Tuesday, September 8th, 909 AB (3 days later)
Shortly after breakfast

Even with a foreleg wrapped under Cure holding him tightly to her chest, Amethyst can’t help but let slip a quiet whimper when the carriage shudders as it cuts through the sky. A part of her wishes she had accepted his suggestion to simply take a nap for the flight, but the colt won’t always be around to knock her out when she has to fly, and there will never be a better time to get used to the feeling than right now.

“You have nothing to fear, Mrs. Blossom,” Celestia reassures her from the opposite bench. “While the carriage may experience some turbulence, that is perfectly normal when flying near a mountain such as the Canterhorn. The pegasi pulling us have more than enough experience dealing with such things.”

“Yeah, ma,” Cure assures her, leaning up to rub his snout on her chin. “Besides, even if this thing exploded into a million pieces I’ve gotchya, no problem.”

She leans slightly to her left to give the brat a heated stare.

“Why, at the height we’re at right now I’d probably have at least five seconds to catch you before ya hit the ground. That’s plenty of time ta keep ya from goin kersplat, ya know?”

“Cure,” Celestia gently chides. “I do not believe that is helping.”

The colt gives her a puzzled look before realization hits. “Oh! Right, yeah. Don’t worry about that anyhow, ma,” he assures her. “Chances are you wouldn’t go splat anyhow. If anything you’d probably just bounce a few times. You’d barely feel it at all!”

“Cure!” the elder alicorn more sternly scolds, staring in disbelief.

“Right, right!” he quickly nods, reaching out to pat his mom’s shoulder with a hoof. “None of that matters, ma! There’s no way this thing would fall apart like that anyhow. It’s got all kinda safety systems baked right into it, after all. Not just to enhance durability, but also Slow Fall and, I’m guessing, some kind of emergency Teleport, right boss?”

“It does, but I do not believe your mother is being comforted by the array of mechanisms that would protect her should something occur.” She gives the mare a sympathetic look. “There are no less than twenty pegasi escorting our carriage, Mrs. Blossom. They will ensure our flight, short as it is, is as smooth as possible and, more importantly, perfectly safe. If you would like,” she offers, leaning to her right and raising her left wing in invitation, “there is more than enough room on this seat for you as well.”

“Much obliged, princess,” she dips her chin in thanks, “but I’ll be fine so long as the nuisance shuts his trap.” An aggrieved snort blasts out the colt’s snout and he lays his head down between his forelegs. “Reckon we’ll be landin soon enough anyhow.”

Nodding in agreement, Celestia glances out the window. “Indeed we will. In fact, I believe we are beginning to descend. While the enchantments will mitigate the vast majority of the motion, you may feel a slight lightening as we make our approach. I would suggest forcing yourself to yawn, if you can. Earth ponies and unicorns sometimes experience ear pain with rapidly changing altitude due to…” she trails off when taking in the smug look on Cure and indifference the mare displays. “I presume you have ‘upgraded’ your parents so they do not suffer such inconveniences?”

The impudent foal scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Of course I did.” His wings wiggle free, wrapping Amethyst in an upside-down hug. “I wouldn’t let my poor ‘ol ma suffer like some common pleb, after all.” Twisting his head to the side, he nuzzles a cheek into her chin and adds, “After all, my folks only deserve the best, ain’t that right, momma?”

“Yer dern right, colt,” she agrees, giving him a firm squeeze. “Ya got us right spoiled, and ya ain’t gonna hear a word ‘a complaint from me ‘bout it.”

The princess hums in understanding. She turns to face straight ahead and looks out towards the ground. “If you might similarly be unbothered, the view from the port windows will allow you to see some of the preparations.”

The foreleg wrapped across his chest tightens further and a small whine escapes his mom. “Really?” he asks in a deadpan, twisting to the right so he can look her in her eye. She pouts woefully at him, but releases the foal and flops to her left, pressing her back and head against the rear set cushion, eyes pinched shut. “Closing your eyes doesn’t help, mom. You’re better off enjoying the view; at least that’s a distraction. All you’re doing is making it easier to focus on the feeling of the movement.”

“Shattap.”

Cure sighs and shakes his head. He scoots over to the window to look out. The carriage has turned to the east, circling the town of Forest Heights from the south. The first thing he notices are the floating cloud rings positioned over the city and disappearing off to the north of the mountain. Teams of pegasi are flitting between them, pausing to look through some kind of apparatus and looking over a fold-out map to ensure their proper placement.

His eyes drift down to take in the city proper. Being the less well-off of the two capital suburbs, most of the homes are much like his own. The more affluent ones are sandwiched between neighborhoods to the south that are closer to the border of the Everfree and ones further north nearer the relatively busy rail line coming down the mountain before it turns north to Brightwood and, eventually, Detrot.

The aesthetic is reminiscent of Canterlot, but with an older, more weathered look and far less polish. While stone is the predominant material used in construction, it lacks the luster and near fanatical care for which the mountaintop city is well known.

The border of the Everfree arcs from northwest to southeast, curving more to the south before vanishing underneath the carriage. Cure knows that if he hopped to the other side and looked out he would see it continue to curve mostly south before swooping out to the east again. The flattened lands to which they are heading show the preparations to which Celestia is referring.

Numerous carts laden with wares make their way towards the cleared grounds to the east of the city; vendors hoping to make a bit selling their food, refreshments, souvenirs, or other wares. A large, cleared lot is already packed where they can set up, and new arrivals are being organized and sent to prepared spots.

Cure can easily pick out which structures are hotels, even from his distant vantage. The buildings and their surroundings are absolutely packed with out of town visitors getting ready and heading out for the morning. Squad after squad of soldiers participating in the events march, ride, or fly towards the prepared grounds; many bearing standards for the cities and provinces they represent.

Further east and curving along the south of the vendor area is a series of large tents or marquees, some of them lined together. Mess halls, Cure suspects, judging from the visible stoves and cooking tents nearby. South of the small tent city are row after row of stadium bleachers, all lined up from east to west. A long, well worn path loops inside the stadium like a running path with an arm heading off towards the base of the mountain to the west.

A pair of segregated tents is to the east of the structure, the purpose evident even from the air. Surrounded by significantly more guards than anywhere else and bearing his and Celestia’s marks, the gold and white temporary royal lodgings have an air of elegance to them that the other drab green lack. More drapery, the sheen of finer material, and a perimeter of Royal Guards separate the pair from the rest even more than their isolation.

“I have my own tent?” he asks, voice tinged in wonder. The ancient mare cocks a brow in curiosity that such a thing can elicit so much excitement from the colt. “What?” he defensively huffs. “I’ve never had my own… anything, really. I live with my parents, I work in my mom’s upstairs loft, I borrow a hospital’s office, my bedroom’s in your castle, and my clinic is temporary and on your castle grounds.” He shrugs and turns back to drink in the few details he can see from the sky. “I know it’s not really my tent, exactly, but it’s still the closest I’ve had to my own place so far.”

She gives him a shallow nod in understanding. “I had not expected to hear the excitement in your voice. While I do not anticipate them getting much use, they should be a comfortable source of respite during the event.”

“We’re sleeping here? Like… camping? Sort of?”

“You may if you desire. Protection details have been scheduled to ensure their security whether we are present or not, however, as my duties do not pause for such events, I will be returning to the castle this evening and will not return until at least tomorrow afternoon.”

“Whattaya think, ma? Wanna hang out here for the next few days or go back to the prissy, pampered lifestyle with her majesty?” he teasingly inquires.

The mare’s snout crinkles and she shakes her head no. “I ain’t sleepin outside, colt.”

“You’ll be in a tent,” he argues. “That means you’re inside.”

“No yer not! If all that’s between ya and the sky is a couple sheets then you are outside,” she insists, using the side of her left hoof to rap the bench with each of the last three words. “I’m an indoor pony. I’ll leave the campin to yer dam ‘n sire, thankyaverymuch.”

“Would you be okay if I stayed here?”

She raises her neck and gives him an evaluating look. “Just what are ya plannin on doin out here all day?”

“I’unno,” he insists with a shrug. He turns to the princess and asks, “What does everypony do when the events are over for the day?”

“As you may have gathered, the Competition is as much a social event for the participating squads as it is a military exercise. I would expect that the younger participants, in particular, spend much of their evenings ‘hitting the town,’ as it were. Over the years I have heard of many guards, particularly ones that do not have early events the next day, venturing up to Canterlot to sightsee or visit one of the numerous entertainment venues.”

“So they find somewhere to get sloshed, huh?”

“As soldiers are wont to do,” she confirms with a nod.

“Reckon ya end up with more’n a few foals after, huh?” Amethyst asks, a smirk playing across her lips.

Celestia sighs but reluctantly confirms. “A great many mares desiring a foal show up to take advantage of the event. The timing of it is not a coincidence, as I am sure you have surmised, but an intentional act from centuries ago. That is why transportation is provided for families to attend as well.”

“I kinda guessed that after the meeting last week,” Cure acknowledges. “It’s not a bad idea. Harmony knows we’re only utilizing a tiny portion of the land and we could always stand to have more ponies.” He hops back and climbs up laying across his mom’s barrel. “Speaking of land, we’ll be sitting down in just a sec, ma. Try to relax for the bump when we touch down.”

She grunts to the affirmative and, after a moment’s thought, denies the colt’s request. “I know yer wantin ta, and I don’t doubt yer safety a bit, but yer gonna hafta go back to tha castle at the end of the day. Yer dam ‘n sire wouldn’t forgive me if I took my eyes off’a ya overnight.”

“Eh, that’s fine, momma. I don’t mind as long as I can come back and watch the events.”

While he has gotten more used to the experience, it still unnerves Cure having quite so many eyes following his every move. At least this time he isn’t expected to give any kind of speech. That honor is reserved for the colonel in charge of coordinating the overall event. She, along with a number of other officers, is standing and saluting the royals on a raised platform in front of the stands. Instead, he merely has to follow Celestia with his wings splayed up as the pair regally stride up through the bleachers to the royal box.

The private box isn’t really a box at all, instead just a small private area at the top of the stands with thick, padded cushions for the three. As would be expected, Celestia’s larger cushion is in the center with Cure’s on her left and Amethyst’s on the right. The colt completely ignores protocol, climbing on his mom’s back as soon as she settles in. He lightens himself, wrapping her neck in a hug and resting his head on her crown between her ears.

A series of trumpet blasts summon forth the participants. Squad after squad march in formation onto the field in a long loop starting from the west before pivoting north, then back to the west to fill the field. Cure can tell that the different provinces are grouped together, but if there’s any other logic dictating the order he isn’t able to immediately discern it.

He has no trouble finding the Golden Hills squad standing beside another from Baltimare; the banners depicting the capital building in front of a rising sun are carried by Cpl. Ricochet and a unicorn in the other group and held proudly in their auras.

An occasional griffon, hippogriff, and a single bull are participating as well, but Cure’s attention is drawn to the Vahoofer squad, four of whom stand chest and head above everypony else. He knows he doesn’t have much room to talk given his own size compared to Celestia, but for some reason the contrast of four full-blown horses standing in the mix right beside pegasi that barely reach their barrels strikes him as amusing.

With the last squad filing in, Colonel Stratos begins her speech, first by thanking the princess for taking the time away from her neverending work, then his highness for making the journey to attend. Proper respect paid to the crown, she begins to drone on about honor and dedication, Cure tilts his head towards the princess and quietly asks, “So… the whole ‘wings up’ thing?”

She raises a questioning brow.

“What’s up with that? It seems kinda… I dunno. Pretentious, maybe? Ostentatious?”

“You are certainly not the first to make such an observation. I argued the same during courtly lessons with Star Swirl, as did another student of his. While I do agree with you, there was a greater need at the time to emphasize the difference between myself and a typical unicorn born with wings.

“Since my stature at the time was only slightly greater than an earth pony, it was more important to use my unique wing size and shape to convince ponies that I was truly something different.”

“I see,” he quietly murmurs in understanding. “And now that you tower over everypony?”

She blows a huff out her snout and turns back to the field. “A little pageantry does no harm. After all, creatures expect such things from royalty.”

“Uh huh,” he grunts in condescension. “Yer probably just doin it to air out them smoky wingpits of yours.”

“I beg your pardon?!” the mare hisses overtop Amethyst’s quiet snickers.

“It ain’t your fault, boss!” he insists in a hushed tone. “Nopony can blame you for venting those hot boxes you’re walking around with every so often. Those big ‘ol windsails catch a lot of dust and pollen and whatnot even if you barely use ‘em. I never see you giving ‘em a mid-day preen, so it only makes sense you incinerate it all and let it blow off when you’re doing the whole ‘alicorn strut.’”

She scowls and her wings flick in agitation. “My wings do not smell.”

“I never said they did. Hay, I snuggle under them every chance I get.”

“You said they are smoky!”

“Well what do you get when you cook something until it’s ash?”

“Assail my hygiene again and you will find out!”

A barked laugh escapes Amethyst’s lips, quickly smothered in the crook of her fetlock.

Out of the right side of his muzzle he quietly grouses, “Sheesh. Somepony’s sensitive.”

The speech continues on for several long, horribly boring minutes while Cure actively forces himself not to yawn, despite not being tired at all. Finally, after what must have been at least ten minutes of pointless yammering, the colonel wraps it up by ordering everypony to proceed to their first assigned event.

“So what’s first?” Cure turns to ask. “Some kinda run?”

“Not today,” the princess denies. “There will be a ten kilometer squad run tomorrow morning, but today’s focus is on individual events; particularly ones that are showy and more entertaining for the crowds to watch. For example,” she says, motioning to the east of the bleachers.

As the competing squads move to get out of the way, several of the event crew pull long carts onto the field; one laden with spears, hammers, and swords and two more with some kind of hoof-by-hoof thickness beams. The vacated speaker’s stage is levitated and moved out of the way. The crews towing the beams quickly and efficiently link them together five to a side, taking only a few minutes to assemble four large squares, each one approximately thirty meters to a side and arranged in a two-by-two grid.

Four pairs of unicorns with packs on make their way to the squares, setting down the packs before lighting their horns. Cure figures they must be some kind of engineer performing a scan or charging the apparatus. Whatever they are doing is done in just a moment; the teams soon sound off and signal to the colonel that everything is in order.

Cure watches on, unable to contain his excitement. “Fighting pits?!” he squeals, radiating joy. He completely fails to keep his wings from fluttering and booty from dancing on his mom’s withers.

Celestia gives the colt a disappointed look while his mom shakes underneath him in quiet laughter. “Dueling arenas, Serpentus,” she gently corrects. “The nearest ‘fighting pit’ you will find is likely in the griffon lands.” Under her breath she gruffly adds, “At least, it has better be.”

Four ponies begin making their way over, one to represent each tribe; a dark gray bat stallion from Tampa Neigh, a pink pegasus mare from San Franciscolt, a white unicorn mare from Canterlot, and Private Rushing Charge from the Golden Hills team representing Baltimare. The orange earth pony is nearly skipping to get suited up, eager for her opportunity to lead off the event.

They line up abreast in front of the engineers who begin putting extra equipment overtop of their armor. First, a neckpiece similar to Cure and Celestia’s regalia is placed over their heads and against their chests, then four slim plates are adhered to their hips and shoulders.

The sole unicorn stepping up to compete has a thin band placed over her horn. It must be at least a little uncomfortable to wear; the mare tries, but doesn’t manage to hide a wince when the device activates. Each piece has a jewel embedded that glows a light blue for a moment before dimming

“I’m confused,” Cure admits. “Why are only four going out? Are they only using half of the arenas?”

“This is the simulation apparatus we discussed last week,” Celestia explains. “Each fighter will be in their own ‘room’ along with a solid illusion of their opponent. The illusion’s movements and attacks are synchronized with the live combatant in the matching square, so even though they are fighting each other they are, in fact, completely safe from real harm.”

The colt’s snout scrunches in distaste. “Boooooooo! I say let me check ‘em over before each bout and after they’re done I’ll stitch ‘em up good as new. No muss, no fuss, no need for any of that clunky safety equipment they’re strappin on,” he says, waving a hoof at the field.

“I do not believe the audience would enjoy watching ponies inflicting real injuries on each other. Nor would I, for that matter. I have seen more than enough violence to last me the remainder of my days.”

The colt sighs and nods in acceptance. “Fair enough.” With a hoof held to his brow, he scans the surroundings and demands, “At least tell me where the bookies are, though. Oh, and don’t worry, ma, I don’t mind spottin ya a few bits.” He gives her neck a gentle squeeze and adds, “Just don’t forget, the juice starts tomorrow mornin.”

The mare’s head tilts curiously to the side. “Juice? What juice?”

“Interest, ma! My cut, ya know? I’m a generous colt; with the family discount I’ll only take two percent. Compounded daily, of course,” he more quietly tacks on.

“Payment for services rendered, colt,” she argues with a snort. “A solid week’a foalsittin yer rear has to be worth at least a few grand, and that ain’t even countin the rest’a this’n.”

Cure recoils away, standing upright to glare down at the mare. “A couple grand?! Ta sit in the castle stuffin yer face all week?!”

“There are no bookies,” Celestia interrupts before the pair get too loud.

“That you know of,” the smart-mouthed colt retorts. The mare turns and shoots him a warning glare. Hooves held in the air, he quickly changes his tune. “I’ll be good.”

“I am beginning to doubt you know how.”

Hoof pressed to his chest, he gives her the most hurt look he can manage. Pleadingly, he all but begs to know, “When have I ever done anything bad at all?” The glare intensifies enough to strip paint off steel. Ears flattened back in contrition, he ducks his head and assures her, “Sorry, boss! I couldn’t resist! Really, I’ll behave myself.”

“Felt my ear gettin toasted,” Amethyst quietly comments.

Cure refocuses back on the arenas when a random thought makes its way to the forefront of his mind. “Hmmm,” he loudly hums, casting a suspicious gaze out of the corner of his eye. Head inclined and hoof idly pawing at his chin, he ponders aloud, “I wonder what the odds are that an earth pony from the Baltimare region would be pitted against a unicorn from Canterlot in the first round. Seems a might bit peculiar, don’t it?”

“As far as I am aware, the pairings were done by random selection,” Celestia evenly responds.

“Uh huh. Random my glorious mane. Exactly who made said selection is what I’d like ta know.”

She shrugs her magnificent wings and idly responds, “I am sure it was one of the planning committees. I do not see why it matters. Do you have so little faith in your local guard member’s capability?”

“Oh, no, you misunderstand,” he replies with a somewhat sinister chuckle. “That poor unicorn doesn’t stand a chance.”

“We shall see,” she retorts in a bored tone.

“See, we shall,” he mockingly returns.

Rushing and the Canterlot mare finally get the engineers’ approval to proceed. Rush grabs a short spear and holds a hoof out to her opponent. They share a hoofbump before separating, with the unicorn trotting into the front left square while Rushing heads to the one in the back left corner. The instant either combatant enters their respective square an illusory copy pops into existence in the paired arena as well.

“So those are solid illusions, right?” Cure inquiries.

Guessing at the colt’s line if thinking, she nods and explains, “They are solid to the touch, yes, but they cannot hit with enough force to do harm. The equipment will not allow it.”

“Mmm… I’m not buying that. It takes astoundingly little force to do serious damage to somepony if you know what you’re doing. Especially if we’re talking about dislocating joints or things like eyes and whatnot.”

“The attachments everypony is outfitted with will shield them from attacks to the eyes and… other soft spots.”

“Ah. Good to know, even if that wasn’t what I was going to ask about. What I was wondering is what would happen if both of them,” he waves towards the arena, “entered at the same relative place at the same time. I’m guessing the illusion doesn’t just pop to life right on top of ‘em, right?”

The mare chuckles warmly as she shakes her head no. “Indeed not, though that would make for quite a sight. It will simply not manifest until the two are far enough so as to not be touching one another.”

“Gotchya.”

A silence settles between the pair when the two guardsponies square up and get ready. At a blown whistle the fight begins. The unicorn’s horn flashes, launching a yellow lance of power at Rush. The crowd cheers at the instant burst of action, including the pegasus and the bat waiting for them to finish before starting their own match.

Rush leaps to her left as a furrow is blasted in the ground behind where she was standing a split second prior. She grabs a hunk of earth with her telekinesis when she lands and her foreleg lashes out, sending a spray of dirt and grass at her opponent.

The unicorn dives to her left and erects a shield, blocking the attack and retreating away from the charging earth pony. She shoots another beam backwards, but the dirt in the air, her movement, and not having eyes on the target sends the shot wide. Rush suddenly surges, exploding into motion and launching after the unicorn like a loosed bolt, her spear held out ahead of her to impale the fleeing unicorn.

The guard throws a shield up that manages to deflect the spear upwards and to her right, but it shatters under Rush’s impact. The pain from the broken shield causes the unicorn to stumble and, before she can recover, the larger mare is on her. The diving tackle slams Rush into the unicorn’s back and right haunch, causing the pair to slide across the ground and nearly knocking them through the arena’s barrier. Rush’s forehoof comes down like a meteor on the prone mare’s head, causing her enchanted attachments to briefly flash green and her opponent’s red to signal the end of the match.

In Rush’s arena the illusion of the unicorn disperses into motes of light before fading, as does her own illusion in her opponent’s box. Hoots and hollers ring out from the crowd and, especially, from her fellow troops in the Golden Hills squad. The blonde rears up and throws a few shadow punches while dancing around and laughing joyously before trotting out of the arena. The opponents share another hoofbump while the engineers strip the extra gear off and the other pair square up in their own arenas.

“Huh, will ya look at that?” Cure ponders aloud, clapping his forehooves. “Seems my local guards are every bit as capable as I expected.”

Celestia turns and gives the colt a knowing look. “That was an interesting move she executed at the end, was it not?”

“Seemed like a pretty normal tackle to me, boss.”

“Not that,” she argues. “I am referring to the explosive speed with which she closed the distance to her opponent. It was almost as if she somehow magically propelled herself forwards faster than I would expect from even the most physically fit of earth ponies.”

“Really?” he airily replies, inclining his head as if considering the possibility. After a moment’s consideration he shakes his head in dismissal, pointing out, “I bet any strong earth pony with a good grasp on their telekinesis would be capable of doing the same thing.”

“Perhaps,” Celestia noncommittally agrees. “However, I would expect that using one’s grip to accelerate with that much force would also disturb the ground underneath herself to some degree. No,” she shakes her head accusingly postulating, “I believe she may have done something slightly different.”

“Hmm… something different,” he echoes, tilting his head in consideration. “I wonder what it could have been.” The colt lets the question hang in the air for a moment, paying no mind to the princess’s narrow-eyed stare. “You know what? I think I may have figured it out.”

“Oh?” she questions in mock curiosity.

“Yep,” he asserts with a firm nod. “I bet ya it has something to do with her special talent. Her name is Rushing Charge, after all. She must have figured out how to use it intentionally, somehow.”

“Interesting,” she murmurs, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I wonder where, exactly, she could have learned such a thing.”

“I seem to recall somepony talking about starting evening classes for adults to learn more about all that stuff.” With an innocent shrug, he suggests, “She must’a gone to one of those and figured it all out from there. Kudos to her for taking the initiative, I say. I wish everypony would show the same level of diligence and commitment to self improvement. Oh hey, look, the other match is starting,” he points out, thrusting a hoof to the other set of arenas.

The organization teams appear to be staggering the matches. A unicorn from Fillydelphia and a griffon from Manehattan are called up to the box that Rushing and the Canterlot unicorn just departed. As the second match begins the engineers take the opportunity to gear up the fifth and sixth contestants and perform another round of scans or empowerment of the apparati while the bat and pegasus begin their match.

“Odd,” Celestia idly comments. “Those evening classes have not yet begun. I wonder how many other members from her squad might be capable of using their talents beyond what most ponies believe is possible.”

“Who knows?” he wonders aloud. “I guess we shall see, huh?” he asks, the smirk audible in his voice.

Conversation once again comes to a halt as the second match begins. Both the pegasus mare and the bat stallion immediately launch themselves into the air, each one veering slightly to their right so as to not knock each other out with a midair collision. The bat extends his right wing up and away, forcing himself into a counter-clockwise spiral with his left wingblade coming up for a vicious uppercut and his forelegs at the ready to block his opponent’s strike.

The mare spins herself fully upside-down, allowing the wing strike to glance off the thicker, heavier armor of her back and neck while intercepting his forehooves with her own. Her right hind hoof comes up in a kick as the two pass by each other, landing squarely on the stallion’s chest and sending him higher into the air with a grunt, earning a round of cheers and gasps from the audience.

He regains control of his flight almost immediately, inclining his wings to put himself in a small vertical climb and ending with a loop. The pink mare, meanwhile, finishes her spiral and cuts hard to her right while climbing, hoping to close the distance before the other combatant has a chance to recover. Her eyes widen in alarm when she catches sight of the stallion plummeting at her in a steep dive, his fore and hind hooves aiming to stomp her straight back down to the ground.

Right wing extended down and out, a series of quick, hard flaps with her left wing throws her to the right in an attempt to dodge the attack. Having maintained his momentum more efficiently and with gravity on his side, the stallion corrects his course easily enough and, while he doesn’t score a direct hit, his left legs connect with her right side while his wing lashes out in a devastating chopping strike to her back. While the armor may have kept her alive in a real fight, the safety system determines that the damage to her left wing and back are significant enough to end the match, dispersing both illusory combatants into motes of light and casting her armor in a soft, red glow.

Cure’s sharp hearing picks up a few low curses from the mare as she lands and exits the ring.

Wings spread wide, the stallion launches himself in a tight spiral around the inside edge of his arena, gaining speed as the spiral tightens to the point where he’s almost spinning in place in the center of the box. His movement comes to a sudden halt with him facing towards his cheering squad and he pumps his right forehoof in the air, suspended and still for a moment before turning left and gliding down to the exit to the screaming cheers of the spectators.

Still clapping for the victor, Cure points out, “So there’s like… six hundred ponies competing, by my count.”

“Slightly fewer, but that is not far off,” Celestia confirms, casting her eyes over the assembled group of guards watching from the east end of the field.

“Three hundred matches would take like… days to get through, and that’s only for the first round.”

“Indeed it would. That is why there will only be two competitors from each squad rather than allowing everypony to have a round. One private and one corporal from each squad was selected by their commanding officer to participate. I believe Corporal Boomerang Bounce will represent the Golden Hills team in her bracket, for example.”

“Rico,” Cure corrects. “She goes by Ricochet or Rico. Apparently she got called ‘Bouncy’ by other foals when she was a filly, and, for whatever reason, hates the name.”

“I see. I will endeavor to remember that if we ever properly meet. Regardless, as you have seen, since the matches are to ‘first blood,’ as it were, they tend to be extremely short. The committee estimated being able to hold thirty matches per hour, thus concluding the event sometime shortly before noon. The flyers will then compete in a race around the mountain,” she says motioning up to the still hovering cloud rings, “while unicorns complete a magic race, of a sort, and earth ponies compete in a hauling event.”

“Magic race? Like… teleporting or something?”

“No. A series of spells have been selected from the standard guard manual. Unicorns will be prompted to execute one after another, the order of which will be randomly selected for each participant. They will be awarded points for speed, efficiency, and the number of spells they are able to execute within the given time.”

A hint of worry creeps up the colt’s spine as he asks, “Ah. And is that open to commanding officers as well?”

“Yes. I believe Sgt. Gleaming Haze and Cpl. Luring Snare will both participate in the event.”

“That… should be interesting.”

The mare stares on curiously for a moment waiting for him to elaborate. When no explanation for his response is forthcoming, she finally inquires, “What did you do?”

“What?!” he squawks, feigning disbelief. Hoof hold to his chest, he demands to know, “Why are you always accusing me of stuff, boss? Yer startin to hurt my feelings over here. I’m just as innocent as the next pony,” he insists, patting his mom’s head between her ears.

“Right,” Amethyst agrees with an overly solemn nod. “Super innocent. That’s me, princess.”

The princess maintains her doubtful look, casting a look of suspicion between the two. “You are right. I suppose it may be unfair of me to accuse you of anything.”

“Exactly!” Cure chirps.

“Especially when there is no evidence to the contrary.”

“Darn right,” he agrees.

“Which is why I will hold off until after I see the results of the day’s events.”

Cure worries his bottom lip and turns away. “Yeah. Good idea, boss. After all, no smoke, no fire, right?”

“Precisely. And in the interests of fairness, I am barring you from communicating with the competitors until the end of the events. No Sending, no Messaging, no third-party courier,” she adds, glancing at his mom, “and by no other means that creative mind of yours can dream up. Understood?”

The colt sighs and begrudgingly nods, shooting an annoyed side-eye at the ancient mare. “You know… it’s starting to feel like every conversation we have these days ends with you forbidding me from doing something. Is this a pattern I should expect from now on?”

Celestia turns to meet his eyes. Matching his tone she replies, “Perhaps if I could rest assured that I will not have some kind of mess to clean up when you do take action then I would not have to insist that you take none, instead.”

Cure feels his hackles rise and wings lift off his back as he turns to face her head-on. Three times he opens his mouth to respond, each time biting back the snide remark fighting to break free. The temptation to say something nasty in response almost wins out, but he struggles and finally manages to say nothing instead. Silence, he decides, will be the best approach, so with a great deal of effort he turns away to watch the next match, settling down on his mother’s neck and head and forcing the adrenaline coursing through his veins to calm once again.

Author's Note

Last week I had made a comment that I ran into a big hunk of writer's block. I literally cannot tell you how many times I wrote, erased, and rewrote this chapter, and I'm not really sure why I struggled with it so badly. This is only the first half of the day - I fully intend to continue it in Ch. 111, but the rest of what I had written was... well, "a mess" is pretty generous. Rather than trying to organize it and rush out a full chapter today, I am going to focus on getting it done by next Monday instead.

So obviously there's still a bit of... tension between the two alicorns. Celestia has ... three? four? times now forbidden Cure from taking action. This latest one isn't terribly egregious; she basically tells him not to interact with the competitors, which is probably a good idea seeing as how he's definitely biased and can pretty easily tilt the scales.

Would he? No, but she obviously doesn't trust that anymore. If this conversation had not happened out where raised voices could potentially overhear them, it would have likely been a bit more heated. Despite being a foal, Cure (as well as anyone that has managed to live more than a couple decades) knows that lashing out with the first thing that comes to mind is usually a pretty horrible idea. I mean... just imagine if he asked, "Or what, you'll banish me to the moon?" or something like that.

Truthfully, I can imagine him conjuring up another body just to cuss her out outside of earshot. That would probably have been kind of funny - one Cure is sitting there swallowing his argument while several ponies milling about the vendor area hear some random colt cursing up a storm and making nonsensical come-backs to an imaginary conversation partner.

Thanks for reading, rating, and commenting, folks. Enjoy!