Seeing the workroom door was already open, Princess Luna slowed her approach from a canter to a trot. She stopped in place in the hallway, peeked into the room, and breathed a nervous sigh of relief.
Kevin had his back turned when Luna stepped into his cramped little office, but he knew that anxious sigh all too well. It sent Ponilovian shivers rattling through his turquoise exoskeleton. He froze in place for a second or two, saying nothing. Then he went right back to packing his things.
Luna waited a few more moments before speaking. "I am glad that I arrived in time. I just received your scroll. I feared it certain that I would miss you," she said.
Kevin turned around, holding a small cardboard box containing most of his work-related trappings: a few books, pens, papers, scrolls, and a couple of posters. His face showed no signs of emotion, but his eyes were lowered to Luna's neckplate. Since only the queens had irises, it was generally impossible to tell where a drone was staring. Nonetheless, Luna somehow knew he wasn't meeting her gaze.
"Oh. You got lucky, I guess. There's not much to clean out," he said. Kevin rested the box on the ground and sat down in a chair. "But you've always had uncanny timing. What can I do for you?"
Luna's brow furrowed slightly. "What can you do for me? This is not about me, Kevin. It is about you," she said. "I sincerely hope that we may continue our friendship, but your resignation letter was unusually terse. At the very least, I would like a chance to say goodbye."
"Okay. Goodbye," he said flatly, then stood back up, with his head tilted down toward Luna's greaves.
Luna's eyes wrinkled with concern. "That is not what I meant, Kevin."
Kevin placed a chitinous hoof over his face and sat back down. "Okay. Well, I... I don't know what else is left to say, okay? I failed, and I'm sorry. That's all that's left."
"What you have endured is far from trivial," said Luna, sitting on the bare floor where she could meet him at eye-level. "You have shown incredible bravery and sacrifice. This is not hollow praise: you should be proud of how far you have come."
Kevin sighed. "Princess, please. Save your pity for the next drone in line, if there ever is one," he replied, slowly raising his head to finally meet her eye-to-eye. "As the first changeling admitted to graduate studies at Celestia's School, my missteps have set a damning precedent."
Luna snorted. "That is preposterous. You have made the path easier, not harder. Ponies will remember you and your work. Due to your sacrifice, they will know that changelings are capable of great things."
"Well, they'll know we're capable of failure," said Kevin, turning his head toward the barren wall.
Luna briefly scraped one of her shoes against the wooden flooring. "Everypony is capable of failure, Kevin. Failure at this level of study is normal. Very few ponies are capable of completing a doctorate in the magical arts. Reaching a master's degree already places you into a select group. Even having a degree at all is an impressive achievement in this field! The fact that you have done so well as the first of your kind is remarkable."
Kevin shrugged. "I suppose. I barely completed the master's degree as it is, though. The qualifying exams weren't hard, but the thesis was like pulling plates off my back," he said. "What should have taken me a year took nearly four. I'm no 'Harry Trotter'."
"That is because you are a real pony, not a fictional character," said Luna. She smiled warmly, and although Kevin wasn't looking, the sentiment in her voice was clear. "It takes great wisdom and courage to realize that leaving may be the correct option. Most students aren't able to make that decision, and must be forced out of the program."
"You might be my mentor, but you don't call all the shots. That's the Board's prerogative, and we both know they weren't about to force me out. I had a moral imperative to act. After all this time, the School was still making exceptions for me," he said, and hissed at the empty wall. "It was never about me, anyway, was it? It was about what I represented. That idea was too important to everypony. The longer I stayed here, the worse it made changelings look."
"It is a noble idea. Nevertheless, you are correct. The faculty looked at you as an icon of progress rather than a student. In this way, the School failed you long before you failed it," said Luna.
Kevin chuckled darkly. "You know what the worst part about it is? I'm pretty sure I never had a chance," he said, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I was accepted into the program on substandard test scores and a weak track record with research. Everypony on the committee knew my deficiencies. I've been waiting seven years for this horseshoe to finally drop."
"And the pressure from knowing that made the process more difficult than it would be for other students, as well as the pressure of seeing yourself as that icon of progress. In situations like these, a student's 'deficiencies' are never entirely internal." Luna reached out and placed a gentle hoof on his shoulder. "Kevin, I need you to know that your efforts have earned my sincere respect. The offer to teach at the School remains open."
The little changeling shook his head and briefly stretched his iridescent wings. "Ah. Maybe another year... I dunno. I'm too ashamed even to think about it right now."
Princess Luna lifted Kevin's chin to look into his beautiful alien eyes. "I suspect that you have more pride than you admit. You could have come here disguised as anypony you like, so as not to attract attention. Yet here you sit before me, your true nature revealed."
Kevin paused for a moment in thought. "I guess that's true. I thought about hiding, but... I needed to be honest with myself when I did this," he said. "Even after everything that's happened, it feels wrong to pretend I'm anypony else."
Luna smiled warmly. "I am very proud of you, Kevin."
"I know you are, Luna," he said, and he shut his eyes tight. "Do you want to know something funny?"
Luna slowly nodded, her magical mantle rippling mesmerically through her mane. But when Kevin opened his eyes, all he noticed was her gentle smile.
He offered his own, weaker smile in response. "Ponies like to joke about starving college students, but in all this time? I've never once been hungry."
The alicorn pulled her former protégé into a warm embrace as he began to cry.
