area where she’d slept that first night. No shuffling, no dragging hooves. A full-grown pony, and Applejack could carry her as easily as a child.

“That was nothing,” Twilight said, breathless. “Levitation is a very basic spell.”

Applejack nodded and set Twilight down on the bedroll. “I know. I hadn’t seen it in so long, though. Forgot how amazin’ it could be. And most o’ these foals haven’t seen a unicorn before.”

Twilight opened her mouth again, but Applejack pressed a hoof to it. “Quiet now! You look like you need some rest. You just take your time. I’ll make sure there’s a good meal waitin’ for you when you’re ready.”

Maybe she shouldn’t argue. If it’d make the shaking stop…

She nodded. Only a shallow sleep claimed her, punctuated by laughter and conversation from all around. Foals, probably getting the first substantial meal they’d had in months. Adults, able to warm themselves under blankets not riddled with holes. Fresh medicine, lamp oil, building materials. She’d… she’d helped.

What would Celestia think?

Already her fifth raid. Fifth. Twilight permitted herself a grin as she hunkered down with Applejack and Big Mac on her left. To her right, Caramel and Mr. Cake, who usually sat next to her at meals. It’d taken a couple of weeks, but now, anypony would come right up and talk to her. Foals would wait for her to finish eating so they could ask her to play a game.

Except on the way out today, Applejack had given her a… an impromptu training session. Normally, Twilight would jump at the chance to learn, but… this brought only stark reality. Reality she’d fooled herself into ignoring. How… how to fight.

Against pegasi, grab a bunch of pebbles and buck them—or in her case, propel them magically—at the sky. The shot spread out, and they couldn’t dodge it all. It’d bring them… bring them down quickly. And unicorns. Most could only focus their magic on one or two opponents. Rush them in groups, and…

Twilight shuddered. Only if she had to. And she was helping the foals. She was helping the foals.

She shook her head and pricked her ears toward Applejack, who’d hissed out a command, one Twilight missed. But she always hung in the back anyway, followed everypony else’s lead. It allowed her to take careful stock of the situation and decide whether to pitch in or suggest a retreat. It also meant she’d never acted hastily, and she’d assiduously kept from hurting anypony. To her credit, so had Applejack. Mostly.

They waited at a point far across town from the other ones they’d hit lately. Sometimes, the trap sprung close by, sometimes not. A cat-and-mouse game of remaining as unpredictable as possible. So when Applejack lanced a hoof forward, they rushed from behind cover, Big Mac immediately shouldering the wagon onto its side. Only two guards this time—Applejack pinned one while Twilight levitated the other. They hadn’t had this easy a time of it since—

Applejack’s eyes shot wide open at the second wagon rounding the corner. “Decoy!” she shouted, frantically waving her team back toward the alley. And the cart Big Mac had just upended burst open, a half dozen troops swarming out. They’d tackled Caramel before he could even take a step. Applejack paled. “They got Caramel!”

Twilight wheeled about and brought her magic to bear. The three guards atop Caramel were flung across the street, much harder than she’d meant. Damn! They thudded against the stone buildings, giving Caramel a precious second to scramble to his hooves. He dashed into the alley, Applejack closing off the way to cover him with a rear leg cocked to give a painful lesson to anypony who tried to follow. The six from the second wagon had gotten within a few paces—with a grim smile, Applejack rushed after Caramel. Nothing to show for this raid. Nothing.

With her magic, Twilight shoved the front two into their companions, then galloped after Applejack and—

The world spun, and bright light washed out Twilight’s vision. By the time she’d stumbled back to her hooves, she’d lost three irreplaceable seconds, and she peered up from the ground at a soldier taking another swing with his war club. “They’ve got a unicorn!” one of the others shouted. “Get her!”

A sharp tug—Applejack had Twilight by the hooves, dragging her toward their escape route, but too late. Three guards swarmed her, and Twilight flopped to the ground again. Her head absolutely throbbed, and the street, the sky, the buildings twirled overhead. She closed her eyes against it, but the blobs of light only whirled faster. Ponies shouted, something rough wrapped its way around Twilight’s pasterns. Hauled back to her hooves, Twilight lurched forward a step and retched. All black. Another shout, some laughter, a kick to her ribs. She retched again.

Something on, around her horn. She fell. For hours, Twilight fell.

Soft light and an only mildly splitting headache greeted Twilight when she awoke. She gingerly reached a hoof up and touched the knot on her forehead. A wool blanket covered her, and she lay on a plush white divan, which matched the rest of the room’s furnishings: a long banquet table, a few wing chairs, a large picture window, gilded landscape paintings, an inviting hearth with a cheery flame. She tried to sit up but only managed a low groan.

In a flash, Princess Celestia’s face appeared right above her, and a hoof stroked her cheek. “Oh, thank goodness you’re awake!” Celestia said. She held Twilight’s shoulders as if greeting a long lost friend and kissed her on the forehead, then grimaced at what must be an ugly bruise. “Sorry!” she hissed.

Celestia scooted to the far end of the divan and folded her forehooves in her lap. “I apologize. The soldiers clearly didn’t realize who you were. I hope they didn’t treat you too badly?”

Soldiers? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She could bury her face in Celestia’s mane, and all her troubles would go away. She could tell Applejack—

Her body went cold. Applejack. What had happened to her? Or the rest of them? She swallowed.

Celestia gave a little frown and cocked her head. “Do you feel okay? You look pale. Please, enjoy some lunch with me. The food will help you regain your strength.”

Well… Twilight was hungry. But something told her to take it easy at first. She stood slowly, and when her knees didn’t buckle under her, she made her way to the large table. Something easy on the stomach, maybe a croissant.

The rocky landscape outside drew her eye, but the dizzying height—she blinked hard and fixed her gaze on the marble floor. Celestia silently watched her the whole time and smiled like a new mother while Twilight ate. And when Twilight finished, a tuxedoed earth pony whisked in and took the empty plate. All that for a single roll?

“Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia finally said, “you had me very concerned.” She leaned over and took Twilight in a warm embrace, and… did Twilight feel her shaking? “I was afraid something terrible had happened to you.” Celestia… Celestia sniffled.

“You disappeared some time ago, a-and I heard reports that the rebels had captured you, and—” At last, she let Twilight go, and she wiped away a few tears. “Are you okay? How did you come to be with them? Were they coercing you?”

A chance to talk to Celestia… she’d wanted that from the beginning of all this. But that had to happen first, before she answered any of these questions, or Celestia might never respond. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what happened,” Twilight said. “I just woke up in Ponyville’s town square, and I have no idea what’s going on.” If Celestia noticed that she’d only replied to the first part, she didn’t let on.

“You were no doubt set upon by those”—she spat the word—“insurrectionists. Did they take you anywhere? Were you able to learn of their plans or hiding places?”

Twilight shook her head. “Through town, like a maze in the alleys. They took a different route every time. I couldn’t follow it again if I tried.” Not exactly a lie. But Celestia stared at her for a moment. “Please, what’s happening? Why are we at war?”

The princess opened her mouth, flicked her eyes toward the rug, then managed to force out the words that had caught in her throat. “You should know all this. You’ve been right in the middle of it since the beginning.”

“Please. I can’t remember a thing.”

After a sharp sigh, Celestia nodded. “Very well. For the last several generations, there has been a severe decline in the population growth of unicorns and pegasi. Nopony has been able to determine why. Fertility rates simply plummeted, and… when the earth ponies became a vast majority, they turned rather… uncooperative. They wanted mandatory rain schedules on the farms, no-fly zones, certified no-magic produce labels, restrictions on general magic usage. We were on the verge of losing control of a unified government, so I personally called all earth ponies that would remain loyal to the throne to aid me.”

Her gaze wandered out the window, and she tapped a hoof against the divan’s arm. “The others decided they wanted to break off from the realm and start their own nation. We tried negotiating, but they’d made up their minds. They stirred up revolts, hoarded resources, and disrupted trade. So we did the only thing we could and—”

Before Celestia had finished, Twilight had already started shaking her head. “But… the earth ponies I saw! They live in squalor! They’re more concerned about basic food and shelter than taking anything over. They’re nopony’s enemy.”

Celestia clenched her jaw and stared past Twilight. “They showed you the face they wanted you to see. You cannot trust them. You of all ponies should know that. After your brother barely rescued your parents from a hostage situation, you proposed the registry so we could tell the resistance apart. It was a brilliant plan, a masterwork of organization, and an unqualified success. You should be proud.”

“What!? I-I did that? How could I…?”

“Princess!” A pegasus stallion strode into the room with a large map scroll tucked beneath his wing. The medals on his chest jangled as he walked and again when he snapped a smart salute. “We’ve concluded the interrogation for today. We haven’t learned anything yet, but it shouldn’t be long now. We’ll start again in the morning. Also, Colonel Spitfire is in your office to discuss the progress of the aerial bombardments.”

“Good.” Celestia inclined her head toward him. “Dismissed.”

Bombardments? This… this was serious. All Twilight had seen so far amounted to hit-and-fade attacks on supply routes. Nopony hurt, nopony killed. Until that nasty shot she’d taken to the head, it had been easy to write everything off as minor, a disagreement, a scuffle. One that had left all the earth ponies she’d seen in poverty, but at least not to the degree of an honest-to-goodness war. But a bombardment?

Celestia turned to face her again. “I must attend to this. You may go wherever you like in the palace, but please do not leave. We still have more to discuss.” She rose, but before she followed the stallion out, she gave Twilight another hug. “Thank goodness you’re alright,” she said, then was gone.

All-out war. Twilight’s withers knotted up, and a jolt of cold swept through her body. On a whim, she strolled over to the picture window. From the divan, she could only see more gray of the mountainside, but once she stood directly in front of it…

The familiar grassy plain beyond the foothills where her Ponyville normally lay… but only that strange city there. Not her Ponyville. And thick black smoke obscured a whole corner of it, from some manner of skirmish. The wide, sweeping arc of the Everfree Forest had been reduced to stumps.

She turned her back on it. This wasn’t right. She peeked into the corridor and heard a familiar voice amid the clinking of chains. “Git your hooves off me, or I’ll make you sorry you ever—mmph!”

Down one hall, then another, she followed the hoofsteps until she dared to poke her head around a corner, and—Applejack! Two soldiers had her in irons and had tied a muzzle on her. They shoved her roughly from behind and prodded her toward a small spiral staircase.

Applejack. She… she’d tried to save Twilight. And look what it got her. Twilight’s fault. Her fault no matter what, but especially if Celestia had told her the truth. The registry? Her own idea? And now a good chunk of the earth pony population lived on the run. Her fault.

She let them get farther ahead but kept trailing them down several flights to a cold, dank dungeon. Not many places to hide—she hung back in a shadowed alcove until she heard the dull thump of a pony against stone, the protesting creak of an age-worn lock, and the clank of armor marching off far into the distance. After another good five minutes of hard listening, she crept along the wall. Nopony in the first cell. Likewise for the second and third. But in the fourth, Applejack lay chained to the floor. “Applejack!” Twilight hissed.

Applejack rolled over to face the door and greeted her unexpected visitor with a glare that might have bored a hole in the iron door.

“Hang on!” Twilight fiddled with the magical restrictor ring she’d forgotten she still wore—those soldiers had shoved it on her when they’d subdued her. Why hadn’t Celestia removed it?

A purple glow weaved its way to Applejack’s manacles, and after Twilight had picked around in the mechanism for a few seconds, they sprung open. Applejack instantly untied and yanked off the muzzle, then rushed up to the door, pressing her face against the barred opening.

“You did me real good, didn’t you!” she said in a harsh whisper. “I trusted you, and I should’ve known! I should’ve recognized you from all them propaganda posters with Celestia! Little purple unicorn, always lurkin’ in the background.” She turned her back and crossed her forelegs. “You played me for a foal, and now all my kin is gonna pay the price.”

“But Applejack—”

“You got what you wanted. Now leave me be.” But Twilight hadn’t meant—

Applejack stalked over to the crude bunk and flopped onto it, wiping tears from her eyes.

“No!” Twilight said. “I lied to Celestia about my time with you. Or avoided answering her questions, anyway. Do you have any idea what that means? That I lied to the most powerful pony in all of Equestria? For you?”

Applejack looked up. “You… you did?”

That hint of a smile sent more warmth through Twilight than she’d felt ever since waking up those few weeks ago. She even smiled back. “Yes. Now let’s work on getting you out of here.”

“I had hoped it wasn’t true,” a quiet voice said from down the darkened hallway. “I could not believe that my own apprentice would keep the truth from me, yet your own eyes betrayed you.” Celestia stepped into the torchlight, flanked by six guards.

“Oh, horseapples,” Applejack said as she huddled against the wall. “That can’t be good.”

“It’s not too late,” Celestia said, a hoof outstretched. “Please. We didn’t finish our discussion earlier. I regret the interruption, but there’s still more you need to hear.”

Twilight lit her horn—she only had one shot at this. Celestia’s immediately flared in response, and she took a wide stance, her head lowered to ready a counterattack.

But Twilight lunged for the cell door and jabbed her horn between the bars. She launched a beam at Applejack, who raised a hoof to ward it off, but the glow surrounded her, and she disappeared in a flash. If Twilight had remembered enough detail about that warehouse, the image she had firmly fixed in her mind should get her there. But of course Celestia had not stood idle—before Twilight could expand the spell to envelop herself as well, a white bolt slammed into Twilight’s side and held her paralyzed.

She struggled against it, but no use. Nowhere to go. No way to fight. To fight… Celestia. She trembled as she went limp and awaited her fate.

“Oh, Twilight. What have you done?” Celestia shook her head and folded her ears back. She wasn’t angry. And that hurt even more. The magic’s glow burned brighter until Twilight could see nothing else. White, only white.

Then black.

Twilight awoke in the same room, on the same divan. And with Celestia watching her again.

She propped up on a leg and rubbed her forehead. Her hoof bumped something—a magical restrictor ring. They’d replaced it. She left it alone.

“Celestia, I… I couldn’t betray her. I’ve seen how they live. She helped me when nopony else would. I owe her my life. If that’s the kind of enemy we have, why are we fighting them?”

Celestia gave a wistful smile. “Twlight, you are so naïve. That was one of the things that most charmed me about you when you first came to study here. But in these times, I cannot afford to indulge it. I will give you one last chance. Tell me where the Ponyville resistance is hiding.”

“I… I can’t tell you.”

Celestia set her jaw, but she held back whatever she’d almost said. She only shook her head, and her eyes roved about the patterns on the rug. “If you’d only stayed until I could have finished,” she said quietly, then straightened up. “I can’t understand why you’re so determined to help them.”

“They helped me. They didn’t ask for anything in return. And they just want a normal life.”

“Twilight, they can have it! At first, there was a widespread conflict, but it didn’t go well for us. We retreated to our only strongholds, Canterlot and Cloudsdale. As for the rest of Equestria—” she shrugged and waved a hoof toward the window “—we had no choice but to cede it to the secessionists. The war ended quickly, and over three years ago.”

The blood drained from Twilight’s cheeks. “Then what—?”

“Applejack fancies herself some kind of martyr. If she’d simply relocate anywhere else, we wouldn’t stand in her way. Even the earth pony nation wants her to stand down, but they cannot locate her, either. She may not even know. I can’t fathom why she has such an attachment to Ponyville.” A thin trail of smoke still wafted over near the horizon, and Celestia frowned at it.

But of course Applejack loved Ponyville. She couldn’t just leave it! “Her family has owned that land for centuries. You can’t expect her to go willingly.”

A laugh erupted before Celestia could get it under control. “Land? In Ponyville? Applejack was a factory supervisor in Fillydelphia. None of the Apples had ever set hoof in Ponyville until all this started.”

“So why is Ponyville so important to you?” Twilight asked. “Why not let her have it?”

Celestia pursed her lips. “As I said, we—the unicorns and pegasi, as well as the earth ponies who remained loyal—are now confined to Canterlot and Cloudsdale. Ponyville is the only adjacent territory with good farmland. We have to eat, too.” Twilight opened her mouth, but before she could even ask the question—“And no, I cannot simply let Applejack go. She must answer for what she has done.”

No, no! That didn’t make sense! Why would Applejack do that? She’d never grandstanded like somepony seeking the spotlight, never rambled like a madpony with an idée fixe. She’d spent long enough with Applejack to know, right? To know if something had broken in her, if she’d… lied. Or… or if Celestia had lied, and why such a disproportionate response anyway, and—

“So I’ll ask you again: will you tell me where the Ponyville resistance is hiding?”

She… she couldn’t. Not without knowing. And she didn’t have the time to find out. Turn Applejack in and send her to prison for life, or worse, and perhaps unjustifiably. Or keep silent, preserve the status quo, and let things continue to play out—

No, not even that. She’d essentially be washing her hooves of the whole affair. She’d never have Celestia’s ear on the matter again, if the Princess even came to visit her in her cell. No time. No more time. It all hinged on what she said next, and she had no more time.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Twilight sighed. “But I won’t. They took me in and accepted me. Isn’t that how ponies should act?”

“You can honor your oath to me!” Celestia’s voice cracked.

What could she say? Twilight looked down at the pristine white rug.

Celestia stared through her to the wall, quite possibly to the world outside it. “I see.” Her lip trembled, and then she jerked forward, holding Twilight in a tight embrace.

Twilight stiffened—tears? Celestia crying? Tears meandered down Twilight’s back. But with a rough sigh, Celestia pulled away, keeping a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “I can’t bring myself to pronounce the sentence that treason deserves. I don’t think I could live with myself. But I cannot allow you the opportunity to use your magic for the rebellion again.”

Celestia’s voice wavered. “Twilight Sparkle, I sentence you to permanent house arrest in the palace. I also ban you from practicing magic ever again.”

No… no magic? Twilight shivered. What would happen to Applejack? What would happen to her? A-a unicorn without magic. Her shivering worsened—Celestia had leaned in close again. “At least I will still see you around the castle,” she whispered in Twilight’s ear. “I do love you. Like my own daughter. And so a piece of magic is gone from my life as well.”

Twilight nodded. She believed that. Through everything that had happened, she still believed that. It was part of what made her Celestia. Nothing would change it.

Her legs shaking, Celestia brought her magic to bear again, and she touched her horn to Twilight’s, searing the magical restrictor ring into place. Irreversibly.

The magic, stripped away. Twilight’s horn went numb, and most of her heart with it. All for Applejack. For Applejack and every one of those earth ponies, she’d give up who she was. The glow of magic brightened until Twilight squeezed her eyes closed, but that didn’t shut out the blinding radiance. It pierced, burned, until it felt like it would tear her chest in two, and then the light shattered.

Pitch black, punctuated only by a shower of sparks, remnants of the magic. They drifted to the ground like snowflakes, extinguishing when they touched down. Nothing but the blackness left. Nothing. All alone.

And amid the overwhelming drowsiness that swept through her like a tide, she couldn’t resist falling asleep again.

Author's Note

Test number one complete! How do you think Twilight did?

Coming March 5, Chapter 3: Choose Your Friends Wisely

Chapter 3: Choose Your Friends Wisely

Twilight Sparkle jolted awake to the sound of a hoof clapping hard right next to her head. She whipped her gaze back and forth to see a roomful of faces staring at her, many with giggles barely held behind their smiles.

“We do not sleep in class, Miss Sparkle!” shouted a magenta mare, who leaned in close with a pointed squint. Twilight could practically hear her teeth grind.

“S-sorry,” Twilight said, sitting up at her desk. The words tumbled from her lips. Where was she?

The mare had returned to the front of the room and tapped a pointer against a diagram drawn on the blackboard. “Now, can you give us the answer?”

Twilight wiped the thin trickle of drool from her cheek and narrowed her eyes at the picture. It was a simple trigonometric problem. Of course she could solve it! She only had to divide by the sine of… No, wait. Sine squared plus…

She stared at the board. A simple problem. Simple! At least it should be. So why didn’t she know? Right on the edge of her brain, but out of reach. So… maddening! Not like a tip-of-the-tongue thing, where she had it but just couldn’t corral it in. More like… deja vu. Like she’d known it before, except her mind might be making up the memory of knowing it, too.

The teacher, Miss… Miss Cheerilee. At least one fact had settled into place. The teacher frowned, and her pointer slid down the board. “Twilight, you need to pay attention. If you don’t do better, you won’t pass this class.”

Not pass!? Twilight’s cheeks flushed, and all those eyes bored into her. She’d never failed a thing in her life! Not that she remembered, anyway. But with the familiar shrugs and smiles all around, it hadn’t exactly come as a surprise to anypony else.

At least the bell chose that moment to ring. A collective shuffle sounded as everypony got up from their desks. “Homework!” Miss Cheerilee shouted above the din. “Page eighty-three, odd-numbered problems! Check your answers in the back, but show your work, or you won’t get credit!”

A rainbow-maned pegasus hovered over the crowd rushing for the door and swooped down by Twilight. “Aw, don’t let her get to you. She should’ve known we had a late night yesterday because of the game. Not like you’ll need trig out in the real world.”

Another fact settled into place—that mare. Rainbow. Her name was Rainbow Dash. “But… you’re passing, aren’t you?”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Barely. Only ’cause the team statistician leaves his notes open on the sidelines. I spot ’em when I’m barreling down the field, breaking tackles”—she crouched low and held a hoof out in front of her—“and being generally awesome. Pegasi are good at noticing details like that.”

“Then… why don’t you do that more and get a good grade?”

Raising an eyebrow, Rainbow glared at her as if she’d said the most uncool thing in the world. What could be uncool about studying? “Pfft. As if. I don’t need it for anything. What’s got you acting like Miss Student all of a sudden, anyway?”

“N-never mind.” Twilight glanced back at her body to make sure she was in the right one. The same purple, the same cutie mark, the same senior-year classes at the same high school. But… the facts. She felt the blood rushing from her face again. Where did all her facts go? She couldn’t remember any more than five or six chemical elements, no calculus, very little history. W-what was happening? No electrical circuits, no Star Cross the Beardless, no teleportation magic in her head. How could she live like this?

“C’mon,” Rainbow said. Twilight jerked her gaze toward the sound, her breathing rapid and shallow. “Let’s get to the cafeteria before somepony takes our table.”

Twilight fell into step behind her, and as they trotted down the hallway, a few others merged in with them. She… she recognized these ponies! Pinkie Pie, Rarity, and Applejack. They all flopped down at what must be “their” table, and Applejack pulled a lunchbox out of her saddlebag.

“They’ve got oatmeal for lunch today,” Pinkie said, sticking her tongue out. “Ick! Let’s just skip the rest of the day.”

“No can do,” Applejack replied through a bite of her sandwich. “I’ve got a history test today.”

And Rarity turned her nose up. “I agree. I have a Fashion Club meeting after school.”

“Oh, alright,” Pinkie mumbled. She put her head down on the table and puffed her bottom lip out.

Why would anypony skip school? Twilight couldn’t think of anything else more fun… well, trigonometry sure hadn’t been much fun today. As the fog slowly lifted from her mind, snippets of images popped up in her memory.

Of course! Rainbow had mentioned a game last night. Applejack and Rainbow Dash starred on the school’s hoofball team. They’d won the season opener against Fillydelphia High yesterday. Rarity was captain of the cheerleading squad, and Pinkie and Twilight were the only other four-year members. That explained her decidedly informal skirt with a mascot emblazoned on it.

“I’ll just stay with AJ,” Pinkie said. “The rest of you, go on through the line without me.”

“Y’all know I always have some extra apples, just in case,” Applejack said with a wink. “Here, knock yourself out.” She slid a small paper bag across the table.

Pinkie immediately sat up and pricked her ears. “Thanks, Applejack! You’re a share-y, care-y mare-y!”

For the life of her, Twilight couldn’t explain why that tickled her, but she let out a loud snort.

“Heavens!” Rarity said, holding a hoof to her chest.

“Sorry.” Rarity did glance back at her a couple more times as they went through the line, but soon, a couple of other students sitting at a corner table had drawn her attention. So Twilight just picked out a vegetable plate and a bottle of carrot juice before getting to… the cashier.

Oh yeah. Money. Twilight dug through her saddlebag, and the longer she failed to turn up any coins, the more her face went cold. “Forget your lunch money again, darling?” Rarity asked, already a few steps back toward their table.

“Um… yeah.” Twilight slouched and gave her saddlebag another fruitless glance.

“I swear, if your head weren’t attached… No matter,” Rarity said with a smile and wave of her hoof. “Lunch is my treat today.” And she pulled out a bit purse with a whole lot of coins in it. Where did she get that kind of money? Oh, and Twilight had forgotten to say…

“Thank you, Rarity. I appreciate it.” Something always seemed so fake about that. Of course Twilight was grateful, but saying so had become such a part of the song and dance, less about real gratitude and more about proper decorum. She’d benefitted from Rarity’s generosity enough times that she really did owe her, though.

So Rarity gave one of her little nods and led the way to their seats. And she immediately started on those two students she’d been watching. “Did you see Bon Bon hanging all over Lyra last week?” She inclined her head toward that same table, where Bon Bon wore a huge smile while Lyra stared at a textbook. “I swear, Lyra’d have to be completely dense not to notice.”

“I don’t think she’s interested,” Dash said. “I heard she was hoping Caramel would ask her to the homecoming dance.”

“Ooh, that’s right! Big dance party coming up. I can’t wait!” Pinkie squealed while she juggled her apples.

Applejack raised an eyebrow and put a hoof on Pinkie’s shoulder. “Them’s for eatin’, sugarcube.” Pinkie flashed a sheepish smile, and Applejack shrugged. “So, who you takin’?”

“Nopony, silly filly! I have to run the party. I won’t have any time to hang out with a date,” Pinkie replied with a giggle. “What about you?”

With a shrug, Applejack leaned back in her seat. “Hoops asked me a couple weeks ago. Y’know, the one with the basketball cutie mark.”

“Cool!” Rainbow said. “I’m going with his friend, Dumb-Bell. He’s captain of the wrestling team.”

Rarity smirked and let out a low chuckle. “We seem to have the athletic department covered. Naturally, I’m going with our star wide receiver, Buttonhook.” She waved a casual hoof around. Knowing her, she could have gotten a date with anypony she wanted. And yet she hardly ever went out with the same one twice. Twilight had asked her why once. Her friend had never really answered, only muttering something about “goldbrickers,” but without looking angry, only slumping a little and staring intensely at the table, as if it had betrayed her somehow.

Twilight shook her head. Whatever had clouded her mind earlier seemed to have dissipated, but it hadn’t left behind any physics or literature. So she really didn’t know trigonometry.

“Yeah, that pony catches every pass I throw his way,” Applejack said. “He’s got soft hooves on the field. Just make sure he keeps ’em to himself.”

“He will. He will, or he’ll have my father to answer to.” Rarity took a forkful of her vegetables and didn’t bat an eye.

Applejack quickly nodded. “Not if he didn’t want a nice impression of my horseshoe on his—”

“Moving along…” Rainbow said with a roll of her eyes. “Who’s taking you, Twilight?”

What had even happened to her this morning? It felt a world away now, everything as it should be, though that sensation of confidence that she actually knew something… it was nice. It was nice for a change.

“Twilight?”

Rainbow was staring at her. “Oh. Sorry. Um, I don’t have a date yet.”

“Better get crackin’, Twi. Time’s a-wastin’. Only a month off,” Applejack said with a tip of her hat.

Pinkie groaned and covered her head with her hooves. “Don’t remind me. I have so much to do!”

And Rarity leaned in closer. “I know the good ponies get snapped up quickly, dear, but a cheerleader can’t be seen dateless. So gauche.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” Wait… one fact hadn’t clicked into place yet. “Who’s taking Fluttershy?” Why did that name stick in her head? She couldn’t even put a face with that name.

“Who cares about her?” Pinkie said. “Miss Brooding Poet? Find somepony who can quote Edgar Allen Pony and put him in some black lipstick and eyeliner.” Rarity shuddered. “That’d be her dream date.”

Fluttershy wasn’t…? Right. She… she didn’t know Fluttershy. Not well, anyway. Just another student in her literature class.

Rainbow jerked her head toward the cashier. “Speaking of hopeless cases, the floor show has arrived.”

From one side of the cafeteria to the other, Derpy floated in a twisting path, barely avoiding chairs and students. Her tray of muffins teetered back and forth until it finally slid off her back and clattered to the floor. Rainbow slapped Applejack on the back, and Pinkie joined in the raucous laughter floating around the room.

At least Applejack only returned a wry smile, and Rarity didn’t react at all. But none of them exactly sprang to help as Derpy gathered what she could of her spilled lunch. “Classic Derpy,” Rainbow commented, wiping a tear from her cheek.

The other three were still occupied, so… Twilight scooted nearer to Rarity. “Have… have you thought about what you’ll do after graduation?”

“Work for my father, of course. He’s not going to run the company forever. Why? Having second thoughts?” Rarity raised an eyebrow.

“I… I don’t know. I…” Twilight hadn’t ever cared too much about life after high school, so why now?

Rarity turned a warm smile on her. “Don’t you worry. You’ve got a spot as well. City manager for his shops in Fillydelphia. Not a demanding job, really—you just delegate everything, as long as your staff is halfway competent. Move up from there—” she circled a hoof in the air “—and before you know it, you’re retired at forty-five.”

Slowly, Rarity turned her attention back to her lunch. “All in place,” she added as an afterthought.

“It just… doesn’t seem fair. I mean, I didn’t do anything to earn it.” Twilight’s throat almost closed up on those words. It didn’t want to say them. Yesterday, she wouldn’t have wanted to say them. But this morning… something had happened.

Rarity eyed her curiously. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, darling.”

Why couldn’t she just spit it out? She’d always gotten the impression before that Rarity’s generosity came with a price tag attached, but she’d never seen her friend look at her this way, like she was really listening.

“I was thinking I might, I don’t know, go to college or something.” She’d better wrap this up. The applause for Derpy had died down, and the other girls at the table would be paying attention soon.

“With your grades?” Rarity pursed her lips and shook her head. “Take the job, dear.”

Twilight’s head hurt. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful,” she said, sitting up straighter. “I’ve had a lot of things just handed to me all my life, and one of these days, I might want to do something on my own, that I earned.” Her own family had plenty of money. So did Pinkie’s and Dash’s and Applejack’s. It’d opened a lot of doors for her. A lot of doors that shouldn’t have been opened, but…

No, that wasn’t fair, either. Her parents wanted the best for her, and so did Rarity. And Applejack must have heard something, because she’d turned back and was peering at Twilight.

“I don’t know,” Twilight hastily pushed out as she stood up. “Never mind.” She had to get across the building for her next class anyway, and the bell would ring in a few minutes.

But as she glanced back, Rarity’s smile had changed again. Not an unchecked one for a friend in an insouciant moment, but one crafted with care for a respected business associate.

One she’d earned, Twilight thought as she trotted off to class.

“Okay, students, let’s pick up where we left off yesterday,” Bookbinder said. He sat on the corner of his desk with a paperback in hoof and a leg dangling over the floor. “In The Mare Wives of Whinnysor, what is Shakespur trying to say about class warfare?”

Twilight hunched down in her seat and looked around. One student had her hoof raised. A yellow pegasus—was that… Fluttershy? Bookbinder overlooked her, though. Probably raised her hoof on every question, if what Pinkie had said about her was true.

“Twilight Sparkle, what do you think?”

Oh crud. “Um…” The same thing as in math class, but stronger this time. She should know this. They’d read the play in class and for homework over the last two weeks. Why wouldn’t that stupid thing stick in her head? So many famous works of literature—she could rattle off lots of titles, but not a single thing about any of them. The image of sitting in a quiet library and an old book in her hooves, the smell of musty paper, the satisfying sound of a page flipping… They felt like a part of her, but one torn away somehow.

Twilight pressed a hoof to her chest and grimaced. Nothing, no connection. All those words had flown through her head and left nothing behind. Bookbinder peered at her. She couldn’t have him asking questions, not now. She was going nuts or something, and…

She pursed her lips, stared at her desktop, and shook her head.

“Twilight, you’ve got to learn this material. I’m concerned. You won’t graduate if you don’t pass this class.” Another chill ran down her back. Twice in one day? If only she could shrink into her seat and disappear.

Except… oddly familiar now. Barely scraping by, year after year. She’d done that for a while now, because she didn’t care—no, because she shouldn’t care. At least that’s what everypony told her.

“Okay, Fluttershy? What is Shakespur saying to you?”

“Um… Well…”

If she didn’t want to answer, why had she volunteered?

Fluttershy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “The action mainly focuses on the plight of the middle class and uses the old myth about horns and cuckolds to poke fun at the unicorn aristocracy.”

“Good, good,” Bookbinder said. “That’s the basic idea.”

That sounded so simple! Why couldn’t Twilight come up with that herself? It made sense, except… she couldn’t remember enough of the text to verify it. Fluttershy could have said anything halfway intelligent, and Twilight wouldn’t have known any better than to nod and agree.

All of that knowledge had gone somewhere. Is this what it felt like for everypony else? Like most of what happened at school just slipped through their hooves for good? Except… it happened to her, too! If she thought it’d help, she’d pound a hoof against her desk.

She’d always had trouble, always struggled to cram as many facts as she could in, only to have them all leak back out. She hadn’t been fair. She hadn’t been sympathetic to all these students who couldn’t learn so easily. And she was one of them herself!

For the rest of the class, she leaned her head on a hoof and stared out the window. The discussion swirled around her head, even poked its way into her ears from time to time, but what did it matter? Her nerves tingled the whole time. What did it matter?

It took her a minute to realize the bell had rung. So Twilight stumbled into the hallway, and there, right in front of her…

“Fluttershy!” she gasped.

“W-what?” Fluttershy said, peeking over the top of her notebook.

“Can I ask you something?”

Fluttershy only gaped back at her. Ponies like Twilight simply didn’t talk to Fluttershy, of course. She glanced around, probably waiting for the punchline, or maybe hoping a moment of attention from a senior cheerleader might be parlayed into some sort of status symbol.

“Fluttershy, are you okay?” Twilight said, cocking her head. The poor girl had gone even paler.

“Yes, just…” Fluttershy squeezed her eyes shut. “Just go away! I’m not here for your entertainment. Leave me alone!” She ran off down the hall, leaving Twilight staring after her.

“Twilight, don’t bother her,” a voice barked from behind her. “You should know better.”

Twilight turned to face Manila Folder, the school’s guidance counselor. “I wasn’t. I wanted to ask her for help in literature class.”

The stallion pressed a hoof between his eyes and took a deep breath. “Step in here a moment, please,” he said, holding open the door to his office.

“I have history class—”

“I’ll write you a note.” His stare kept boring into her.

So she followed him in and took the old threadbare seat beside his desk. She’d sat there enough times before.

He plopped into his own chair and took off his glasses. “Twilight Sparkle, this is no time for jokes. If only you were that serious about your studies. Your teachers have expressed their concern to me that you are failing literature and trigonometry. And you’re barely holding a C in history. You cannot graduate without those credits.”

Did… did he expect an answer? She knew that already. She didn’t need him reminding her.

“Have you given any thought to what kind of career you’d like?” he finally said.

“I’d always assumed I’d do something with magic.” The words popped out of her mouth before she’d even given them any consideration. The obvious answer. The one she should give, the one everypony would expect her to give.

Manila shook his head. “You’re long past the age when you’d be identified as having an unusual talent for magic. You can barely levitate your saddlebags. What is it that you think you can do with that?”

Twilight shrugged. She stared at her hooves and held in the tears as hard as she could.

“If you don’t start taking this seriously, how will you support yourself?”

“I’ll work for Rarity.” She didn’t say it, though. She couldn’t. Do what for Rarity? She’d never elaborated. Some cushy job, a charity case for a friend who couldn’t do anything for herself. Paid to sit there and let the wind whistle through her ears. She had to get out of here.

“Tell you what,” he said, pointing at the calendar on the wall. “The school is hosting a career day in two weeks. I’d like to see you there. We’ll have representatives from a lot of local businesses, and you should be able to find something that interests you. Please listen to them about what it takes to succeed. Okay?”

Twilight nodded. She wouldn’t give in to those tears.

“Good.” Manila scratched his signature on a slip of paper. “Here’s a hall pass. You may go now.”

How had Twilight never noticed Derpy in her math class before? Up in the front row and scribbling notes furiously from the half-intelligible scrawls on the blackboard. She sure blended in well. Derpy probably considered that a blessing.

Twilight glanced up at the row of tests pinned to the bulletin board next to her. The “row of honor,” as Miss Cheerilee called it. A 97 for Lyra, 99 for Berry Punch… 100 for Derpy. Next row down, another 100. And another. Nothing less than perfection.

Everypony treated her like she was an idiot. Twilight probably had, too. Ugh, as if she didn’t feel like crap already!

Fine. She’d talk to Derpy after class. Manila Folder was right—Twilight had never really looked beyond the next few months, if that. Maybe the time had come to show some discipline and organization. Organization. She liked the sound of that.

And there went the bell, so no time like the present! She picked up her saddlebag and trotted into the hallway, two or three ponies behind Derpy. A comfortable distance. No. Comfortable wouldn’t get her anywhere.

She weaved her way through traffic and caught up to Derpy. “Um… Excuse me—I wonder if… I could talk to you about—”

Derpy frowned, flicked a hoof at her, and kept walking.

“Derpy, please, I want to ask you something.”

Whirling around, Derpy glared at her. “Ask me what? If I’m feeling extra klutzy today? What I’m looking at up here and down there? You’ve never said anything to me I wanted to hear, Twilight Sparkle! Why would you start now?”

Twilight’s breath stuck in her throat, and she coughed. “I-I’m sorry.” She looked at the floor. “I realize I probably haven’t been very kind to you. And I bet it only makes things worse that I don’t know for sure.”

At least Derpy hadn’t left. So Twilight looked her in the eye. She deserved that. “Derpy, my life is going nowhere,” she said, her lip trembling. “I’ve never thought about what happens after high school. I thought I could skate by on popularity, and to be honest, I can’t remember why it was so important to me. But it’s not enough. I need your help. Please.”

Derpy shuffled her hooves and blinked. “O-okay. What do you want?”

Even that small opening had Twilight walking on air. She breathed out harder than she’d meant to. “I’m failing trig, and I won’t graduate if I don’t pull my grade up. Can you tutor me?”

“I… I suppose so.” Derpy pulled out a piece of paper and wrote something on it. A time, it looked like. “I’ve got Debate Club, Quiz Bowl, and Math Team, so Wednesday is my only free afternoon.”

“Oh… That’s my spa day with the girls…”

Derpy sighed. “I see you haven’t changed.”

“N-no, Derpy. I’ll take it. And—” she smiled “—thank you.”

Derpy smiled back.

After lunch, Twilight kept her eye on the pegasus a few rows in front of her. Bookbinder was prattling on about some poem, but no hope for that one now. Fluttershy had on a vinyl jacket, boots, mascara, way too much eyeliner—all black.

Twilight had to try again. That girl was on the odd side, but when Twilight had worked on the school newspaper and the yearbook, she’d seen a few of the poems Fluttershy had submitted. It had struck her as quite vivid and engaging. Not that she understood it, but it sure created a mood, one that took her a few hours to shake sometimes. What a knack she had for it, and… Twilight probably should have told her that before. Just… the black hoof polish, the nose rings—Fluttershy seemed to reinvent herself every few months. Back in the fall, she’d worn a big Rasthoofarian hat.

So when class had ended, Twilight followed her target into the hallway again. “Fluttershy, I didn’t get the chance to ask you yesterday—”

“I thought I told you to leave me alone!”

“Please, Fluttershy,” Twilight said, holding a hoof forward. “I’m on the student newspaper staff, and I’ve seen a lot of your writing come across the layout table. It’s amazing.”

Fluttershy jutted her chin forward. “Oh, really? Which ones? What did you like best about them?”

“The one about your mother. I-I can’t say I really understood it, but it just sounds right to read it. It left me feeling strange for a couple days. And the one for the Summer Sun Celebration. I could close my eyes and feel like I was right there. Some of your word choices seemed weird at first, but at second glance, they fit perfectly. You really know how to create an image.”

Fluttershy’s jaw dropped. “You… you did read it.” She took a lock of mane and held it across her muzzle. “Okay, what did you want to ask?”

She could do this. Twilight sucked in a breath. “I won’t graduate if I don’t pass literature. I need a tutor.”

“The Drama Club is rehearsing for the spring play,” Fluttershy said, rolling her eyes up, “so I can only do Thursdays after school.”

“Oh. We always watch hoofball practice on…” Fluttershy had the beginnings of a scowl on her face. “No, that’ll work. And thank you.”

With their normal math classroom empty at the end of the day, it made an ideal place to meet. Of course, it didn’t hurt that none of the other cheerleaders would set hoof anywhere nearby. “You see,” Derpy said, sketching out a diagram on the blackboard, “you don’t have to memorize as much if you understand why it works. The rest will make sense because you can figure it out, not because you have to store the words up there without the meaning.” She tapped a hoof against her head.

“Here, start with the unit circle. You’ve seen this enough times that you must know it by now.” She etched a triangle inside a circle and drew a little box inside its bottom corner. “Remember? Right angle goes down here. The horizontal leg is the cosine, and the vertical leg is the sine. What’s this length?” she said, tracing a hoof along the triangle’s slanted side.

“Umm…” Twilight bit the edge of her hoof.

“Unit circle.”

A light flashed in Twilight’s brain. “Oh! Um, one, right?”

“Yes!” Derpy said with a sharp nod. “It’s a radius of the circle. So what do you remember about right triangles?”

Twilight scratched her head. Something about… “Oh, the, the uh… The hyp-hypo…”

“Hypotenuse.”

“Hypotenuse! You square the other sides and add them up, by the, uh, the Ponythagorean Theorem.” That couldn’t be right. She’d never dredge up a fact like that. Except Derpy was nodding again. “So… sine squared plus cosine squared equals… one squared?”

Quickly, Derpy wrote down what Twilight had said. “Good! Now to get the other forms, just pick something to divide by. Try dividing everything in this equation by cosine squared and see what you get.” She held out the chalk to Twilight.

The second part canceled out. So one. The first was… tangent.

“Don’t forget the squared.”

Oh yeah. She marked the little two up there. Then one over cosine squared. She squinted at it for a second. “Secant? I can never keep them straight.”

“Right. Little mnemonic device I use: the ‘co’s don’t go together, so one divided by cosine is secant.” Then Derpy took the chalk back and wrote out another line. “And you get the third form by dividing sine squared instead. Make sense?”

It… it did. It actually did. She couldn’t help smiling. When was the last time math had made her smile?

“See what I mean?” Derpy said with a pat on Twilight’s shoulder. “If you understand the basic principle, you can figure out the rest. You don’t have to cram it in your head.”

Twilight stared at the board. Not just a random collection of lines and letters anymore. Something made sense! Had the teacher not explained it? Or had Twilight just ignored her?

“You’re getting the hang of it! C’mon, let’s pull out a couple of the homework problems from last semester and work through them.”

Twilight didn’t move. She kept staring at the board as if seeing it anew. Finally, she faced Derpy. “Thank you,” she said.

Derpy smiled and blushed, but she looked away. “C’mon,” she repeated as she got out her textbook.

“So where were you yesterday afternoon?” Dash asked, pulling a bag of grapes out of her lunchbox.

“Yeah, we waited for you at the spa, but we had to go in or risk losing our time slot,” Pinkie added. Through her mouthful of sandwich, on full display for everypony.

Rarity rolled her eyes and took a sip of her water. “Where did you go, dear?”

At first, Twilight tried a shrug, but everypony kept looking at her. Not much chance of playing it off, then. “I… had an appointment.”

“What kind of appointment, sugarcube?” Applejack asked before taking a bite of her apple.

“Oh, nothing. Just… um…”

Beside her, Rarity leaned over and rested a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “If it’s personal, just say so. We won’t press you to reveal anything uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” Pinkie added, the rest joining in with nods. “Don’t fret your little purple head.”

Like a cool breeze, a tingle ran through Twilight’s nerves, and her strength drained from her. Why did they have to make it so hard? Her best friends for years—she’d come to love them all. Yet she had to keep her secret from them. They wouldn’t understand. If only they’d stayed mean and petty, it would have made things so much easier.

Then Rarity patted her. “I do hope it’s nothing serious. We’d all do whatever we could to help, of course.” Another round of nods.

Would they, though? They really cared about her, and watching their smiling faces—they could be so mean or so kind from one moment to the next.

And then there was Rarity. Little signs, little flashes of… something. Whatever had gotten her smiling the other day, or whatever had kept her from joining in with the crowd laughing at Derpy. Speaking of which… There Derpy came into the cafeteria, trying to balance a stack of books and her lunch.

It must have caught Dash’s eye. “Oh, here we go!” she said, cocking her head in that direction.

“Oh, did you see Daisy’s new hairdo?” Twilight broke in. “It looks so cute!”

“I agree,” Rarity said. “The shorter length suits her, and it’s a nice way to get ready for the warmer weather. If only she’d accessorize better to bring out her colors!”

Dash only shrugged. “Whatever. You gonna be at practice today, Twi?”

Behind Dash, Derpy walked on to her seat. Alone, unnoticed. Probably how she preferred it. It had to be better than having everypony cheer on her mistakes.

Why did it mean so much to Dash to have them watch her practices anyway? Applejack was never the one who asked that question, but she sure changed her demeanor once an audience showed up. Strutting around, calling plays a little louder, an extra swing in her step. But what good did it do? Twilight, Pinkie, and Rarity never really paid attention—just sat around chatting. It wasn’t like Applejack and Dash ever came to watch cheerleading practice, either.

“No,” Twilight finally answered, all eyes on her again. “I have another appointment.”

“You sure got a lot of appointments,” Applejack remarked.

Dash leaned back in her seat and raised an eyebrow. “Yeeeaaah. I hope you won’t be making a habit of this.”

“She won’t!” Pinkie answered for her. “You’ll be there next week, won’t you?” Of course, Pinkie wore one of her huge smiles. At least she had no doubts.

But Rarity sidled closer. “I do hope nothing’s wrong. You’ll tell me if I can do anything for you.”

Twilight nodded back. “Hey!” she said to the whole group. “Everypony got their tickets to the Grand Galloping Gala yet? Not too far off!”

“Got mine!” Pinkie chirped.

“My father already placed our order,” Rarity added.

The rest joined in, too, but Twilight didn’t really hear. She watched Derpy, enjoying what must be a rare treat for her: a quiet lunch.

Twilight sat down across the table from Fluttershy. Bookshelves towered on both sides of them, and for how little Twilight had ever read, those books still felt like a warm blanket around her. Quiet, solitude, knowledge: not the typical things that might comfort a cheerleader, but here she was, back in some little-used corner of the library.

An odd jingling sound… Twilight looked up, now that the absence of any other sound let it stand out. Metal on metal—a lot of metal. Fluttershy took off her vinyl jacket, and all the little chains clinked one last time before settling into silence. Then Fluttershy undid yet another chain going from her nose to her right ear, took off multiple pairs of dangle earrings, and removed the tongue stud that kept clicking against her teeth.

“Sorry,” she whispered, blushing a bit. “I didn’t exactly dress for the library today. I forgot until third period, to be honest.” She hid one eye behind her flowing mane, and… gone was the steely glint in her gaze that first time Twilight had spoken to her in the hall. Softer now, pliant.

Good. She shouldn’t have to build up her armor because of Twilight.

“So where are you in this semester’s reading list? I gather you haven’t made it to The Mare Wives of Whinnysor yet,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a beaten-up paperback. “I just finished Lord of the Horseflies.”

“Ah, yes. By Gelding.”

Twilight winced. “Unfortunate choice of a pen name, huh?”

And behind that pink mane, Fluttershy giggled. Twilight had never seen her laugh before. She wasn’t sure Fluttershy could.

But then Fluttershy frowned. “That’s not very far in. You have some catching up to do.”

With a nod, Twilight ran her hoof over the book’s cover. “Yeah… I’ve tried, but I’m no good at this.”

“Twilight Sparkle!” she said. Twilight jumped. She wouldn’t have thought Fluttershy capable of raising her voice, either. “Don’t you even think that way. Do you remember what you said when I asked if you’d read my poems?”

“Uhh… I said I liked them.”

“You also said they had some strange word choices at first glance but that fit well after reading them, right?” She smiled like she’d already won.

“I guess.”

Here came that steel in her eyes again, but different this time. Not a shield. “No. Don’t guess. What did you mean?”

“Well… like some of the words seemed like fancier ones than you really needed. But they fit a rhythm better. I could hear it in my head—” Twilight pointed a hoof at her temple “—and they had a flow to them. Then when I thought about it, they had like a symbolic meaning or, like, more figurative.”

Fluttershy smiled. “You say ‘like’ a lot when you get nervous.” And now Twilight had to giggle. “But you’re right. See how easy that was? Those aren’t exactly basic concepts, either, but here you are discussing them.”

“I guess.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted—

“No! Don’t guess.”

“Okay.” Twilight pursed her lips.

Fluttershy gave a sharp nod. “Good. Now, what did you think of that book?” she asked, jutting her muzzle toward it.

“Well… it’s just a bunch of foals running around in chaos, and it turns rather violent. It seems like a bunch of colts playing army.” Twilight let her gaze drop to the table and suppressed the “I guess” that wanted to follow.

“That’s not a bad general characterization, but it doesn’t really get to the meaning. These authors don’t just throw some words down on a page for the fun of it. They have something to say. Put yourself in the same situation and ask yourself what you’d do. You’re marooned somewhere with a bunch of classmates and no hope of a quick rescue. Maybe nopony even knows where you are, and if they did, it would take them a while to get there. How do you react?” Without looking, Twilight could still feel that metallic stare.

“We’d need food, water, shelter… I’d start foraging, getting ponies organized.” Which was exactly—

“Which was exactly what happened in the book. See? From the author’s side, the story still has to make sense. You still have to believe that reasonable ponies could act this way. So Gelding’s done his job here.”

That did make sense. Twilight looked up again, and Fluttershy wore a faint smile. “But who does what task and why?” Fluttershy asked.

That situation wouldn’t change the logic, would it? “I think you’d have to figure out who was best for each. It’d work better than throwing random ponies at it.”

Fluttershy nodded again. “And who gets to decide that?”

“You’d… have to find a senior pony or a natural leader.”

Her mane finally sliding over to reveal both eyes, Fluttershy leaned forward and spoke rapidly. “Would everypony agree on who should do that? And how does that pony stay in power? Only as long as they have enough support. What’s good for the group may not be good for every individual. What if she tells you to go cut firewood because you’re the best at it, but you really hate doing it? Or what if she lets you build huts because it’s all you want to do, but you’re horrible at it? See, they’re setting up a society. The majority lets the leader decide because she has their confidence. But what if enough decide they can do better, and they choose to leave? Now they’re in competition for the same resources.”

“Oh… yeah.” When somepony else said it, then it made sense. “But they came from a military academy, right? Wouldn’t they be used to living in a structured system like that?”

“Sure, but the initial crash causes a huge disruption,” Fluttershy said. She reached out and tapped Twilight’s book. “It takes them a while to find their way back to that. Or maybe they wanted to give chaos a try at first and didn’t find it to their liking. Either way, that’s where they end up.”

Right. But… a spark lit in Twilight’s head, a piece clicked into place. She… she understood. “But everything still goes wrong.”

Fluttershy spoke, still in rapid-fire mode—“Yes, because the children don’t have the maturity to make it work or to provide effective leadership. Then in the end, when they all get rescued, all they can do is cry and be grateful that they have that structure back, from ponies who know how to impose it. So—”

Twilight held up a hoof, and Fluttershy shrunk back into her seat, deflated. “Oh… I’m sorry…”

“No, just—” Twilight said. “Let me try. It… it means that we prefer order, but some ponies will take advantage of that to gain power. The two will always be in conflict.”

“Good!” Fluttershy gushed. She lurched forward and grabbed Twilight in a hug, and in the split second it took Twilight’s body to go rigid, Fluttershy had already flopped into her chair again and taken refuge behind her mane. “I mean… sorry…”

Fluttershy wouldn’t get away that easily. Twilight took one of Fluttershy’s forehooves in both of hers and donned a broad grin. “Thank you.”

At least Fluttershy sat up straighter. “See, you can get it. Well, I can’t guarantee that’s what the author meant. Only he can. Ponies claim conflicting interpretations of literary works all the time. What matters is that you found a valid point it could be making and supported it with evidence from the story. That’s all there is to it, really.” She returned Twilight’s smile, too. “So, what’s next on your reading list?”

Once could have been a fluke. That phrase about a stopped clock came to mind.

But Twilight had gotten a B on last week’s essay in literature class. And one on the math quiz, too. Then another B on this week’s literature test. She’d never seen a B before, except on other students’ papers.

An A though, on yesterday’s test. In math! She stared at it as if it might disappear the instant she looked away. After only a few weeks studying with Derpy and Fluttershy, she’d come so far. Her teachers had noticed, too. At first, they’d asked her if she’d cheated. She couldn’t blame them. But when she explained and mentioned her tutors’ names, they’d stopped asking. They’d even said they’d weight her recent performance more when calculating her final grades in both classes.

They’d said they were proud of her.

No teacher had said that since the days it only took coloring in a nice picture. Better yet, she was proud of herself. But it came at a price.

“Twilight, dear, I’m beginning to wonder if you’ll ever make another spa day!” Rarity said as she set her tray on the table and twisted the cap off her bottle of juice. She added a wink, though. The rest had nagged her about it, but she could never quite figure Rarity out. “Always with these mysterious ‘appointments.’”

“I know,” Twilight answered, “but it’s important. I—”

“Big Mac told me he saw you hangin’ out with Derpy last week,” Applejack said. She didn’t look up from her sandwich.

Oh. Twilight let out a sigh. Keeping it from them probably wouldn’t have ever worked, but it had lasted long enough to get her hopes up. Time to spill the beans, then. “Yeah, she’s been… helping me in math. I’m going to pass now.”

“That worth missin’ spa day?”

“Yes—I mean…” Twilight rubbed a hoof between her eyes. “I have to graduate, don’t I?”

Finally, Applejack looked up. “That still in doubt?”

“N-no, I should be fine from now on. But—”

Applejack grinned and clapped a hoof against Twilight’s shoulder. “Good! So you’re comin’ to practice this week then, huh?”

Twilight folded her ears back and stared at her tray.

“Lemme guess,” Dash said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s no coincidence that you’ve missed all of those, too.

“F-Fluttershy agreed to tutor me in literature, but that’s the only day she can.”

“You’d really leave us for them?” Pinkie burst out. “That’s crazy!” She rustled her hooves through her mane until it stuck out in all directions, and she wore a maniacal smile.

Twilight glanced over at Rarity, who only sat there, quietly eating her lunch. “No, I’m not choosing—I just need to watch my grades. What’s wrong with that?”

Waving a hoof, Dash clicked her tongue. “But they’re good enough now. I get it. You didn’t want to risk being held back a year. But you got it now. Smooth sailing. Nothin’ but net. So what’s the problem?”

Twilight clenched her teeth. She hadn’t expected it to go quite this rough. “I-I have to think past high school. It’s not enough to just pass.” Rainbow already had her mouth open for some retort. “No. Look—when you’re running track, do you only go fast enough to win? Or do you run as hard as you can every time? You want to set that record. You want to push yourself. Why?”

“Duh. ’Cause that’ll get me a scholarship so I can turn pro later.” Dash raised an eyebrow as if Twilight had said the stupidest thing possible. “So what if you get a B instead of a C? What’ll that change? You’re still gonna go work for Rarity’s dad. Don’t forget who your friends are.”

Pinkie wore a vacant stare. “Wow. We got rejected for Derpy and Fluttershy. The two biggest geeks in the school.”

“No, I didn’t reject you!” Twilight swallowed hard. “I love you all to death, but I need this! For once in my life, I have to do something on my own that wasn’t just given to me. I want better than ‘good enough.’ Can’t you understand that?”

“Of course we can,” Rarity immediately chimed in.

Applejack scrunched her nose up, but at least she agreed. “Yeah, sugarcube. I can get that. It’s just… we miss you.” Pinkie and Dash eventually nodded along with her.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re all still my friends, and I still love hanging out with you. But for right now, I have to do this.” With another gulp scraping down her dry throat, she looked over at Derpy, eating by herself again. “And please leave them alone. They’re really nice when you get to know them.”

Nopony answered. Well enough, since Twilight didn’t feel like talking anymore. Pinkie eventually piped up about cheerleading practice—the one thing Twilight hadn’t missed—and a perfectly normal conversation continued for the rest of lunch. But Rarity had stood up for her right away. The rest needed a bit of prodding, but they did eventually do the right thing. Rarity, though… Rarity had been in her corner all along. She could have taken offense, since Twilight had come dangerously close to spurning her father’s standing offer for a job. Instead, she always wore that soft smile.

Maybe Twilight wouldn’t have to choose.

Twilight stepped into the classroom and quietly closed the door behind her, giving one glance back to see if anypony noticed. And she sighed at herself for doing so.

She turned to face Fluttershy and Derpy, both standing up by the blackboard. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I know you’d rather get your weekend started than stay after school on a Friday, but it’s the only time you were both available, and it won’t take long anyway.”

While they exchanged a raised eyebrow, Twilight opened her saddlebag and levitated out two small boxes. “Please. You did so much for me, and I want to do something in return.”

Derpy smiled, but Fluttershy, as usual, hid behind her mane. She did sit down at one of the desks, though, and tore off the wrapping paper. Then she pulled out a silver charm in the shape of a spiderweb. Her face instantly brightened, and she clipped it onto her saddlebag’s buckle strap. “I love it! Thank you!”

With a little grin of her own, Derpy opened hers next: a similar charm, but shaped like a muffin. Her grin widened, but she didn’t say anything, only staring at the floor.

After a moment, Twilight hadn’t said any more. Not for lack of trying, but… why did this have to be so hard? Fluttershy stood up. “W-was that all?” she said.

“No,” Twilight answered, closing her eyes. “Are you two planning on going to the prom?”

When she didn’t get a reply, Twilight opened her eyes again.

“I can’t,” Derpy said with a shrug. “I’m only a sophomore. And why would I want to hang out with those ponies?”

Fluttershy shook her head. “No. Who’d ask me? And I don’t want to go alone.”

“Well, I wanted to say this to both of you so you could speak up if you thought going as a group might help. Not as dates, just as friends. You might find safety in numbers, and you might have a good time. I’d like it if you’d accompany me.”

They stood there open-mouthed, Derpy’s wings twitching as if she could dash out the open window, and Fluttershy eyeing the convenient hiding place under the desk. But neither would speak. “Um…” Twilight said.

“Don’t you already have a date?” Fluttershy finally asked. “I imagine you’d have your pick. Or second pick… I guess… after Rarity.” She cocked her head and let her forelock cover one eye.

“No, it just never seemed that important. I don’t know why. You’d expect so, huh? I haven’t felt right for a while, and even thinking about that only seemed to make it worse.” Twilight pursed her lips and looked out at the sun hanging low in the sky. “So I never bothered.”

Twilight waited, but neither said anything more. “So… will you go?” Derpy looked up quickly. “And sophomores can go, if they’re invited by a junior or senior.”

“I will,” Fluttershy answered, faster than Twilight had expected, “but what will your friends think?”

“You’re my friends, too,” Twilight said. “And I don’t think they’ll have a problem with it. Especially if they really are my friends.”

Derpy bit her lip and nodded. Why wouldn’t she say anything? Either way, Twilight trotted up and gave them both a hug. “Thank you.” And then she finally noticed—the shawl Fluttershy had on seemed to be a featureless black cloth from far away, but up close, complex stitching and different fabric textures in swirls and waves played over its surface. It held her, transfixed, as her eyes traced over each little nuance.

“Um…” Fluttershy said.

“Oh! Sorry.” Twilight released her from the hug-run-amok that had tightened into a bit of a death grip. “Your shawl is beautiful. Where’d you get it?”

Fluttershy curled her neck around against it and watched her hooves. “I made it.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” Fluttershy said, nodding.

“How’d you come up with that? It’s really elaborate.” Twilight risked stepping closer again so she could have another look.

But Fluttershy didn’t back away. “Oh, I didn’t. I used a pattern from a book. I’m good at sewing, but not at designing.”

“That gives me an idea…”

Fluttershy’s eyes instantly widened, and she whipped her gaze back toward Twilight. “Oh, n-no! I-I said I couldn’t come up with patterns—”

“That’s okay. I know just who to ask,” Twilight replied with a huge grin.

Twilight peered through the open doorway to the gymnasium. The dance had started a good half hour ago, and only a trickle of ponies still stood in line to get in. And as each new couple entered, a spotlight tracked them along the faux garden path, lined with plastic flowers and flimsy trellises. Everypony’s moment in the sun, their chance to catch all eyes.

Before long, the line had emptied. Nopony else waiting. Twilight nodded at Fluttershy and Derpy, then walked in. Fluttershy never would have followed if she’d known what Twilight had planned, but it couldn’t be helped. Twilight would make it up to her later.

Nopony even asked her for her ticket. Everypony knew Twilight Sparkle. Everypony. And as soon as that spotlight found them, Twilight’s exquisite amethyst gown sparkled in the fierce light, sending purple speckles dancing on the walls. The hum of conversation died away, like crickets going silent as clouds gathered on the horizon.

Fluttershy had gone stock still, frozen in the midst of fleeing the light, but the onyx accents of her sable dress caught the radiance, soaked it up. Patches of yellow coat shone through the lacy fabric, stars in a velvet sky.

And on Twilight’s other side, Derpy stood in her powder blue top and flowing skirt. Polished yellow topazes traced out lines like feathers over a sheer gossamer overlay, and every tiny movement rippled them as if she were streaking through the air.

Their moment. Twilight only watched as the hush swelled, deepened, and a few gasps sounded. She started down the path, her companions sticking by her side. Derpy stumbled once, and Fluttershy trembled against Twilight, but still they followed.

Near the path’s end, Twilight’s friends looked on with faint smiles, but the nearer she got, the more they grew. Applejack even broke into a toothy grin. Rainbow Dash patted Pinkie Pie on the back, and Pinkie clutched her hooves to her chest, practically vibrating.

And the last one on the left, Rarity. She nodded. Even in the shadows, her eyes sparkled more than the brilliant spotlight. She mouthed something—too dark to catch it all, but one word, unmistakable: proud.

One last step down the path, and the light would extinguish. She and Fluttershy and Derpy would blend back in, meld with the crowd again. One last step. Twilight’s hoof lingered above the floor, unwilling to bring their moment to a close.

Twilight gazed up into the spotlight, like a sun, and the impossible brightness flooded her eyes, her face, her mind, took everything over. Nothing left, only the light, and Twilight standing alone in its soft touch. Cottony, billowing, sweet.

It faded. She could remember it as if it had taken hours, but too soon, it had gone, leaving her only in blackness. Nothing left, not even the light. Nothing left. Nothing.

Her spent body sank to the floor and succumbed to the warm touch of sleep.

Author's Note

Another test down, and one probably geared toward Twilight's wheelhouse. She's not the type to take the easy way out.

Coming March 12, Chapter 4: No Accounting for Taste

Chapter 4: No Accounting for Taste

Twilight snapped her head up—she must have nodded off. Not good to get caught doing that.

She looked up from her coffee and donut, her eyes briefly lingering on the clock before flicking to the window. Well, little bit of window. From her cubicle, she could only see one corner of one window, and the view only afforded her a patch of gray mountainside. At least it let in some of the sunlight. It was nice to have the occasional reminder that a world existed out there, with ponies enjoying the grass and parks and sun and each other.

Or… an image of a dilapidated town square, soldiers on patrol. Then failing at math in high school. Odd. Not just nodding off—she must have fallen completely asleep and had quite the dream. Really, her landlord Applejack as a resistance fighter? She chuckled before she caught herself in the quiet room, the dream’s details already fading. A couple of her coworkers did glance at her, but most just stayed with their tasks. No talking, no laughing, just a susurration of pencils against paper.

Only nine thirty? It felt like she’d gotten a day’s work done, maybe two, but only halfway to lunchtime. Back to work, then. Numbers. Lots of them in rows and columns, doing exactly what they were supposed to do. They made good friends: they never lied, never stole, never cheated. Accounts receivable, accounts payable, debits, credits, interest, depreciation, all following their little laws.

She’d even shown enough aptitude at them that her supervisors had started letting her experiment, sometimes even during working hours. She’d made those numbers march and dance until they said a lot of things nopony ever thought they could. Organizing them first one way and then another, finding statistics, trends, relationships, disproving conventional wisdom that everypony knew for certain and discovering new wisdom that nopony would have suspected.

After all, numbers only told what was—the easy part. The hard part: getting them to tell what might be. And the scary part: she could probably organize them to convince anypony of whatever she wanted. Risk, chance, probabilities, not the absolute truth that most expected of numbers, but true in the aggregate, and more so than the hunches and gut feelings that drove most finance.

In the wrong hooves, that information could prove quite lucrative. Good thing Twilight was hopelessly honest. Even thinking about using it for ill-gotten gains sent an angry tremor through her body. But she could do so much good with it!

So the only proper answer: keep it to herself and a few trusted others until she could disseminate it widely. If a lot of ponies understood, then a lot of ponies could catch any misuse. Or so she kept telling herself.

Anyway, enough time wasted on daydreams. She glanced down the aisle at her old college roommate, Moondancer, who’d broken into a sweat. The poor girl must have gotten sick again. She’d never take time off, and with the winter months approaching, she must have come down with a cold or the flu. Twilight would ask her about it at lunch and tell her to go home, and Moondancer would refuse and say she had too much important work to do. If lunch ever got here.

Twilight looked up at the clock. Nine thirty-five.

So back to the grind. And to a particularly messy column of numbers on the more mundane side of things. For weeks now, one of the accounts had been consistently off by ten bits. A small amount, probably not worth worrying over. None of the other checkers had caught it, after all. Somepony must keep copying over a digit wrong.

If it persisted much longer, she’d have to march right down to the boss’s office and tell Ledger DeMane that one of the junior receivables accountants was throwing everything off. Then, if he’d allow her, she’d head downstairs and lecture that whole room on careless errors in basic arithmetic.

Twilight set her jaw and braced a hoof on her desk to rise, but… Moondancer. She’d let her gaze fix on Moondancer, who returned her stare. Her mouth hung open like… like Twilight had walked into the room in the middle of Moondancer insulting her behind her back.

What had her so upset? But just as quickly, Moondancer turned around, gathered up her papers in a neat stack, and bent over them again.

Twilight rested her chin on a hoof. What had…? Oh, yeah. The ten-bit errors. She tapped a pencil tip against her notebook and leaned forward. That made Moondancer just visible through one of the brass loops of her desk lamp. A couple times, Moondancer peeked over, out of the corner of her eye. And each time she did, a few rapid breaths followed.

If she was sick, Twilight wouldn’t do anything to her! It wasn’t like they had a procedure to report anything like that. That was Moondancer’s business, as long as she didn’t get anypony else sick.

At lunch, Twilight would say something to her, broach the subject gently. Another glance at the clock. Nine thirty-nine.

Now, those ten bits.

Twilight took another bite of her sandwich and tore open her bag of pretzels. Moondancer hadn’t said a word in the first seven minutes, and now they only had twenty-three left. At most, anyway, but they usually finished early and went back to their desks. But for all that they’d work quietly, they always had nice conversations over lunch.

“Are you feeling well?” Twilight finally asked.

Moondancer only hunched up her shoulders and shook her head.

“Then why don’t you go home? We don’t have any urgent reports due soon.”

“But if I save up my sick days, then when I retire—”

“In thirty-two years?” Twilight gaped at her. Moondancer never made that argument. In fact, she was the one who’d calculated that a sick day would only cost her about one bit every six months of pension. In other words, she was digging for excuses.

Twilight reached for Moondancer’s hoof. She flinched back at first, but eventually let Twilight take it. “Please. I’m worried about you. You don’t look right.”

“I’m fine,” Moondancer mumbled through a mouthful of soup. “Don’t worry about it.”

What kind of absurd—? “Of course I’m going to worry about it. You’re my best friend! You’ve been acting like you had a fever all morning.”

Moondancer jerked upright in her seat, and she raised her eyebrows. “Really? Is that why you…?”

“Yes! Ugh!” Twilight tossed her hooves in the air and rolled her eyes. “You sure can be blind sometimes!”

With a giggle, Moondancer tapped her glasses. A little joke they’d shared for years. Finally, her friend showed some life, had a little color in her cheeks. “No, no, I feel fine. Really. I haven’t come down with anything. I just have a lot of work piling up.”

Now Twilight raised an eyebrow. “What kind? I didn’t hear about any new accounts.”

“Nothing, really. I just… I must be working slow. I don’t know.”

Well, no use in pressing the point. She clearly didn’t want to talk about it. So Twilight smiled at her, and Moondancer slouched in her seat again, a little easier this time. “So, do you want to catch a movie tomorrow night to kick off the weekend?”

Moondancer immediately shook her head. “No, I’ve been using the weekends to catch up. I’d planned to come in to the office Saturday, bright and early.”

“Oh…” Wow. That far behind? Twilight had never seen her doing anything but faithfully tallying away at her desk. She almost asked, but no, she’d already decided to let it drop.

“What are you working on lately?” Moondancer asked. “That special project still?”

“Yeah, the usual checking, too, but I’ve been calculating my risk tables. I think that could be a very promising avenue of research.” Not to mention fun.

Moondancer giggled again and shoved her glasses back on her nose. “I never understood that class. I might have failed if not for your help.”

Quickly, Twilight dabbed a napkin at her mouth. “But it’s still so new. I mean, we might have the first practical application of it. It’s always hard to wrap your head around new concepts. Besides, you aced all the calculus tests, and you don’t even need that for your job. And don’t get me started on abstract algebra.” Twilight grimaced. “Give me concrete things any day, but hypothetical number systems and all—you got me through that class.”

One last spoonful, and Moondancer had finished her soup. “Yes, a mathematical powerhouse. That’s us,” she said with a grin. Another little joke between them, usually while watching the other students go on dates.

“Listen—you’re going places,” Twilight said. “You have ‘management’ written all over you, and you could do some really special things with this place. Me? I’d rather blend into the sea of cubicles and crunch numbers.”

“I’ll never manage,” she replied, too rapidly. And there her eyes went, staring at the table as if it kept going down into ocean depths.

Hm. “Anyway, I’ve got quite the little puzzle myself. Almost every day, I find an error in the account totals that the girls downstairs calculate. It’s always ten bits off, so probably a wrong digit somewhere. But it happens at least once a week. I might have to go down there and give them a little talk about double-checking their work. I haven’t said anything yet, since I don’t know whether it’s in the numbers coming in the door or going out, so…” Twilight shrugged.

“Oh! I… I think I know who does those accounts. I’ll talk to her for you,” Moondancer said, rushing her way through. “I didn’t realize you supervised her.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.” Twilight resisted the urge to ask who.

Moondancer gave a quick wave of her hoof. “No trouble at all. I’ll track it down, and you shouldn’t have a problem with it anymore.”

She was awfully sure of that. But she did know several of those mares, so having an embarrassing mistake pointed out might go down easier when a friend did it. Fair enough. So Twilight shrugged again. “Okay. And thanks.”

“No problem.”

Twelve twenty-eight anyway. Time to get back to work. But as they stepped away from the table, Twilight gave her a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, Moondancer trembled, just a little.

And like clockwork, the mistakes stopped. Good, reliable Moondancer. That was why she’d make a good manager: she saw a problem and tackled it decisively. How thoroughly had she checked, though? Just with the one mare she suspected, or had she gone through all of them? And why so certain of who had done it?

She’d blazed through her morning checks, and she still had an hour left before the courier brought the next packet of ledgers up. So she had time.

Twilight got up from her desk and headed for the staircase. In no time, she could spot-check two or three of the accountants.

In an hour, she’d found the same ten-bit error in one of the records. In the second hour, she’d found two more, and the third brought the total to four. Upstairs, that envelope would have sat on her desk for hours now. At all the desks around her, the ponies would be wondering where she’d gone. Yet another floor up, the executives waiting for the morning summaries would be checking their clocks.

Twilight missed lunch.

Her other classmates from college—Lyra, Lemon Hearts, Twinkleshine, and Minuette—all with identical errors. But they handled the small accounts, personal deposits from local banks and such. When Twilight had first come in and told everypony she was conducting a minor audit, nothing to worry about, all eyes had turned to Roseluck. So Moondancer must have meant her the other day. And come down here in full view of everypony to discuss it with her. But her ledgers all stood in order.

So, late in the afternoon, she sat down at Lyra’s desk. Shame to have everypony see them, but it couldn’t be avoided. “Lyra,” she said in a low voice, “your total is off by exactly ten bits. Did you copy over a digit wrong?”

Lyra frowned. “I don’t think so. I went through all the numbers three times.”

Twilight quickly waved a hoof. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but we’ve seen this upstairs off and on for weeks now. I only want to find out where in the chain it happens. You might have gotten a bad report from the bank on the individual accounts, and by the time I see the total, it doesn’t add up.”

“Oh… okay.” Lyra scooted back from her desk and let Twilight take over. Not for long—she only needed to check a few of the accounts, and Lyra hadn’t made any mistakes. So that meant…

Oh! “Your math checks out perfectly,” Twilight said, loud enough for everypony in the room to hear. Bad enough they’d all seen Twilight single her out, but at least she could quash any rumors before they started. “Good job!”

So the banks had made the errors. At least that meant they had to cover the discrepancies, too. Twilight would send out a notice to them in the morning. “Thanks, Lyra.”

But Lyra leaned in closer and whispered, “What is this all about? Are we getting a government audit?”

“No, no,” Twilight said with a wave of her hoof. “Nothing like that. Just an odd error I kept seeing, and it looks like it’s with the banks. Nothing to worry about.”

Yes, she’d take a memo in the morning. Or afternoon. She grimaced at the size of the pile that must be sitting on her desk by now.

What had made Twilight think that only the personal accounts could be affected? They processed corporate accounts, securities, foreign exchanges… anything. She’d fixed that particular problem, and she could have easily considered the matter closed. But as much of an expert on risk as she’d become, that would never sit right.

So later—much later—once she’d caught back up on that stack of ledgers, she rose from her seat, grabbed her key ring, and headed out. Three floors down, the vault held all the confidential records. Moondancer watched her leave, so Twilight gave her a small wave. Moondancer didn’t smile.

After a short walk down a few flights of stairs, Twilight twisted her passkey in the lock and got the guard to use his. The massive metal door swung open, and Twilight waded through stack after stack of forms. Once a year, they had to take inventory and destroy the outdated ones, but it had been a while. Still, that smell of old paper.

Twilight took a deep breath. If she could relocate her desk down here… Well, maybe not. Sure, it was quiet, but it’d also keep her isolated from her friends.

To the reports, then. It probably made sense to start from the same dates as the bank errors. Twilight pulled out the binders showing market transactions and levitated her abacus out of her saddlebag. Lots of numbers, too many to keep a running total in her head. At least she’d chosen a day the markets closed early, so it was a shorter list than usual. So it only took thirty-five minutes to discover that the balance was off by…

One thousand bits. Exactly one thousand bits. What? How…?

Enough of this. Twilight clenched her jaw. No need to check out more of these time-consuming business accounts.

She quickly found the cabinet with the original paperwork forwarded from that particular bank where all this had started, then leafed through the pages until she’d found the correct day. To the last page of it, and… sure enough, it had reported an incorrect total. Ten bits off from the amount on the front page summary. Just a matter of contacting the bank and letting them know they had some internal inaccuracies, then, or so she would have thought yesterday.

But… oh, she was awful, wasn’t she? As trustworthy a pony as she was, nopony would ever know. Which account was it? Maybe somepony she knew, and she had to get to the bottom of this anyway. So she paged through until she found one of the line items that didn’t add up and—

No. No, this wasn’t right. No error on the bank’s part. The incoming line showed the correct balance. The line had been altered.

Altered!? But that would require—

Her eyes tore across the sheet until they zeroed in on the one piece that didn’t belong: a number, rewritten, so precisely that she wouldn’t have noticed it as different from the typeface if she hadn’t been looking for it. And even then, it’d taken her three passes to catch it. Who’d approved this form?

The cover page. Twilight turned the whole sheaf back to the beginning, and on the front, “LH.” Lemon Hearts? L-Lyra Heartstrings? She couldn’t think of any others right now, nopony else who might have the same initials. But those two did handle these kinds of accounts.

Both friends, both… Could Lemon have done this? Or-or Lyra. Had Lyra told her a blatant lie? To her face?

Twilight pounded a hoof on the shelf, slammed the cabinet shut, and stormed back up the stairs.

“Lyra,” Twilight whispered, every ounce of concentration devoted to keeping her voice down. She clenched her jaw until her teeth hurt. “Did you falsify bank records?”

Lyra whipped her head around. Her pencil clattered to the floor, and she shoved her chair back from her desk, knocking over a stack of folios. “N-no!” she hissed. “Why would I do that?”

“I’ll only give you one chance to come clean. Then I’m taking it upstairs.”

A tremor shot through Lyra’s body, and she braced herself against the desk. “P-please, Twilight! No! I didn’t do anything!”

More and more heads turned their way. Only the closest could possibly have heard what they said, but no matter. She deserved this. “A series of forged adjustments,” Twilight said, jabbing a hoof toward the vault below, “all initialed ‘LH.’ And not with the little loopy ‘L’ that Lemon Hearts uses. I checked the writing. It’s yours.” She didn’t even bother whispering anymore.

“N-no, I didn’t—Twilight, somepony’s trying to frame me!” Lyra sank into her chair, slumped forward, and buried her face in her hooves, teardrops trickling around them. “Please! You have to believe me!”

“Who? Why?” Lyra didn’t have any answers. Still, a knot formed in Twilight’s throat. Her good friend, for a long time now, and—

Twilight put a hoof on Lyra’s shoulder. “I think you should find a lawyer. I guess you probably thought you had a good reason. Maybe your counsel can convince a jury of that.”

Her mouth gaping open, Lyra looked up. Her face went ashen. “Over ten bits!?”

“How did you know it was ten bits?”

“You told me yesterday!” Lyra said, her gaze flashing around to all the onlookers as if they might corroborate her story. That part, yes.

“Lyra, it’s the corporate accounts, too. Stocks, transfers, exchanges. Thousands of bits. Thousands.” Twilight shook her head. The fire in her gut had burned down. A good friend, but one who’d tried to cheat her. Or cheat the company, but same thing. Its reputation reflected on her as well.

Twilight lowered her voice again. “Look, if you admit what you did and put the money back, maybe… maybe I can…”

“No!” Lyra wailed. “I can’t, I didn’t do it, I don’t have the money to put back, because I didn’t do it!” she blubbered through her sobbing. “It wasn’t me! How hard is it to fake my initials?”

“I compared the writing. It’s the same,” Twilight said. But Lyra did have a point. In fact—she should have checked as far back as possible. She should have…

A light flashed in her eyes. “Lyra, don’t move from this spot.”

Lyra hurriedly shook her head before blowing her nose.

“I’m trusting you.”

Lyra nodded, almost too quickly.

Then Twilight rushed back to the vault. All those records. Too many things to verify. Papers flew right and left—she could get them back in order later. That wasn’t important now. First, the original errors that had caught her eye, from Roseluck, the only one of her own team whose name had ever turned up. All initialed by Lyra. Lemon Hearts, Minuette, Twinkleshine, all on Moondancer’s team. All initialed by Lyra. The corporate accounts, too.

Dates, going back two years—two years? June second, only a few weeks ago. May sixteenth, April twenty-fifth—

April twenty-fifth.

Why did that date stick in Twilight’s mind? A… a Friday. What did she do on Fridays? Go out to dinner, sometimes see a movie… Oh yeah, that new tear-jerker had come out then, and—

And Lyra hadn’t gone with the group. She’d been out of town to attend her cousin’s wedding. She hadn’t worked that day. She couldn’t have done it.

She couldn’t have done it, and Twilight basically called her a criminal in front of all her coworkers. Sweet Celestia, please let her still be at her desk. If she’d panicked and run…

Twilight took a cleansing breath. Much of the evidence still pointed at Lyra. Twilight could help her by figuring this all out. So all ponies from Moondancer’s team, except Roseluck. Why Roseluck? What made her different? Twilight didn’t even know her that well—she’d only moved over to Twilight’s accounts a couple of months ago, from Moondancer—

Twilight’s knees wobbled, and she plopped roughly to her haunches. Her best friend. Her best friend ever since they were fillies. She’d cheated them, she’d threatened Twilight’s reputation, she’d implicated another of their friends. What had she done? What had Twilight done? She’d jumped to conclusions and nearly wrecked Lyra’s life!

Time to end this. But without flying off the handle this time. If she found what she thought she would in Moondancer’s desk, she’d have all the proof she needed.

Behind her, the vault door closed.

Whirling around, Twilight took a defensive crouch, her horn blazing. What good would it do to lock her in here? Worst case, somepony would come by next morning. It wouldn’t erase any of the evidence—

Moondancer stood just inside the door, her eyes swollen and red. She had only a small notepad with her, which she tossed to the floor in front of Twilight. “I think that’s what you wanted,” she said. Then she collapsed to the floor. “I’m sorry!” she squeaked.

The glow of Twilight’s magic softened, and she flipped open the notepad. Doodles, reminders, numbers. Then a few pages in, “LH.” Hundreds of times, over and over again, sloppy at first, but improving to the point that Twilight would never be able to discern it from the authentic one. Pretty much what she’d expected to find, but now she didn’t have to go looking.

But Moondancer… If somepony as trustworthy as Lyra had surprised her, then Moondancer…

“Why?” It was all Twilight could say. Her own tears ran down her cheeks.

“Please,” Moondancer said, gazing up at her from the floor, “just hear me out. All of it. Then I’ll do whatever you say.”

Twilight nodded. The first few words echoed as if coming from the far end of a cave. Twilight shook her head—she had to concentrate.

“…And he said if I didn’t cooperate, he’d…”

Twilight’s head swam. Her best friend. Her best friend, who earned a very comfortable living, stole money? Her mind wandered back to their school days, taking accounting classes, studying together, doing their internships at the bank. Moondancer had stopped talking. She just stared.

“So…?”

With a sigh, Twilight squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay. Start over. Why did you take the money?”

“Because if I didn’t, he said he’d have me fired, blackball me… He said I’d never work in this industry again. But it was only ten bits here and there. Nopony would miss it. So I believed him, and…” She dropped her gaze to the floor.

“Ten bits that belonged to somepony else! It might not seem like much to you!”

Moondancer coughed up another little sob. “But the company would cover it! We can afford it!”

“It drives up everypony’s costs. You know that. And who? Who told you to do this?” Moondancer only gave an incoherent mumble. “Who?”

With a whimper, Moondancer covered her face. “L-Ledger. Ledger DeMane.”

The… the boss? The one who made all this happen, the one who’d let Twilight have the freedom to develop her risk theory? The one she’d admired for years? Her knees gave out, and she thudded to the floor. “Ledger?” she said quietly.

“He convinced me ten bits wouldn’t hurt anypony, that he would fire me if I didn’t, and nopony would believe me over him. But I was stupid enough to sign those forms with my own name. He said he’d protect me, but then—” she shuddered “—he started asking for more: a hundred from this business, a thousand from that security. He… he had the proof. He had the proof that I’d forged transactions, and he said if I ever refused him or told anyone, he’d turn me in. Nopony would believe me. Or even if they did, I’d go down with him. I’m in too deep, Twilight. I-I don’t think anything can help me now.”

Moondancer sat up, rubbed her nose, and sniffled hard. “It’s all over, isn’t it? Nopony will ever hire me again, no matter what. I don’t know what to do.” Her ears couldn’t possibly droop any lower, and she had her face pressed to the ground.

Twilight walked over to her, wrapped a hoof around her, and pulled her into a hug. Moondancer let go, her body shaking and her tears running down Twilight’s withers. “Shh,” Twilight said, stroking Moondancer’s mane. “It’s okay. Shh. I’ll take care of it.”

“But what can you do?” Moondancer replied, choking on the words.

“Let me worry about that.” Twilight ground her teeth. Ledger would pay for this. Her best friend, life in tatters now because he had sticky hooves. Never satisfied, always wanting more. Well, he’d get it. “I only need one thing from you. I assume you’ve put the money in a secret account for him. Where?”

Moondancer took a tremulous breath. “N-number’s in my desk. In the hidden compartment. You know where.”

Twilight nodded and patted Moondancer’s shoulder. “Go home. Get some rest.”

“But—”

“I’ll have this sorted out by morning. Go home.”

Moondancer took a step away and looked back. “Th-thanks, Twilight. I don’t deserve you as a friend.”

In response, Twilight gave a wan smile. “Tell Lyra to go home, too. And tell her…” Twilight let out a heavy sigh. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

She didn’t watch Moondancer leave. A lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. She’d fix this for Moondancer. She’d fix this for Lyra as well. But Lyra would probably never forgive her.

Morning. Twilight sat at her desk as the first few employees drifted in. They did a little double take; she always showed up another twenty minutes later. Always. So she sat there, stock still.

Five minutes passed. Two of the couriers came by, dropping off yesterday’s reports for her to check. She let them pile up; somepony else would have to take care of them.

Ten minutes. Another three dossiers and an intra-office memo added to the stack. Still she sat, staring ahead. Whispers started up around her. Lyra should have gotten to her desk right about then, and Moondancer would show up any second. They needed to be here before anything could happen. It was important.

Fifteen minutes. Moondancer took her seat down the aisle, unpacked the bagel she always brought for breakfast, and glanced curiously at Twilight. No need for her to worry, but she trembled anyway. Poor girl. It would all be over soon enough.

And twenty. Right on schedule, a flurry of conversation sounded in the hall. Half proceeded up another flight of stairs, and half came up the aisle toward her.

“Miss Twilight Sparkle?” a gruff voice said.

She swiveled around in her chair and looked up at its stocky owner. “Yes.”

As he stared, she let her gaze drop to the floor. Something about his eyes, or the way he slightly shook his head. “Do you have it?”

Twilight nodded and pointed at the notepad on her desk. Two of the other ponies in the group flashed badges and flipped through it. She already knew what they’d find. First page, account numbers from an overseas bank. Next, detailed notes about transactions, too numerous to be coincidental. Times Ledger DeMane had taken vacations, bought a beach cottage, replaced his old carriage. Matching withdrawals from the account, conveniently in the same amounts. Finally, page after page of “LH,” over and over again, by the end quite indistinguishable from the real article. It had taken her all night to get that down, but if asked for proof now, she could provide a demonstration. And then a page of Moondancer’s signatures. She’d learned that one way back in college. It hadn’t taken her five minutes to get it right again.

The stallion nodded to his associates. “Twilight Sparkle, you are under arrest for embezzlement, securities fraud, conspiracy to commit securities fraud…”

Only then did Twilight look over at Moondancer. She’d gone pale and shook so hard that she nearly spilled her coffee. “It’s okay,” Twilight mouthed to her.

“…the right to remain silent. If you give up this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

She pursed her lips and nodded to Moondancer, who slumped in her chair and heaved for breath. Then one of the officers approached Twilight with a set of shackles.

“You aren’t going to make these necessary, are you?” the detective said, angling his head toward them.

“No.”

He shook his head, and the officer flipped the chain across his back. “I’ve spoken with the district attorney. If you’re willing to plead guilty and testify like you indicated in your letter, she’s prepared to offer you probation. The judge would give you a suspended sentence,” the detective said.

“I understand.” Twilight rose and walked out with him, every eye on her. Moondancer could have done this, too. Except she was right—she’d never work in this industry again. A job she enjoyed, a field she’d invested her life in, forbidden to her forever. No legal absolution would change that.

Of course, Twilight would never work in the industry again, either. She had another way out, though: her risk theory. Only Moondancer and Ledger DeMane knew about it. And after today, if Ledger tried to say she’d developed it on company time, who would believe him? What did he have to gain from it anyway? Only the company would reap the benefits, though she wouldn’t put it past him to do it out of sheer spite. Still, when she was the one cooperating with the authorities, and nopony would back his accusation…

She’d sell her research, maybe to this company and maybe to another, and continue to develop it. She’d do quite well for herself.

One more piece of the puzzle, though. The officers escorted her down the stairs, in full view of all the accounts specialists. Lyra glared at her. Maybe Moondancer would tell her someday, much later, when it couldn’t possibly change anything. But for now, Lyra needed to see this: the one who’d so loudly accused her, under arrest for the very same crime. Let her hate Twilight; she deserved it, at least in part.

Down more stairs, past venom-filled gazes, and finally out into the street. The police station was only a block away, and up ahead walked Ledger, who apparently did require shackles.

It all went as a blur. She sat in a crowded room, answered a few basic questions for the paperwork, stood in line. When her turn came, she held up a card with her name on it and turned to the side. A camera flashed. “Face forward,” somepony said. She complied. The camera flashed again, and—

Everything stopped. All the buzzing of voices, gone, the whole room bathed in white. Then the white flaked away, peeled off like birch bark, leaving behind only an endless black. All alone, in the dark.

Her body gave way and collapsed to the floor as she fought for breath. Finally, she rolled onto her back, the cool stillness a welcome respite from that bustling, humid press. Were her eyes even open? She couldn’t see anyway, so she drank in the chill air and swallowed against the dryness in her throat.

With a sigh, she surrendered to the oppressive grip of her cramped muscles and overwrought mind, allowing sleep to claim her.

Author's Note

Third test complete. Seems like Twilight didn't choose either of the obvious options. Extra credit for creativity?

Coming March 19, Chapter 5: Day of Reckoning

Chapter 5: Day of Reckoning

Twilight slowly raised her head off the floor and blinked. And she choked on her next breath.

Soldiers, or—no, the big dance. She smiled briefly before her skin ran cold. Sh-she was going to prison. A tremor shot through her body. Such trust everypony had placed in her, and she’d never get her good name back, no matter what. Unless… unless the judge accepted her plea, and—

No. Any of it or… or none of it. Everything bled together, curled up in the tendrils of fog that billowed through her mind. She gritted her teeth, clutched her hooves to her temples, and shook her head. Little blobs of light danced around in her vision, firefly sparks in the bleak night.

Was… was she dead?

Nothing to see, nothing to hear. A solid enough floor under her, but only those afterimages of something floated in the darkness. Then behind her, a soft scuffing noise, and a dim glow fell across her body.

It chased away the yellow spots, mostly. So she checked her body over. Legs, tail, wings, horn, all there. Her purple coat, unmarred. She glanced back to the source of the light—a rectangle. A frame, a door, open now. That door…

Her test!

How long? She’d been in this room for months! What would her friends think, her parents? She’d known other unicorns who’d graduated, and they’d never gone missing this long. Did they give her an extra-hard exam just because she was a princess?

Celestia… Princess Celestia. She’d be waiting out there. She’d never warned Twilight, b-but then she’d explained why she couldn’t, and she’d tried to help, tried to comfort Twilight.

Had she made Celestia proud? Already, the images faded from her memory. The sum total there, but the details gone. One thing did sit right there atop her brain, though: she’d betrayed Celestia.

With a gulp, she rose onto wobbling knees and walked toward the door. Beyond it, in the distance, stood Celestia in front of that tall wooden structure, the chancellor and his jowls peering down from the top. They watched her walk. Their faces showed nothing. Except Celestia. Just a hint of a smile, the one Twilight had learned to spot so long ago as a filly. When Celestia would nod at a correct answer, turn back to the chalkboard, but with a little hitch in the motion, a stutter just before losing sight of her student.

Twilight staggered back toward the assembly, and… where should she stand? In the spotlight, or—?

Celestia opened a wing, and Twilight sidled up to her, under it. “Shh,” Celestia said, squeezing Twilight against her. Twilight nodded and steeled herself against her trembling. She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t.

Her robe lay on the floor a few feet away—Twilight picked it up in her magic and draped it over her back, in case it might ward off this chill.

From… somewhere—behind the tower of lecterns, maybe—Celestia levitated a floor cushion over and set it down in front of Twilight before walking her forward onto it.

Oh, thank goodness! Even with the days or weeks or whatever she must have spent lying down, her legs didn’t have much left to give. So she sank heavily into its welcoming embrace. Celestia remained standing next to her, but that wing still spread across Twilight’s back.

“Do you need anything?” Celestia said. “Some water, something to eat?”

Twilight shook her head and took a shaky breath. “How… how long?”

“About an hour. Maybe an hour fifteen.”

An hour!? Twilight braced a hoof to stand, but Celestia’s wing pressed into her back.

“Shh. Rest now.” Like before Twilight had gone in… in there, Celestia kept her gaze carefully trained forward, but she did flick her eyes down for an instant. “It’s okay now. It’s over.”

Only an hour… Twilight fixed her stare at the slightly discolored flagstone in front of her and measured her breathing, forcing it slower. Her heart as well, beating like a rabbit’s at first, but she tucked her chin against her chest and willed it to a less frenzied pace.

“Whenever you are ready to proceed, Miss… Spaaaahkle,” boomed a voice from above. And her heart skipped a beat before firing off a dozen in short order.

“Yes, sir,” she said, bowing her head. She tried to stand, but once again, Celestia pressed her down.

“Well, let us begin at the beginning then, shall we?” The old stallion cleared his throat. When Twilight looked up to nod, he had an impressive array of paperwork spread out in front of him. “So… you found yourself in the middle of a civil war…”

How did they know that? She whipped her head around to Celestia.

“We can observe,” the princess said before Twilight could ask her question. “It’s similar to Princess Luna’s dream magic, but less extensive and powerful. She helped us set it up long ago.”

“But what if… what if I’d done something horrible, or gotten romantically involved with somepony, or—”

Celestia closed her eyes and smiled. “We wouldn’t steer the test scenarios that way. We can control what you know about each one and how much you remember from your real life. Though it doesn’t prevent the unexpected entirely. We have had students who—” Her eyebrows shot up, and she finally turned her head to face Twilight. “In any case, we keep everything confidential.”

And now a smirk sprouted from her lips. “Now, do please tell us why you lied to my face and betrayed me.”

“W-what?”

“The civil war, Miss Spaaaahkle,” the chancellor droned.

“I-I don’t know,” Twilight stammered. “I didn’t have enough information. Both sides were right, and both were wrong. I was forced into a decision before I knew which side should win.”

Celestia nodded. “Yes, quite by design. You won’t always have the luxury of exhaustive information. You have to make do with what’s available. That’s an important lesson we wanted it to impart.”

At least Celestia didn’t sound angry. Her smirk hadn’t left, either. “All I know is that I might well have been complicit in having Applejack tortured or executed. I couldn’t do that to her or those poor ponies who lived with her. Those foals had done nothing wrong.”

“And they would have been very well treated if they had accepted my rule or moved on to one of the countless places where they would not have been in conflict,” Celestia remarked.

“But they’d been marginalized, imprisoned…”

“Because Applejack told you so?”

Just what Twilight had been afraid of. She could never justify her actions. She should have trusted Celestia. She should have trusted her, no matter what. “I-I don’t know. I believed in you, but… I’d spent so much time with her, gotten to know her. She wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Does that make her right? You left before I had finished explaining everything to you.”

Celestia had sponsored her! What did she have to gain by making her sound bad? “I know. I might have made a different choice. But she believed it, and I saw enough evidence of that. I don’t think either side was right. But hers was the one suffering. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“And then when I did speak to you afterward, you learned that things weren’t quite so simple,” Celestia said, sounding every bit like a scolding mother.

Twilight’s wings sagged by her sides. “That’s why I accepted my punishment. I couldn’t say that I was right, either. I’d done the best I could with what I knew at the time.”

“I see.” For several long minutes, Celestia remained silent. When she finally spoke again, some warmth had returned to her voice. “Remember, there are no right answers. What matters is why you chose the path you did.”

True. And if Twilight had turned in Applejack, she might never be able to look the real one in the eye again. They must have drawn her precisely from Twilight’s memory, down to every freckle, every endearing quality. “She deserved better. And I was willing to take on my fair share of adversity so she didn’t have to endure any more.”

“An egalitarian response.” The silence resumed and stretched on, the committee peering down on her. But once more, Celestia broke into the quiet. “And the result that most students choose. We will not press you on your answer anymore, as this is the first one. A warm-up, we’ll call it. But there are a few things I want you to understand.”

Celestia stood and positioned herself in front of Twilight, waiting until their gazes had locked. “The Elements are not absolute. Showing loyalty to one friend can mean betraying another. Kindness may require refusing to show generosity. Sometimes nopony wins. You have to strive for the balance that will result in the maximum good, not what will make everypony happy.”

So… Celestia wasn’t angry?

“And one more thing: I don’t need automatons. I need powerful unicorns who can think for themselves, whom I can trust to act by their consciences, who will tell me—” she leaned in closer, nose to nose with Twilight “—when they think I’m wrong.”

“I… I understand.” Celestia was right. She’d told Twilight that she needed nothing more than her character. She’d held true to that through the whole test.

“To the second scenario then,” said the chancellor as Celestia walked back by Twilight’s side. “You rather managed to alienate your friends, did you not, Miss Spaaaahkle?”

Twilight had this. She saw it now. She’d only done what she thought right in any of those dreams, and that was all Celestia had asked of her. She could do this!

“Some of them, yes, but for reasons that wouldn’t have made them real friends.”

“Be careful,” the chancellor replied. “You started out as friends with them, so something drew you to them.”

Twilight stood. Her knees no longer shook. “We were friends, and I still wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. But they should want what’s best for me, too. Falling far short of my potential isn’t worth the approval of friends who struggled with it as soon as our values started to clash. Thankfully, they were relatively minor disagreements, but it could have gone much worse, and it wouldn’t have changed my mind.”

“Except one friend remained steadfast,” the chancellor reminded her.

“Yes, Rarity. To be honest, I don’t know if I could have done it without her support. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I had that.”

Celestia pursed her lips. “You could have asked her.”

A slight misstep—Twilight hung her head. “Maybe I should have trusted her more. But if I’d read her wrong, it would have made things twice as hard for me. And for Derpy and Fluttershy, too, I think.”

“Ah, yes,” the chancellor said. “Those two. Tell me about them.”

“Once I got to know them, they were wonderful friends. Better than most of my other ones. Derpy and Fluttershy gave up their time to help me when nopony else would. I think they respected what I was doing, once I apologized to them.”

“Why did you apologize?” he said.

“Because they wouldn’t help me otherwise—” a thin frown began to form on the chancellor’s face “—but I didn’t appreciate how my friends treated them. W-was I supposed to?”

Celestia let out a low chuckle. “We cannot change who you are, Twilight. That was always up to you. But consider that kindness from you could result in quite the opposite from others. You might have called unwanted attention onto them.”

Twilight could only shrug. “I let them choose that. Even so, we only had a few months until graduation. Then they could get away. I hope showing them that somepony cared was worth that. And again, Rarity helped.”

“Yes, she actually would have backed you no matter what you did, by design,” Celestia said.

“But I think Rarity had more respect for me this way—earning my future instead of expecting her to give me one.” They’d gotten her rather right. Maybe that was why Twilight had warmed up to her so quickly.

With a nod, Celestia answered, “There’s something to be said for graciously taking what life gives you. And for wanting to make your own way. Students split about half and half on this one.”

Not surprising. But… “How would that many students know Rarity well enough to…?”

“We choose characters from the student’s own memory. Different players, but a similar situation,” Celestia said. Then her eyes glimmered.

“To the third test, then—” she abruptly turned to the chancellor “—with your permission, of course.” He gave a solemn nod in reply.

And so she faced Twilight again, her eyes blazing and her mane swirling in the windless room. “I must say, you chose quite an unorthodox path on this one. Only two other students before you have come up with that solution.”

Celestia took a step closer. “And this is the only result that I find… troubling.”

Troubling? The tremor in Twilight’s knees started anew. What had she done wrong?

“Twilight, Moondancer committed a crime, and you assisted her in getting away with it.”

Twilight’s mouth hung open while she fought for something to say. How could Celestia—? “W-what? But she couldn’t help it!”

“Yes, she could. She made her choice.”

Wasn’t Celestia supposed to be advocating for Twilight? She swallowed. Hard. Was she really about to argue with Celestia? “Yes, between a rock and a hard place. It wasn’t fair to put her in that position. What could she do about it?”

Celestia rubbed a hoof between her eyes. “She could be honest about it.”

“And risk going to prison anyway. That’s completely unfair,” Twilight said, squinting at her.

“So you decided that you knew better than a judicial system designed to take such things into account? You assumed nopony else could see what was happening and make an appropriate ruling?” Celestia replied as she waved a hoof around in the air.

Twilight looked down at the floor. “I didn’t know if I could trust them enough to get it right,” she said quietly.

“The original test didn’t include that little element of risk theory. I added that a few hundred years ago. Can you guess why?”

A spark shot through Twilight’s mind, and her body slumped. A clever trap, and she’d fallen right into it. She gave a weak nod. “Yes. The two obvious choices are to turn Moondancer in myself or convince her to turn herself in. Or to look the other way, I guess. My project would be irrelevant to those outcomes. But it gave me another way out.”

“One that only two students have ever taken before you,” Celestia said.

“Even if I trusted the courts,” Twilight said, her ears folded back, “nothing would ever repair Moondancer’s reputation. If they found her completely innocent, she’d still never find another job in finance. I fixed that the only way I could.”

“By letting her off? And by putting yourself in a position to be convicted for something you didn’t do, not to mention going unpunished for something you did do.”

Twilight’s gaze snapped up to Celestia’s eyes. “What… I did?”

Celestia nodded. “You presumably intended to perjure yourself, in addition to stealing your research from the company.”

“Oh…” She certainly hadn’t thought about that as theft. “I… I was afraid if I didn’t claim it somehow, Ledger would find a way. And I would have sold it to the same company. Just enough to live on, basically what they would have paid me anyway, so… it’s the same, right?” Even she didn’t believe that.

Celestia didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I just… I had to make a snap decision. I thought I’d made the best of a bad situation.” What happens to a princess who never graduates? Or who doesn’t have permission to cast advanced spells?

“On the other hoof…”

Twilight drew a sharp breath.

“The two prior students I’d mentioned sold the research out of pure spite to somehow punish the company for Ledger’s actions. And in the end, all three of you did the wrong thing for the right reasons. You wanted to protect your friend from a disproportionate backlash on what was a no-win scenario for her. You took on the shame and suffering so your friend wouldn’t have to.” She broke into a smile. Celestia actually smiled! “I can’t say I approve, but you did have honorable intentions.”

“Does that mean…?” Twilight said, her ears perking back up.

“Nopony is perfect, Twilight, and we do not require perfection. We require abiding by the principles embodied in the Elements of Harmony and the willingness to learn from your mistakes.” Once again, Celestia faced the panel and stretched a wing across Twilight’s back. “I do appreciate that you endured that shame in your friend’s place,” she said softly.

“And you took on the potential rift between her and Lyra. If Moondancer eventually tells her what really happened, and I think she would, your sacrifice may well inspire Lyra to forgive her. In the end, friendship wins out. The Princess of Friendship must have found that too enticing to pass up,” Celestia added with a wry chuckle.

Well… that was the point of the test, right? Twilight had stayed true to herself, and if that made her unworthy, then… she’d have to live with it. She guessed.

No, no! She’d fought harder for magic than anything else in her life, and she wouldn’t give up on that now! Like Celestia had said: she wanted unicorns who would tell her when she was wrong. A light tremor shimmied up Twilight’s body. “P-Princess Celestia…”

“I know,” Celestia answered quietly, tightening her wing’s grip.

“But—”

“I know.” Celestia leaned into Twilight’s side, and the tremor abated. She gave Twilight another squeeze and peered up at the chancellor. “I believe we are ready.”

The chancellor nodded vigorously, his jowls quivering, and in any other situation, Twilight might have snickered at him. “Very well,” he said. “Miss… Spaaaahkle, you may wait outside whilst we confer.”

With pursed lips, Twilight walked to the heavy wooden door, silently pushed it open, and slipped through. On the other side, a pink blur nearly tackled her.

“Aaaaaaaaa, Twilight, we’re so so so happy for you!” Pinkie Pie shouted.

“Oh!” Twilight yelped, her heart thudding as her forelegs automatically hugged Pinkie’s neck. “You girls came!” All five, and behind them, her parents, brother, and sister-in-law. That… was rather sweet of them! And maybe premature.

Applejack gave a sharp nod. “Sure did, sugarcube. It’s an important moment for you, and we wouldn’t miss it.”

“So where’s your egghead note?” Rainbow Dash said.

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

“Your… um… diploma.”

Twilight’s face burned. “Oh, that. Well—” she angled her muzzle toward the door “—they’re still discussing that inside.”

“Um… they must be deciding how many…” Fluttershy hid her eyes behind her forelock. “How many pluses to put on the ‘A’.”

Twilight cracked a small smile, and Applejack chuckled. “Land sakes, Fluttershy tellin’ a joke?”

“That’s not it,” Twilight said. They all stared, waiting for something more, but what else to say?

“So what did they have you do, darling?” Rarity asked.

Twilight shook her head. “I’m not allowed to tell. It’s a secret ceremony.” She still had a hoof across Pinkie’s shoulder, and at least that nice, warm coat against her kept her from shaking again. Her family gave warm smiles and nodded at her. They knew. They’d all gone through this themselves.

“You can tell us!” came a voice from down the hall, and Twilight snapped her gaze up—

“Moondancer! Lyra, Lemon Hearts, Twinkleshine, Minuette!” Twilight rushed up to them and hugged Moondancer. “How’d you girls know about this?”

Moondancer circled a hoof in the air. “Word gets around. So how did it go?”

With a shrug, Twilight said, “I don’t know yet. How long does it normally take them to decide?”

“Ten minutes, maybe?” Moondancer replied. She glanced around at the others.

“Twenty for me,” Minuette said. Lemon Hearts and Twinkleshine nodded along.

“Over an hour,” Lyra mumbled through her frown. All eyes widened at her. “What?”

Twilight hugged her, and Lyra’s stiff posture relaxed. “It doesn’t matter. You all passed. Thank you for coming.” She extended a hoof back toward the door, and she walked them over to her other friends. Good thing Lyra wasn’t still mad at her. And Rarity, smiling at her. Rarity understood—she’d stuck by Twilight when nopony else—

No, that was all… Twilight held a hoof to her forehead. “It’s like waking up from a dream. You know how you sometimes have one where somepony makes you angry, then you feel strange around them all day, even though you know they didn’t actually do anything to you—”

“Yeah,” Twinkleshine answered, rolling her eyes toward a bouncing Pinkie Pie, “but don’t say too much.”

“Oh. Yeah.” So after making the obligatory introductions, Twilight sat on the floor, against the wall, and waited. The little bits of conversation among the rest had died off, and the longer the silence carried on, the more they fidgeted and conspicuously tried not to look at Twilight. But she could feel their eyes on her. How long now? Twenty-five minutes? Half an hour?

Just when Twilight thought the buzzing in her nerves might cause her whole body to vibrate, the door opened again, and the panelists all emerged, in single file, without affording her so much as a glance. Off in their own little worlds, laughing and chatting. And finally bringing up the rear, Princess Celestia. She stood over Twilight and smiled down at her for a moment.

“Um… well?” Twilight asked.

“I told you, my most faithful student, you had nothing to worry about. Of course you passed.”

“Woo hoo!” Pinkie shouted, and the rest all erupted into cheers. Then a sound like a whistling rocket, and a clump of confetti exploded above them.

“Heh,” Spike said, trundling down the hall with Pinkie’s party cannon. “Sorry, Pinkie. I think I found the trigger.”

Twilight rushed over to him and swept him up in a hug. “Oh, the girls brought you, too?”

He responded with a sharp nod. “Yeah! I wouldn’t let them come up here without me!”

By the time she’d carried him back to her friends, Celestia had already turned to leave. “I’ll catch up with you a little later,” she said. “Please. This is a time for friends. And congratulations. Besides—it felt like months to us, too. I could use some rest.” Only now did Twilight notice the dark circles under Celestia’s eyes and the way her wings drooped.

Twilight stared after her until she’d disappeared around the corner into the next hallway. Strange. But Twilight had to stay until morning anyway, so she’d still have time to meet up with her again. Seemed like she had something more to say, but Twilight guessed she’d have to wait.

“Hey,” Twilight said after flicking her gaze to the hoofsteps echoing from the adjoining corridor, “why don’t we all go out to lunch? My treat.”

“That’s… generous of ya,” Applejack replied. “But there are… one-two-three-four-five… fifteen of us. Sixteen, includin’ you. That’s a mite steep.”

“Please. I don’t get the opportunity very often. It would mean a lot to me to take my friends out.” Twilight gave them a little lopsided smile, and with a collective shrug, they all stood.

Her family started toward the back way out, though, in the direction of her parents’ home. “We’ll see you tonight, dear,” her mother said. “Share this time with your friends.” Of course Mom would say something like that, and good luck arguing with her.

But Spike tugged on her mane. “Can I leave that here?” he said, pointing at the cannon.

Twilight chuckled. “We can drop it off in my old room on the way. C’mon, girls.”

They’d talked and gabbed for hours. It would have made Twilight feel bad, but the restaurant wasn’t full, so at least they hadn’t been clogging up the table all that time. And as the afternoon had drifted toward evening, her Ponyville friends had offered their thanks and gone off to catch the last train. Tilted back their glasses for the dregs of drink and conversation, then walked away.

Except for Minuette and Lyra. They’d stay overnight at their parents’ places. As long as they’d come to Canterlot anyway, might as well squeeze in a family visit.

And not five minutes later, Lyra leaned over the table and cast a wary glance at the retreating waiter. “So, who sided with the earth pony rebellion?” she said in a low voice. Twilight nearly dropped her glass. Everypony but Twinkleshine raised a hoof, and Twilight slowly added hers.

“Yes!” Minuette hissed. “I knew you’d be one of us!”

Twilight’s eyes shot wide open. “Wait, can we—?”

“Sure,” Lemon Hearts said. “Not a secret with any of us now. Except for Twinkie there.” She let out a snort.

“Look, I told you,” Twinkleshine said, her teeth bared. “It was different in mine. They put my ex-coltfriend as the leader, and he kept hounding me to give Celestia’s soldiers a good beating. How could I not turn him in?”

“Well… up until Celestia finishes her story, and you feel like you might have just made a huge mistake for letting them go,” Lyra said with a shake of her head.

Wait, they all had the same test? Over their laughter, Twilight said, “I guess I figured the test was unique. I mean, it took friends of mine with very specific personality types to fill the roles well.”

“Everypony knows somepony similar enough,” Moondancer replied. “Besides, if they had to invent new scenarios for every graduate, they’d drive themselves crazy.”

True. Then that meant… “So, who decided to push themselves to graduate high school?” Twilight ventured. They all stared back as if Discord himself were standing on her horn. And knowing him, she rolled her eyes up to check.

“C’mon,” Minuette said. “This crowd? They can dumb us down, but they can’t change who we are. Like, of course we’d all choose to study.”

Also true. Not much to say there. Except… “I think there was a good lesson in there, though,” Twilight said. “We take it for granted that learning comes naturally to us. But that’s not true for everypony, and I think it was important for us to see things from their side, to know how much of a struggle it can be.” The other girls only smiled and nodded. Of course, they’d all figured that out long ago.

So, the third test…

Everypony looked down at the tabletop. Yeah, that one had proven surprisingly difficult. Difficult to go through, to justify… to admit.

“I turned in Lemon Hearts,” Minuette said softly. “I found her signature on the forms, but the committee told me afterward that she’d been set up, so I totally missed that one. Not a bad outcome, still, but… damn, I couldn’t look her in the eye for a week afterward.” She picked a hoof at her napkin.

Yeah, like… like a dream that felt too real to ignore upon waking.

“I figured out you’d forged the documents,” Lyra said, turning a weak smile on Twinkleshine. “I made you go to the police, but you were crying so hard about it, you could barely talk to them. Ugh, why couldn’t it have been someone I hated?” She flung a hoof toward the anonymous diners at the other tables, as if they’d all sell their own mothers for some quick cash.

Lemon Hearts pursed her lips and gathered her forehooves to her chest. “I caught Lyra, but I didn’t tell her. Not knowing any better, I went straight to Ledger, who of course pinned it on her. He took the plea deal, and Lyra got the heat for it.” She looked up at Lyra and mouthed a “sorry.”

A low growl sounded from Twinkleshine. “I waited too long to act. Let it go for three days, and by then, the police came knocking on their own. Got that one wrong, too.”

It could have been an hour before Moondancer spoke. No, just time playing tricks. But it did take a while. “You went so quietly,” she finally said. “I told you I knew, Twilight. And you just left. You nodded, gathered up your things, started crying, and left. I didn’t even stay to see where you went—I-I ran down to the vault and…”

She looked up, and tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “That wasn’t long after you’d left for Ponyville. For real, I mean. And I couldn’t…”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight whispered. She patted Moondancer’s hoof. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know, I know. We sorted that out already. I don’t blame you anymore. But for the longest time, it hurt, and the testing committee couldn’t have known, and…” Moondancer wiped the tear streaks from her face. “It’s okay now. It’s better.”

Twilight gave her hoof a squeeze, and Moondancer smiled. She’d press the matter, but she’d known Moondancer long enough to recognize the set of her jaw. It really was better. And even a month ago, Moondancer probably wouldn’t have been willing to say that in front of everypony, so good for her on that count. In any case… Twilight’s turn, then.

“I chewed out Lyra for forging the papers, then realized Moondancer had actually done it. Then I…” Twilight shut her eyes, hard. “I doctored the records to make me look like the guilty one. I made the plea deal to get Ledger. Lyra was furious, I’m sure. Accusing her of fraud at first, then getting dragged out for it myself?”

Lemon Hearts gave a low whistle. “Wow. I wouldn’t have thought of that one. You’re just trading your situation for Moondancer’s, then. How’d you think that would work?”

“I-I planned to sell the research. I could have lived off that, easy.”

Twinkleshine raised her eyebrows. “Research?”

Waving a hoof in the air, Twilight said, “You know. The risk theory work.” Her friends all gave each other blank looks.

A sinking feeling settled into the pit of Twilight’s stomach. Now she had another question for Princess Celestia.

“Right this way,” came the waiter’s voice from somewhere over near the door, and a few seconds later, of course Princess Celestia trailed him to their table.

“Please,” she said, “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

But the other five had already gotten up from their seats. “It’s alright,” Moondancer said. “We’ve all been here before. It’s an important time.”

Twilight smiled, but… “Wait, you all hadn’t discussed your tests before? You didn’t know?”

An even broader smile graced Moondancer. “Not the third one. It’s tough to talk about. But you bring ponies together, Twilight.” She put a hoof on Twilight’s withers. Twilight opened her mouth to respond, but what could she say to that? “How about breakfast tomorrow,” Moondancer said, “in time for you to catch your train? Our treat.”

Twilight nodded, and soon, they’d gone. Silently. They could say their farewells tomorrow. So she sat, and Celestia said nothing, just wearing a smile as she might on the first day of a long vacation.

After the flickering candle at the table’s center had burned down a little more, Celestia said, “She’s right, you know.”

Twilight could only sigh. “Sometimes I think ponies put too much faith in me.”

“A sign of a good princess.”

“What if I’d failed?” Twilight asked.

“We would have removed your memory of the test.”

A reasonable answer. But Celestia had pushed the answer out quickly, saving her breath for…

“You said only two students before me had implicated themselves,” Twilight said. Celestia didn’t flinch at all.

Instead, she trained her gaze on the rising moon outside. “I did.”

“And how many students before me had the risk theory as part of their tests?”

A crescent moon, rather like a smile. Rather like the smile that grew on Celestia’s lips. “Now, Twilight, you managed to get yourself arrested and possibly imprisoned in two of the three scenarios. I shudder to think how you might have done so in the middle one as well, but I wouldn’t put it past you. Your curiosity got you in quite a bit of trouble.”

“How many?”

Celestia shut her eyes and chuckled. “Two.”

She gathered her words in her throat several times, but only after wrestling them into submission did she allow them out at a trickle. “You wouldn’t recognize either name. But they both showed great promise. They both fulfilled great promise, too. Not that I liked their answer, but when they’ve repeatedly chosen to sacrifice themselves for their friends…”

“Unicorns who will tell you when you’re wrong…”

Celestia laughed out loud. “Yes. I still think that option was on very shaky moral ground, but I do find it curious that my best students consistently chose it.”

Interesting. But soon enough, one more thing that had nagged at the back of Twilight’s mind. “Unicorns who will tell you when you’re wrong,” she said again.

After a few seconds, Celestia nodded. Then she poked a hoof at the pair of breadsticks remaining in the basket, levitated one up, and took a bite. “You feel like the exam is too… intense.”

Twilight didn’t answer. That was part of it, but not really, and—

“They are very important moral questions. Have you ever posed a scenario to somepony and had her respond that she couldn’t say how she might handle it unless actually faced with it?” Twilight bowed her head, but Celestia never looked over. “So… we make you actually face them. If we merely asked them as questions or put you in a dramatization you recognized as such, it would be too easy to give us the answer you thought we wanted.”

“But… most of the things I did were snap decisions. I could have easily gone the other way on any of them.”

Celestia shrugged and swirled the stump of breadstick through a cup of marinara sauce. “It doesn’t matter. The moral struggle behind the choice is the important thing. Remember what I said before: far more important than your decision is the reason why. You could justify different outcomes on any of the tests. Character still shines through. And nothing we did to tailor your memories in any of them would change that.”

True. Twilight opened her mouth to reply—

“Yes, the tests are rather taxing,” Celestia continued. She patted a napkin to her lips and turned to face Twilight once more. “Reality can be as well. These are unicorns who we hope will take on leadership roles throughout Equestria. We need them to be prepared.” A tired smile flashed as the napkin dropped to the table. “Yes, various committee members have questioned the—” she circled a hoof in the air “—intensity, as you said, but I believe it helps more than it hurts. It evolved over time into the form it takes now, and it has remained unchanged for the last eight hundred years or so. Except for minor details to keep it modern, of course. Maybe, given time, you’ll find you agree with it. Or maybe you’ll convince me to alter it.”

Celestia had managed to anticipate all of Twilight’s questions. So she waited for the last one. It took less than a minute.

And Celestia’s smile relaxed into one that reminded Twilight of wispy clouds. “You also want to know why we had you take the exam after all you’ve done for Equestria.”

Yes, and… and no. That question had tumbled around in Twilight’s head, but something about it hadn’t quite fallen into place.

“I told you when I first brought it up that it was only a formality. I meant that. For two reasons.” Celestia took a long breath and leaned back in her chair. “The committee members all know about you. They know you’ve proven yourself time and time again. They wouldn’t deny you this. But I already knew you had the strength of character to pass anyway, so it never came into question.”

Well… okay. But still that little suspicion that she couldn’t give form.

Celestia grinned and reached for Twilight’s hoof. “Through the years, I’ve gotten to know you very well. You’ve always felt like it’s important that nopony see you as better than anypony else. Or that anypony feel that you think you’re better. From your days as a student to becoming a public figure, you’ve never wavered from that.” Just a hint of a smirk played at the corners of her mouth. “If you had found out that such a test existed and that we had waived it for you…”

Twilight jerked upright in her seat. The last piece of the puzzle. Celestia was right. Of course she was right. “I would have insisted on taking it.”

Celestia nodded once more. “Lastly, I want to point out how often you try to take others’ burdens on yourself. You can’t solve everything on your own. I hope you will continue to learn how to let your friends return the favor.”

No more words passed between them. No waiter came to check on them. The nearby tables eventually emptied out, and the moon climbed high into the sky. And Twilight had never felt so warm, so comfortable.

“I am very proud of you, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia said. Then she stood, and Twilight hastily wrote out a check, left it tucked under the bill, and followed her out. The lock clicked in the door behind them, and the two started down the sidewalk. The jeweled sky overhead, a nip of night air around them, and firm stone underfoot.

Twilight only had to be herself. Celestia had never asked anything more of her, and she never would. Celestia had never harbored a single doubt. And Twilight would never do anything to violate that trust.

Before heading off to her parents’ house, Twilight walked Celestia back to Canterlot Castle. In silence, side by side.

Author's Note

All done! Of course she passed. You knew she would.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1: Convocation

Princess Celestia had a particular gleam to her eye, but Twilight Sparkle couldn’t quite place it. “Enjoying your tea?” Twilight asked, to which Celestia nodded, but she didn’t sip any yet, instead blowing across its surface.

They’d made time for tea every week, usually in Canterlot to accommodate Celestia’s more stringent schedule, but this instance saw them sitting on a broad balcony of Twilight’s castle overlooking Ponyville. Once more, Twilight glanced at the untouched beverage hovering in front of Celestia’s face when a hint of a grin showed from behind it.

“Alright, out with it,” Twilight said, her own cup clinking back into its saucer.

Celestia raised an eyebrow, but the picture of innocence lasted barely more than three quarters of a second. “Well, I’ve been thinking…”

Twilight sat up straight in her seat, folded her forehooves, and gave Celestia her undivided attention. “Thinking what?”

“The day you ascended to become a princess—” Celestia’s lip wavered, only a smidgen, but Twilight had long since learned to watch for it when her mentor might have reason to become sentimental “—I said that you no longer needed to write your friendship reports to me. That you had become the Princess of Friendship, and we should all turn to you for guidance, myself included.”

One of Twilight’s wings twitched, and she looked down at the table, an uncomfortable warmth in her cheeks, but Celestia reached out to raise her chin. “Although you have made the transition from student to mentor,” Celestia continued, “it seems to me that you never properly graduated.”

Twilight shot to her hooves and leaned over the table, her mouth gaping open. “Y-you’re right,” she said softly. “It… it never occurred to me to…”

Flicking a hoof toward her, Celestia found her playful smirk again. “Well, we’ll just have to remedy that, won’t we? Of course, it’s little more than a formality at this point, but what can such an institution do, if not stand on ceremony?” She wouldn’t look Twilight in the eye, and the laugh threatening to spill out gave pretty clear evidence as to why.

But Celestia’s smile quickly faded, and she took Twilight’s hoof in her own. “Please, sit.”

After a moment, Twilight complied.

“I don’t mean to belittle the experience. As much as I would like to joke with you about it, the ceremony is an important ritual. I’m excited to share it with you, and I think you’ll see the value in it.” With a deep breath, Twilight nodded. “I’m afraid I can’t elaborate, but… you will do fine. There is nothing to worry about.”

Why did that phrase never fail to produce the exact opposite effect?

“How does this Saturday sound, eight o’clock in the morning?” Celestia asked.

Another nod, then Twilight pursed her lips, and they finished their tea in silence. She definitely didn’t worry.

A small procession walked without a sound along a well-weathered stone hallway deep inside the School for Gifted Unicorns in Canterlot. Each member of the solemn parade stepped slowly through the ancient corridors with heads held high and clad in the richest finery befitting her prestigious station. Except one.

Twilight Sparkle occupied the place at the center of the line, and in addition to her official school robe, sported the biggest grin her face could hold. As the cavalcade finally reached its destination far down in the stonework recesses of the school’s lower levels, an attendant asked Twilight to wait at the door while the other members filed in. Once they had taken their places, the attendant motioned for Twilight to enter.

The slate-floored room was immense. She had a sense that the walls extended far back into the shadows; indeed, the echoes within the vast chamber were considerably staggered, meaning not only that the walls stood quite some distance away, but also that the ceiling lofted far above. What little of the surroundings she could see consisted of a rich, dark mahogany paneling matching the towering judicial bench that rose in front of her. Aside from soft yellow desk lights atop the furnishing at each pony’s seat, the only illumination was a concentrated overhead spot that intensely lit the immediate area in which she stood, presumably at the room’s center. Nothing else penetrated the gloom.

At the light’s periphery, the bench ascended at least ten hooves above Twilight’s head, where the pony presiding over the ceremony sat. Each successive seat to either side was slightly lower, so that the whole assembly, nine seats in all, resembled a pointed arch. Twilight recognized most of the ponies above her as long-tenured members of the faculty, regents of the school, or political leaders, and, surprisingly, not all were unicorns. And there sat Princess Celestia on the left, three levels from the top. Surely, she should rate the place of honor!

The presiding pony at the head seat was a portly old unicorn stallion, with a gray coat and silver mane. Twilight had met him—the school’s chancellor—only once before. He cleared his throat several times, adjusted his reading glasses, and began to leaf through a stack of forms sitting on the lectern in front of him. Very methodical—surely with the number of these ceremonies he had conducted in the past, he would know the text from memory, but of course he still felt it necessary to read from the traditional litany, so that nothing out of place could happen, every syllable spoken perfectly. Not that Twilight couldn’t respect proper decorum, but… get on with it already!

The chancellor originally hailed from across the ocean, out of the city of Manechester, if she remembered correctly, and had the characteristic accent. His voice was a full baritone, thick and unctuous, with a somewhat growling quality to it, and he spoke very slowly and deliberately.

He sounded like a whale, if one could talk. Or a walrus. Definitely a whale. With tusks. And a mustache. Hee hee! No, she needed to get control of herself! There he went talking again and had she missed anything and no, no, concentrate!

“…As we are all gathered here… at this commencement… for Twilight—” he paused to shuffle through his stack of parchment and verify the name “—Spaaaahkle, yes.”

Wow, that pony sure knew how to stretch an “r”, hee hee, shut up and listen!

“Who here among the membership stands in sponsorship of Twilight—” his papers shuffled again “—Spaaaahkle?”

“I do,” said Celestia with a barely perceptible smile. She spread her wings, slowly rose above her seat, and flapped down to a gentle landing beside her former apprentice. A warmth like late afternoon sunlight suffused Twilight’s body, and she gazed up at Celestia. Not so tall as she used to seem, but just as grand and no less formidable. Twilight hadn’t expected to have her quite so close by, but she couldn’t think of anypony else she’d rather share it with, except…

Wait… She peered into the blackness but didn’t see any shapes that looked like her friends or family. Celestia had told her to invite them, so she had assumed they would come. They hadn’t started the ceremony early, had they? Or maybe she’d accidentally told them the wrong day or time or place! Or… or because she’d told them it wasn’t a big deal—she just had to pop in and get her diploma, so she had her number-one assistant watching things for her back home, and the rest didn’t need to bother, and…

Twilight forced out a sigh, rocking back and forth slightly on her hooftips. She gave her mentor an appreciative smile, but the lack of an audience must mean she wouldn’t get to deliver a valedictory speech. Even if she had one prepared.

Come to think of it, Celestia had never told her of the form that graduation took, not even that it was apparently an individual affair. Did all the unicorns really get to do this? The scheduling alone would—oh no, she’d let her mind wander again!

“And as is customary, you will recuse yourself from judgment of this prospective graduate,” the stallion droned, licking his hoof to turn the next page and not even glancing up for a response.

Wait a minute, judgment? She thought she’d come here to get her diploma! What judgment?

“Of course,” Celestia confirmed, bowing her head. “As is the rule.”

A chill began in Twilight’s cheeks and spread across her face, down her neck. Her biggest proponent couldn’t even take her side? Twilight squinted again at the empty space around her. Why couldn’t she find even a hint of Applejack’s hat, Rarity’s mane, Shining Armor’s uniform in the shadows?

“Very good. Twilight—” shuffle “—Spaaaaahkle, we convene to administer your final examination…”

Examination!? She’d aced every test she’d ever taken! She’d served Equestria faithfully, become a princess, for goodness’ sake. What more did she need to do to prove herself?

“…your exemplary academic record…”

Darn right it is!

“…have proven yourself worthy of consideration as a baccalaureate of this fine in-sti-tyu-tionnnnnn. In the noblest traditions of this academy, the examination is intended to determine your suitability to represent…”

Why didn’t Celestia tell her about this? She should have studied! She should have prepared! How could one of her dearest friends betray her like that?

“…for the last thousand years has been modeled after the Elements Of Haaaaaaahmony, in honor of the power brought to Equestria by Princesses Celestia and Luna. Of course, we knew of only five Elements until some few years back, but as luck would have it, the sixth being Magic, any student at this school must have already demonstrated a mastery in it to rise to this level, so it hasn’t complicated our procedure, hmm hmm, quite so, quite so.” He scowled at his own deviation from the script, blinked down at Twilight as if surprised to see her there, and quickly shook his head.

“Twilight—” shuffle “—Spaaaaahkle, the purpose of this examination is to assess your proficiency in the five traditional elements: Honesty, Kindness, Laughter, Generosity, and Loyalty. The remaining eight of us—” he glanced down the bench in each direction and gestured toward his fellow board members “—will sit in judgment. Only I will speak, unless I wish to pose a question. Should you decline to submit yourself for examination, or should you fail said examination, you will not be licensed to cast anything higher than a level-five spell outside these walls.”

What!? She could be prevented from using her magic? A level-five spell meant only levitation, simple plant growth… what else, what else? She couldn’t even think straight! No teleportation, no mustaches for Spike, no heavy attack spells… only things covered in the standard public-school curriculum. None of the specialized magic the School for Gifted Unicorns taught, unless she came here to do so under supervision!

What could she do? If she didn’t have her magic, what did that make her? Some figurehead, punchless, a half-pony constantly fighting to suppress herself. Magic made her who she was. Celestia knew that. Why would she keep this secret from her?

A young attendant with a staff aide’s golden cord on the shoulder of his robe circled behind the stand and climbed the stairs to the chancellor’s position. He briefly whispered something in the old stallion’s ear. The chancellor had a muffled exchange with him, nodded, and turned his attention back to the proceedings. While the seconds ticked by and Twilight’s nerves buzzed under her skin worse than ever, he flipped through his sheets of parchment again to find his place.

Once more, Twilight gaped at Celestia. But her mentor would only stare ahead, ignoring her, ignoring her star pupil! A chill swept over her, and she moved one step to the side, away… away from the one pony who’d meant the most to her. For just a second—had she seen Celestia’s eye flick toward her? Maybe, but still as a statue again, and about as concerned for her, too.

“You will be tested on your understanding and application of the Elements,” the chancellor continued. “We will discuss your performance on each segment with you, and then vote on whether you have demonstrated the character to deserve having this school’s reputation behind you. The vote must be unanimous.”

He rose slightly to lean over his lectern, looming over Twilight. “So, Miss—” his eyes flicked down to his papers “—Spaaaaahkle. Do you subject yourself to this examination?”

What else could she do? She didn’t have any choice! If Princess Celestia had only warned her, she could have studied, she could have prepared. She was alone. Standing here, next to the pony who had made the biggest difference in her life, and she was alone. She shifted her weight back and forth. Back and forth.

“Y-yes I do,” she said, the words tangling up in her throat. She nearly coughed. Her legs shook, and her withers knotted.

Why? Hadn’t she been a good student? Hadn’t she done everything Celestia had ever asked and more? Did she not learn enough about friendship?

Had she failed?

“Then by all means, Miss… Spaaaahkle, proceed whenever you are ready.” He extended a foreleg to his left and indicated a door that slid open in the far wall, deep within the shadows. Bright white light poured through the doorway, obscuring any view of what lay beyond. “Make any preparations you deem necessary before entering the examination room.”

Twilight stared into the light. Intense, but… it didn’t hurt her eyes. It pulsed, just a little, but enough to… to draw her in, and… her mouth hung open, and her head bobbed with each slight peak of luminescence.

“Twilight.”

Bright, but soft and… soft. Yeah.

“Twilight.” She jerked her gaze over—Celestia had a wing draped across Twilight’s back, but… the room, the high podium, the darkness! She trembled, even harder than before, and leaned against Celestia to… to keep from falling if her knees buckled. It wouldn’t look good to collapse. She didn’t need Celestia. Not if Celestia didn’t want her.

“Twilight, calm down,” Celestia whispered, her mouth right next to Twilight’s ear.

Twilight looked up, and Celestia finally met her gaze. She’d never seen such a gentle smile on her mentor before. Her heart actually slowed for a moment as Celestia reached a hoof to Twilight’s cheek and brushed a tear streak away.

“I couldn’t tell you about the exam, because this is the way we do it. The school has maintained it as a long-standing tradition, and we’ve sworn all graduates to secrecy,” Celestia said.

Nodding, Twilight gulped. She’d given up too easily, lost faith. Maybe she didn’t deserve to pass. She caught herself rubbing a hoof up and down her mane—it must be sticking out all over the place.

“This is not a test of knowledge,” Celestia continued. She set a hoof under Twilight’s chin and leaned closer. “You couldn’t have studied for it. Now, do you have any questions for me before we begin?”

“Yes!” Twilight blurted out immediately. “Yes, I-I—” She sucked in a breath, her heart thudding in her chest. “Books! I need my books! I-I can teleport to my library, pack a bag of them. It will only take a minute. I’ll come right back, I promise! I swear!”

“Shh,” Celestia said. She pulled Twilight into a hug, but Twilight wriggled away. She had to get her books!

“Twilight!” Twisting around, Celestia moved to stand face to face with Twilight. She put a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder and stared intensely. “Look me in the eye! Twilight, calm down and breathe.” Her wings cupping over them, Celestia warded off the outside world. Just the two of them, alone in a sea of white. Nothing but them. Nothing else.

One last tremulous breath, and Twilight closed her eyes. Down deep, she knew. Who else had stuck with her through so much? Trust in Celestia. Trust. She gave another short nod and opened her eyes.

Slowly, Celestia folded her wings in, revealing that horrible dark room again, but she still spoke in a low voice. “Technically, you can take anything you want in there with you. But believe me when I tell you that it won’t do you any good. Physical burdens will become burdens of another kind. Go in there with only your mind and your morals. You won’t need anything else. I have faith in you. You can do this.”

Faith. How close had Twilight come to losing her own? Celestia might have overestimated her.

“I could lose my magic!” she whimpered, fighting down a whinny as she folded her ears back. “It’s what I am. If I’d known, if I’d gotten a hint to ask a former graduate—”

“I told you, this is a secret ceremony. You couldn’t have known. All who have undergone the exam swore an oath to that effect, so that we can administer the test properly. We need to know what choices you would make, not what somepony else told you was correct. If I give you the answers, then we learn nothing about you.” Celestia nuzzled her, and Twilight pressed her nose into Celestia’s mane, just like she always had as a filly. “I know you to be a pony of good character. Be yourself. Nothing else is required. It really is that simple.”

Trust in Celestia. The test before the test.

Twilight gritted her teeth and nodded. She took a step toward the distant door. No. Not yet. Celestia had said that any physical burden would become another kind of burden. She turned around, removed her robe, and levitated it over to Celestia, who already had a foreleg ready to hold it and wore a gentle smile.

Then Twilight strode toward the door, pausing at the threshold for one last glance at her mentor before going in.

Inside… more darkness. The light came from the jamb itself, and when the door silently slid shut behind her, it left her in total blackness. Nothing.

She clenched her jaw and waited for something to happen. Minute by minute, but nothing. No way to measure time except her own heartbeat, which kept racing erratically anyway. So she waited.

Had it been an hour yet? More? She’d run out of things to occupy her mind, all manner of lists she’d memorized now exhausted. Had they forgotten about her? Maybe they did several all at once and had to attend to the other students first. It couldn’t hurt to lie down. She’d stand again when somepony came in.

Except… she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Even her head and neck seemed to weigh double, and a stifling humidity hung in the air. She rolled onto her side, panting for breath, each blink of her eyes shallower and longer, until they closed for good.

Author's Note

The story is already completely written, so there will be no breaks in publication. A new chapter will be posted once per week from February 20, when chapter 1 passed moderation.

Coming next week, February 27:
Chapter 2: Taking Sides