Friday, May 22nd, 909 AB (9 days later)

“... and that’s why this upcoming Summer Sun Celebration is such a big deal! I only wish I could go,” Polished Apple laments with a wistful sigh. “Show of hooves,” she calls, “whose family is going to the capital this year?”

Cure, of course, raises his hoof in the air, as do his friends and only a few others.

“I’m sick‘a hearin ‘bout the new prince,” Bounce, one of the older colts, grumbles. “‘s all my parent’s been talkin ‘bout for the last two weeks. Prince this, prince that, who’s Serpentus, where’d he come from, how come I never seen ‘em round Baltimare before. Ain’t nopony askin the real question. If he wasn’t an alicorn before, how’d he turn intuh one?”

“The princess has answered that question several times,” Miss Apple patiently explains. “Be a good pony, help others, live by the tenets of Harmony, work really hard, and someday maybe one of you could be the next prince or princess.”

“That ain’t an answer,” the colt responds, rolling his eyes.

Cure notices Sapphire’s hoof shoot up in the air, her whole foreleg shaking violently back and forth to get the teacher’s attention. The small sigh from Miss Apple does not escape his notice. “Yes, Sapphire?”

“I know how to become an alicorn!” she eagerly declares. Cure is far less worried than he would be if anypony else was saying that. Instead he just turns in his desk to look at the filly.

About half the class is asking questions all at once, insisting she tell them what she knows. Nearly dancing with glee under the attention of everypony, Sapphire holds a hoof up in a lecturing tone, slowly nodding as if agreeing with herself. “You see, we were all in the capital for the Wonderbolts show when it happened.” Ferric rolls her eyes at her sister, but Dawn, Coast, and Rising each look like they’re about to leap out of their desks to tackle her.

Heavy reaches over and pokes Cure, then gives him a wide eyed stare while subtly waving at the girl. Cure just casually shrugs, indifference on full display and turns back to watch. “We all saw the big snake in the sky and it was super loud. But the really important part was before all that.

“Ya see, in order to become an alicorn, a really REAL alicorn,” she pauses only a second and continues in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “the super duper secret ingredient for alicornimogrificatioooon is…” she slowly drawls out, teasing out the answer to pull everypony in. It works on most of them; several of the other foals are listening intently with perked ears and stretched necks.

A gentle breeze would cause a domino effect with how far some are leaning to get closer. “... A BIG CREAM PIE!” she proudly shouts. Miss Apple’s jaw nearly hits the floor and she quickly draws breath to scold the filly who carries on undaunted. “Ya gotta trick the princess into throwin a pie at ya! That’s what does it!” she insists with a hoof chop. Groans fill the room as everypony sits back in their seats. Most of the foals are more disappointed at themselves for humoring the crazy filly as much as they are annoyed with her.

The girl continues despite the jeers and gripes the class is giving her. “Anypony the princess nails with a cream pie becomes a princess, or prince, themselves! The pie goes woooo,” she pantomimes both hooves flying through the air, “then SPLAT!” she shouts, punctuated with a facehoof, then she throws her hooves wide, “them you’re all like, ‘Blerg! I’ll have my vengeance!’ but then you’ll go all BOOM! Instant alicornificationhood.” Done with her explanation she folds her forelegs across her chest and gives a firm nod.

Cure looks at Heavy, raises a single brow, and waves a hoof at the girl. “Secret’s out, Heavy,” he whispers. “The princess just has to hit you with a pie. Wanna ask her next month? Maybe we can do a two-for-one coronation, bro.”

The gray colt scoffs and turns back to the front of the class where Miss Apple is trying to get everypony to refocus. “No way dude. If I need anything royal done I’ll just let you know.”

“Chicken,” Cure accuses.

“Smart,” Heavy counters. “Aren’t you supposed to be leaving soon?”

“Yep. Today’s the last day too. It was supposed to be a six month contract but with the Fridays I wasn’t available…”

“Ya gave them an extra month?”

“Depending on how you look at it, I guess. Last week was the twenty-sixth session, but I agreed to one more per group in exchange for a small favor.”

“They wanted a favor?” That seems surprising to Heavy. As far as he could tell his bro was, compared to what he normally charges, almost giving his services away.

“No,” Cure corrects. “I guess I didn’t word that the best. I asked them to do me a favor and going with ‘em today is more of a happy bonus. They’re basically gettin an extra two days with me for it.” He perks an ear and aims it at the door. “I think that’s my favor right now, in fact,” he quietly says, then raises his hoof and more loudly calls, “Miss Apple, I need to go!”

“Oh do you now?” she smugly asks. Tapping at her chin she continues, “Strange, I don’t recall you bringing me a note today, Cure.” She gives him a triumphant, smug look and shrugs helplessly. “No note, no early dismissal.”

“Really, Miss Apple?” he tiredly asks, “There’s literally three days of school left anyhow, what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that your arrangement ended last week. Unless you have a note or some-” a knock at the door causes her to stop mid sentence. Scowling at the disruption, Polished opens the door to Sgt. Song, out of armor, who quickly apologizes for interrupting before passing her a letter.

Cure can’t help but smirk victoriously as Miss Apple’s eyes widen while reading down the page. Opting to twist the knife a little, he calls out, “What’s it say, Miss Apple? Gonna share with the class?”

She stops her reading long enough to shoot him a glare and motions to the door. “Go on, Cure,” she growls through clenched teeth. Nearly the entire class is snickering quietly at the display.

As he packs up his bag, Heavy leans over asking, “Dude, what’d you do?”

He slings his saddlebags over his back, explaining, “Not much. Sgt. Bulwark just wrote an official order preventing anypony from interfering with my participation in Guard operations. Including training, which this very much is.” Grumbling, he adds, “Shoulda done that in November.”

Brows hiked clear into his mane, Heavy comments, “Seems a tad extreme, dude.”

Shrugging, Cure quietly points out, “I’ve been doin this almost every Friday for over seven months now. She’s been harassing me for a note every friggin time despite that. I’ll see ya later, dude,” he calls, reaching out and getting a hoofbump before giving the girls a goodbye wave and heading for the door.

He calls back to the teacher wishing her a good weekend before following Song out the door.

“Thanks for doin that, sarge. Seems a tad silly at this point but it probably saved me at least a few minutes of arguing with her.”

“No problem, Cure. By the way, a bunch of packages came for you.”

“Packages?”

She nods while humming, “Mmhmm. From her majesty. Were you expecting something?”

“Ah… the pictures! Awesome! Probably a good idea she had ‘em delivered to you guys.”

“Yeah, probably,” she easily agrees. “At the very least the mail pony would be curious why somepony was getting a dozen boxes from the royal castle.”

“They’re addressed to me?”

The worried tone prompts her to quickly reassure him, “They were packed inside another box addressed to Staff Sergeant Bulwark! It’s not uncommon to get packages from the castle, especially with all the,” she waves vaguely at him and then the train station with a hoof, “stuff going on.”

Cure blows out a sigh of relief as she continues, “The sergeant didn’t even realize the package was for you until he opened it. He was really confused when a small bush was delivered with it.”

“A… bush? For me? She didn’t say anything about a bush.”

“Mmhmm. Has some kinda dark berry on it. Nopony was dumb enough to taste it, given who it is addressed to, but they looked kinda like darker grapes.”

“... darker grapes?” he asks aloud in thought. “Oh! Blackcurrant!” The mare gives him a look of confusion at the seemingly random item. “She said they mess with other plants. I said I would see if I could figure out why. Glad she remembered ‘cause I totally forgot.”

“Ah. That makes sense.”

“I’ll hafta thank the sarge. It makes me feel kinda crappy; y’all didn’t sign on to serve as my friggin mail ponies, after all. At least everything else should go to my grandsire from now on.”

“Some things will have to come to us instead. I know he’s retired Guard, but he can’t receive anything considered ‘sensitive’ since he’s a civilian now. I can’t really imagine what you would be getting that would qualify, though. I doubt her majesty will be sending you weapons, for example.”

“Maybe a spell book. That is, if it has anything restricted in it.”

Song gains a faraway look as it registers, “You have access to restricted spells now.”

“I do. And I memorized quite a few of them with her in her sunroom. As far as runic spells are concerned I may be in the top few percent of ponykind. I need to learn how to fight hoof to hoof though. And maybe, at some point, I can find a lovely instructor that would be willing to teach me how to fight with wingblades. Alas, a colt can dream,” he sighs wistfully.

Song gives the colt the doubtful side eye. “Lovely, hmm?”

Cure looks to the pretty bat with confusion clearly evident on his face.

She gives him an indifferent shrug, explaining, “I’m just teasing you, Cure. You’ve got fillies from every other tribe chasing you, but I never see you spending time with any young bat fillies.”

“Well yeah,” he defends, “like I said when we started doing this whole thing, you were the first bat pony I’d ever met. All the girls I hang out with are friends that lived near me, went to school with me, or friends of friends, originally.”

She softens her look and nods in understanding. “I know, Cure. I really was just teasing you. I guess I shouldn’t, given how much pressure will be on you someday.” She leans over and gives him a quick nuzzle as they continue trotting to the station.

Cure can’t help but concede that, even if she wasn’t serious at all, she does have a point. As an alicorn prince when he eventually does go public it will certainly raise questions why one tribe is being excluded. Especially given that Glacial is a crystal pony; likely one of only a few dozen not banished away in the frozen north.

“You’re welcome to come to our junior guard training sessions. We do hoof to hoof and some basic weapon training. You would need a harness for the wooden practice blades, though. We have ones in your size for training young colts and fillies, but they’re designed for our wings. I don’t think the sticking enchantment we have works on feathers. I could see about borrowing one for your wings,” she mumbles as she drifts off in thought.

“I could change my wings or I could grow my own blades right out of them as they are now. I already know how to make a good bone-like substance that should work just fine.”

“Bone-like?”

“Yeah. I developed a bone analog that’s much tougher. It looks and feels like bone, but it’s almost as hard as diamond.”

“That’s… kinda awesome sounding.”

“Thanks! My parents didn’t think my whole Skeleton Lord armor set was a good idea, but if I used metal instead I wouldn’t be able to constantly heal it when it chips or breaks. At least, not easily.”

“Skeleton… Lord?”

Shrugging he explains, “Gotta name it something. Can’t be walking ‘round in custom made armor and not give it at least some kinda name.”

Song gives the colt a slightly wary look and suggests, “Maybe stick to just the blades for now, okay?”

“Oh, sure. The whole set’s only for really special occasions anyhow.” The comment causes her to inwardly pray she never gets to see it. Unaware of her silent divine plea, the colt questions, “Are the moves mostly the same with either wing type?”

The suggestion gets a thoughtful frown from the mare as she mulls it over. “Yeah, maybe there’s some difference in execution, but they’re the same moves. We just happen to be a little more maneuverable in the air,” she explains.

“The trade off being we don’t glide as well. All of the ground moves will be exactly the same, though. We do youth training classes every Saturday at four at the cloud gymnasium northwest of Baltimare. It’s attached to the community center there.”

“Yeesh. Four in the morning, I’m guessing?”

The question gets a chuckle from the mare as she nods. “Morning for you, maybe.”

“Just to be clear, you mean Saturday morning, not actually the day after… like, Sunday morning.”

“Yep,” she clarifies, “so after lifting today I’ll go home, eat a small meal, get cleaned up, take a long nap, then wake up, have breakfast, go on patrol, and then head over to the community center just north of the town hall building. The class wraps up just before dawn.”

“Jeez, sarge… that makes for an exhausting day, even with a nap in the mix.”

Shrugging, she points out, “That’s just kind of part of being nocturnal and living in a diurnal society. I get Saturday evenings off for volunteering.”

“Huh. How much are classes?”

“Free. The Guard sponsors them for recruitment purposes. All the trainers are guards or volunteers.”

“Cool. How’s the equipment?”

“Not bad. Again, it’s a Guard program so it gets crown funding. As I understand it, some rich colt out there was responsible for a pretty significant influx of bits into the town’s coffers this last quarter.” The hard stare the colt shoots her makes her snort out a laugh. She pokes him with her left wing and gives him a big teasing smile.

“Haze blabbed about that, huh?”

“He said it was a sore subject,” she says with a laugh. “Your sire also likes to tell the stories when he’s working out with Sgt. Bulwark and Pvt. Charge. Sounds like somepony kind of went a little crazy the first time, hmm?”

He shoots her an incredulous look and asks, “Did he tell you how much my first tax bill was?”

She instantly shakes her head no. “He just said it was a lot more than you expected.”

“My first bill was due at the end of March. It was for thirty-six grand,” he pauses as the mare’s head whips his direction, causing her right forehoof to clip her left and her to stumble slightly. Her wings shoot out and give a quick flap to catch her as Cure just watches in amusement. Once she recovers he continues on, “The one due at the end of June is nearly one and a half times as much.”

Looking like she just bit into the sourest lemon ever, Song curses under her breath at a pitch too high for normal hearing. “I heaaard that,” he teases, singing the phrase out with a big, shit-eating grin while wiggling his ears. Song’s eyes widen comically at being called out before he reminds her, “Not just a regular earth pony, sarge. Such naughty language!”

“Your quarterly taxes are as much as my annual salary!” she hisses.

“That’s about what Haze said when I first complained,” Cure agrees. “My second quarter earnings are a lot lower so far,” he notes. “I’ve been taking more time off for this, that, and the other over the last month and a half. And, of course, I’ll be unavailable most of June.”

“Poor thing,” she sarcastically replies with a scoff.

“Says the mare that gets my services for free. Ya know, if you and your family want more foals, or even just a whole group of colts, you just gotta say the word. With how few colts there are in general I would assume it hits the bat community extra hard… your population bein kinda lower than the other tribes and all.”

“It’s a significant problem,” she readily agrees. “But I thought that stuff was all supposed to be confidential.”

“I meant more just for you and your family than for everypony. For now, at least. I made a tree that produces medicine to massively increase the odds of a colt. Right now it’s in the testing phases. The princess said it’s looking very promising, though.”

“Really? Any word on when it’ll be available?”

“No. If they want to see how healthy a colt is that’s conceived using it then it could be a year or more. I guess that’s not really too far out, given the nature of the thing. For any guards or their spouses I’ll give ‘em the direct application at the start of estrus if they’re interested.”

“Like you did Wa… err… Cpl. Flare?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that Cpl. Flare or his wife are patients of mine.”

She gives him a flat look and reminds him, “Cure… don’t you remember what Bulwark said? She already all but told everypony.”

“And she can,” he quickly agrees. “I won’t though. My reputation can either be impeccable or it can not be. Given how much a pony has to trust somepony with a talent like mine it needs to be basically flawless.”

“I… guess I can see that,” she concedes. “Is that the real reason you didn’t hurt any of those creatures?”

“Mmnnnot really,” he answers. “I mean, it certainly stopped me from, oh…” he pauses to think for a moment, tilting his head back and forth, “I dunno, turning off their taste buds completely. Or, making everything taste like whatever horrible thing you can think of. Even if it was something good, imagine having one flavor the rest of your life.”

Song cringes at the suggestion, but Cure continues despite her reaction. “That doesn’t even cover inflicting legitimate health problems. I could, basically, give somepony severe osteoporosis. Or cripple their immune system, blind them, amp up their pain sensitivity, or do some truly awful stuff to their brain.” He pauses to glance to his right and finds the mare staring at him in abject horror.

“And that’s exactly the look I would expect. Now, how would you feel about somepony that did something like that laying a hoof on your foals, even just to heal them?”

Song winces, but begrudgingly nods in understanding. “I suppose I would be a little worried unless I already knew the pony otherwise.”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe you could suggest they involve Hollow Shades in the testing. Or at least, for initial release if it’s being staggered,” she suggests. “We are the smallest tribe by a wide margin, the city isn’t far if they need you to fix something, and it has one of the biggest communities of bat ponies in the country. At least, relatively speaking.”

“I’m all for it,” he easily agrees. “I can tell the princess about the suggestion at least. I dunno how hooves-on she is with that project, but at the very least I could ask.”

The pair continue on until the station comes into sight just a moment later. As they’re about to enter, Cure pauses and asks, “If I came to your place around three thirty would you be okay with me tagging along to that training? I think my parents would be okay with it as long as I had an adult flying with me. I won’t slow ya down, promise.”

Song’s smile brightens at the suggestion and she eagerly nods. “Of course, Cure. In fact, if you’d like, you can come over this evening before it gets dark. I could introduce you to everypony, then wake you up before it’s time to go.”

“I think I met everypony back when I was doing the membrane thing, but that sounds fantastic. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Wait!” he calls, causing her to freeze on the spot. “They all know I’m an earth pony,” he reminds her.

Song facehooves and lets out a groan. “Duh! Okay, I can come get you instead. I mean, you could go in one of your disguises but…” she trails off with a shrug.

“Then they’d be asking why some random pony is coming over. Right.” He sighs and shakes his head, “Secret identities are a pain in the rear. Is your whole family going to be there?”

“Ebony will be going there after school lets out. Why?”

“Two reasons; I wasn’t sure if you needed to fly there with them, and, again, the whole disguise thing. Ebony is your youngest, right? I only met her once.”

“Mmhmm. She’s a little younger than Thunder’s daughter. She goes there with a few other fillies right after class is done. As for the disguise… Why don’t you go as Serpentus? We can head over together, you duck out of sight and change your appearance, then you can go in. I’ll show up a few minutes later. Since it’ll still be dark out it should be easy to pull it off. It’ll be almost dawn by the time we’re done, so flying home shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

Slowly nodding, Cure tentatively agrees. “It sounds… like a great idea, actually. I can’t think of any reason not to, at least. Assuming my parents are okay with it, that is.” Cure makes a mental note to send Drift and Wind a message later. He’s pretty sure neither will be interested in getting up at three thirty in the morning, so it shouldn’t be a problem. It would also be more than a little suspicious if two new pegasus fillies showed up the same day that the new alicorn suddenly popped in.

Tentative plan in place, the two head into the station and make their way to the usual meeting spot.

Saturday, May 23rd, 909 AB (three fifteen in the morning)

It had taken more than a little convincing for Vines to allow Cure to join the session. His sire’s reassurance that the colt will be fine under the care of Shadow Song was the only reason she even entertained the idea, and that didn’t stop her from insisting he Send her messages after he gets to the park, when Song shows up, when they arrive, and when he’s leaving.

It’s excessively overprotective given his capabilities, not to mention alleged immortality, but given his youth and the recent incident he can’t fault her for worrying. He’s just thankful that Sending gives him an easy way to assure his dam of his safety.

Cure has used teleport a fair amount, but the half kilometer he can squeeze out of the mid-high crystal is farther than he’s ever gone in one jump. The park is, unfortunately, slightly more than a half kilometer away. He’d spent a few minutes finding a suitable “landing” spot, but had no success locating anywhere that is within range and is somewhat secluded.

The other large problem is the flash that occurs when the longer range teleport spell goes off. In the middle of the day it wouldn’t be terribly noticeable. At three thirty in the morning every set of eyes in the sky for dozens of kilometers will notice right away.

No, teleporting isn’t going to be the solution here. Instead, this situation calls for stealth.

Done with her shift and finally out of her armor, Shadow Song swoops down for a landing in the park. There’s enough light from the moon that the area is well lit and, to her eyes, it might as well be the middle of the day. She glances around the night sky and is unsurprised to find nopony flying around this early, so there’s no way Cure will be spotted when he pops in.

Really, the whole secret identity thing probably isn’t going to last a month. In the Baltimare metropolitan area, suburbs included, there’s a little under eighty thousand ponies. Remove mares from that and the number falls to somewhere around fifteen thousand colts and stallions. Exclude the other tribes and about nine thousand earth pony males are left.

The big, distinguishing slices happen next, though. Of those nine thousand only maybe three or four hundred are Serpentus’ approximate age. Next, how many of those four hundred have their cutie marks already? Fifty, at the absolute most given the young age, Song figures. Finally, how many of those fifty how many have known talents that have nothing to do with healing at all? She would bet the colt’s tax bill that leaves only one and, lo and behold, the one exception has a cutie mark that’s almost identical to the disguised prince.

A month is probably exceedingly generous, even. The real question is, what will happen once ponies start camping outside his house and harassing his family? Is BRG3 going to be an unofficial private guard unit specifically for his highness? Guarding a royal’s family is a highly prestigious position, but it requires a dedicated team with specialized training. Training, not to mention extra bodies, that they simply lack.

The idle thoughts slip from her mind when a tiny “mew” sounds out and a fluffy black kitty hops out of a tree, slinks up to Song, and head bonks into her left foreleg, purring up a storm. “Well, you’re a friendly one, aren’t you?” she mildly observes. She runs a hoof down the kitten’s back, chuckling as it arches up and leans harder into the scritches.

After only a few pets she pauses and looks around, letting out a high-pitched chirp and listening for any response. When none comes she looks down at the cat who perked an ear and turned to face her. “Perfect timing,” she mumbles, “I didn’t get a chance to grab a bite after my shift.” She licks her chops and stares into the cat’s eyes, continuing, “And you have plenty of meat on you, don’t you, mister kitty cat?”

“Whut?” the baffled cat asks, eyes widening as Song’s smile turns toothier.

The disguised colt backs away as she spreads her wings and lowers herself to pounce, booty wiggling in the air and all. “C’mere, kitty cat. Song has a lullaby for you! And it’s best heard from within my belly!”

Song pounces at the baffled colt-kitten tackling him to the ground. It takes far, far more effort to do so than it would if she were dealing with a normal cat, which confirms her suspicion that the critter is who she expected him to be. She quickly rolls him to his back and gives his less fluffy belly a raspberry, leaving him a thrashing, giggly mess between her hooves.

“AHH HAHA! STAWP! I GIVE!” he cries, finally getting his rear paws on her chin enough to push her off.

She hops away and laughs at the grouchy foal. “Thunder Dance told me about the bunny thing,” she smugly explains as he rolls back over and gives her a weak glare.

“Bah! The traitor!” he complains halfheartedly.

“She said it was about the most disturbingly adorable thing she’s ever seen,” she goes on. “She didn’t say anything about shrinking yourself, though. Nice touch. Now hurry and change; you’re going to make us late.”

“Fine!” he grumbles, releasing the Reduce spell and starting the process of changing back.

Song watches as he gradually transforms from a very convincing cat, albeit a larger one without the spell, to a pegasus pony. The process is quick and the colt has clearly done this enough times with an audience that he can do it without causing revulsion like one would expect from watching somepony literally grow new limbs out of their back.

The strangest part is when his fur meshes together to form a dark colored flight suit. It looks rather plain to Song, but she supposes that’s the point for now.

Cure finishes changing then stills for a few seconds, looking off in the distance. It’s a look she’s become familiar with since the briefing on the Sending crystals Dawn has been steadily providing to the sergeants across the Baltimare metropolitan area. The colt shoots her a sheepish grin and gives her a nod. “Ready to go, sarge.”

“Alright, c’mon. Just maybe try not to be too informal when we get there. Somepony will realize something’s up otherwise.”

“Sure thing, Sgt. Song,” he readily agrees.

“Follow close. I don’t know how much you’ve flown at night, but I’m guessing very little,” she commands. At his nod she turns to face the east, Cure following close on her left, spreads her wings, gives a quick two-step hop, and takes to the air in her wake. Song rapidly gains altitude; much faster than he normally does. She only levels off once they’re a couple hundred meters off the ground.

Tilting her head slightly towards her left to talk, she explains, “Unless there’s a good reason not to, it’s typically safer to get up to a decent altitude ASAP. It’s not a big deal around here, but it’s especially important if you’re not familiar with the area. I’m guessing you can hear the clicks?”

“I can, but I’ve not practiced echolocating much.”

Nodding, she suggests, “Practice it. Don’t get in the habit of only trusting your eyes at night. If it’s cloudy out you may end up grounded. Echolocation works much better in conditions like fog, too.”

“Sure. Sounds neat anyhow. Any tips?”

“Not really. Practice, practice, practice. Don’t only practice in one environment either; surfaces respond differently depending on what they’re made of. The return from a leaf is very different from the one from a building. Different temperatures, humidity, wind speeds, and other factors all have an impact.”

“Cool. I’ll hafta give it a whirl.”

Giving the colt a small nod, Song turns back and leads the pair east by northeast towards Baltimare’s cloud district. They slowly climb, mostly following the train tracks far below. Cure can’t help but smile as he looks down on the world. Luna’s moon illuminates his hometown, casting long, eerie shadows on most of the buildings. Only the downtown area, mostly centered around the train station and Town Hall, are illuminated by dim crystal lamps.

The Golden Hills cloud district looms to the north a few hundred meters higher; the southern and western sides glow in hues of silver and blue. As they approach the eastern edge of the city a pair of bats in guard armor change course to intercept. Once within a few dozen meters they recognize their CO, give a friendly wave, and veer off, circling south towards the woods and pond.

Cure notices the sergeant starting to gain a lead on him. A quick glance, a small smirk, and a wink over her shoulder tells him it’s on. Pumping his wings harder, he begins picking up speed. He casts an Armor spell to reduce drag and amps up his magic to his flight muscles, increasing thrust power on each beat.

The question of how to hold his legs is always on his mind when he flies. The optimal strategy would be to fold them up close to his body to minimize drag. Most ponies, however, tend to fly in either the Superman, hooves-forward position with their hind legs back or they just let them kind of dangle.

Flying in the ponyloaf position, while seemingly the most efficient, just looks weird. There’s also the fact that, while not terribly useful, at least in the Superman position his hooves are in front of his face, if only by a little. Shooting across the dark sky at a hundred mph is bad enough; doing so face-first just feels like asking for Murphy to stop by and say hello.

At least the flight suit mitigates one of the biggest problems he had with flying this way; it keeps his junk from flopping about, dangling underneath him like a fleshy weather vane. Cure has reacclimated to pony culture since Edward’s memories landed on him, but he’s not sure there will ever come a time when a pegasus hovering in front of him, goods right at eye level, doesn’t cause at least a small misfire somewhere in his brain.

Casting thoughts of flying testicles from his mind, Cure smiles as Song’s lead begins to rapidly diminish. The mare must be able to hear his wingbeats; the closer he gets, the harder she pumps away. Bat wings are great for acceleration; they scoop huge amounts of air in each downswing. Unfortunately that means on the upswing, even though it is lessened, they still tend to grab more air than a pegasus’s wings, which can allow the air to pass through them in a way that a solid membrane cannot.

Cure suspects there’s more to it, though. From his limited experience testing different wing configurations with the girls he’s come to the conclusion that creatures with membranous wings can fly as fast, or faster, than pegasi. Wind resistance is the ultimate deciding factor in everything.

Despite his numerous times suggesting it would be his earth pony strength being the biggest advantage, he has come to the conclusion that, despite the increased strength helping immensely, it’s his control over the air pressure in his immediate vicinity that’s his biggest advantage.

Another huge advantage Cure has is the ability to alter his feather orientation and placement as he chooses. This allows him to more effectively slice through the air on the upswing, then grab huge wingfuls of air on the downswing. The combination of his strength, aura cheats, armor spell, proportionally larger wings, and perfect muscle control make it so that, in a straight line, only the princess or somepony with a mark would be able to compete with him in raw speed.

Doing her best to give Cure a run for his money, Song furiously pumps her wings. She reaches forward on each beat, swiftly grabbing wingfuls of air and flexing as hard as she can to throw it behind her, all the while keeping an ear tilted back to monitor the colt’s progress. Slightly stinging her pride, it quickly becomes apparent that, no matter how hard she tries, she won’t be able to outspeed the foal.

She risks a glance over her shoulder and finds him almost lazily flapping, easily keeping pace with her. Slowing slightly, she takes a second to meet his smugly smiling face with a scowl. “I’m cheating,” he says in answer to the unspoken question. At her raised brow he elaborates, explaining his TK aura, armor, unending stamina, and all the other small things he’s doing to propel himself forward so effortlessly.

“You stink,” she complains, huffing and facing forwards again.

“I smell like cookies,” he teasingly argues. Rolling her eyes, Song doesn’t deign to respond, instead focusing on the Baltimare cloud district still a few kilometers away. “Want me to give you a refresh?”

Sighing to herself, she mutters a quick “Sure” and relaxes into a more sedate pace. A thought occurs to her and she turns her head back, eyes widening at what she sees. “You… how’d you do that without a horn?!”

He rolls his forelegs over in a small shrug and explains, “Earth ponies, and I bet pegasi, don’t actually have to be touching to use magic. The range is very short, though. Less than two meters. If we had to be touching something to help it grow then how could we ever affect seeds in the soil?”

“Huh. Hadn’t considered that,” she mumbles, facing forwards again.

“I bet pegasi can do something like that too,” he continues. “It’s probably just not as useful since, ya know… yer not buryin clouds before you do your thing. Lemme ask ya; do you sleep on a cloud mattress?”

“Yeah… I think everypony with wings does.”

“Straight on the cloud or on top of a sheet or somethin?”

“You can do either, but I prefer laying on a blanket.”

“So you’re not actually touching the cloud?”

Realization dawns on the mare and she lets out another thoughtful utterance. “Guess I never thought about it,” she admits.

The pair fly for another minute in silence, gaining altitude so they’re well above the height of the nearing neighborhood. Another pair of bat pegasus guards approach in a wide arc, alighting on Song’s right. “BRG3. Sergeant Song. Headed to junior guard exercises,” she tells them. The pair give the colt a quick glance, shoot her a salute, wish them a good evening, and brake right to continue their patrol.

“Seems weird we’ve gotten approached by two patrols now. Is something up?” he asks. He glances towards Baltimare; while there’s not a lot of activity, even from a distance he can spot several civilian bat ponies going about their morning.

“It’s because you have feathers,” she answers. “A lone mare flying with a colt that doesn’t appear to be her foal would draw my attention too. That it’s three thirty in the morning doesn’t help. They may have been curious when they saw us racing, too.”

“Ah. Are all these guards gonna remember you were escorting a muscular pegasus the same night the new prince shows up?” Cringing, she can’t help but agree that it is a concern. “I think maybe I should just go with my normal pegasus disguise, sarge. If I walk in there with a horn on it’s gonna be real easy to figure out where I live.”

“How are you going to make wing blades then?” she asks.

“Ahh… fudge,” he groans out. The pair fly in silence for a moment until Cure finally speaks up. “I guess I’ll just have to roll the dice,” he finally decides. “This is going to be a pain in the rear every damn time, isn’t it?”

“I honestly can’t imagine you’ll make it to the end of the year,” she confesses. “I give it, probably, a couple months at best. After the whole… thing… with the lieutenant every guard in the city got an extremely serious ‘talk’ about maintaining your identity, so they may not be a concern. But…”

He sighs, nodding in acceptance as they finally start approaching the cloud district proper. It’s the first time Cure has flown over one under his own power aside from the couple blocks that make up the one in Golden Hills.

It’s still overwhelmingly a residential area, but there are several shops, some of which are even open and lit with a few dim Light crystals. A grocery, a small diner, and a general store stand out prominently, if only due to the movement of bat ponies and a few pegasi visiting them. Surprisingly, many of the buildings are actual buildings, not cloud construction.

He can only hypothesize that businesses, particularly any that require more security, are made of solid materials to make it more difficult for any would-be intruder, but it makes more sense to him to build those on the ground instead. A kilometer round trip, even if half of it would be upwards, is a very short endeavor, after all, so the inconvenience of having to fly down to the city proper doesn’t seem enough to justify the more logistically challenging location, not to mention the significantly reduced number of potential customers.

After a brief visual scan of the area, Cure follows Song’s eyes to a building that must be the community center. Though made of clouds, the building configuration reminds him of a smaller YMCA with a normal looking front door, lobby area that has smaller rooms lining the front to the left of the lobby.

To the right is a taller structure, likely the gymnasium where the class will be held. The entrance is well lit with Light crystals embedded directly into the surface and a few on cloud-made light posts nearby. A couple dozen ponies are already gathering by the front door; families dropping off their foals as best he can tell.

Finding a spot to duck between buildings and change is not a problem. There’s more light than Cure had anticipated due to the moonlight bouncing off clouds and the occasional crystal lighting a doorstep. He calls to Song and points to a closed store, getting a quick nod in return before banking in that direction.

There’s not much in the way of plant life in the clouds; no trees or even large bushes would likely have enough room to take root, but he’s able to break line of sight with anypony else easily enough by rounding the corner of the apparel shop and casting Invisible on himself. “Go ahead, I’ll teleport to the entrance in a minute,” he tells her.

Initially a little reluctant to leave him, she hesitates for a moment after he disappears. She turns and takes off to traverse the remaining short distance to the center. Song lands and approaches the other families that are bringing their foals, as well as several that are coming on their own from school; her own daughter included.

Cure had only met Ebony Foil once, back when he was giving nictitating membranes to several of the bat families from Golden Hills. He’d encouraged everypony to spread the word; any bat can either make an appointment or show up at his job and he’ll take care of them for free.

Song’s youngest filly shares her mother’s navy coat, but her mane, wings, and tail are silver instead of her dam’s dark wine color. The filly is apparently quite shy; even though she has two and a half years on Cure she barely mumbled out a quiet “thanks” before the family departed.

Upon seeing her dam land, Ebony trots over and greets her with a nuzzle, turning to lean against her side as the pair start moving towards the entrance. They only move a few steps before a bright flash illuminates the east side of the building, opposite any houses to minimize the chance of disturbing anypony’s sleep.

All heads immediately whip to their right as Cure comes trotting around the corner, slowing as he approaches due to the twenty-odd sets of eyes gawking at the alicorn colt. He comes to a stop about ten meters away from the group and looks over everpony. He’d altered the colors of his suit from the darker brown to a striking gold, matching the highlights in his mane, tail, and wings. His new cutie mark is emblazoned on his flanks in solid black, just over top of his actual marks.

Awkwardly, he waves his right wing in greeting and calls out, “Uhh… hi, everypony. Good… morning? I guess? Technically?” The silence drags on for a few seconds, causing Cure to uncomfortably shift on his hooves. “I was under the impression there’s a youth’s defense training session,” he says with a questioning lilt.

One of the only stallions present, a charcoal colored bat pegasus, nods and speaks up. “There is. We’re just about to head in, your… highness?” he finishes in question, briefly glancing at a mare standing nearby. She shrugs and the pair look back to the colt. Once the quiet is dispelled several of the other ponies start conversing in hushed whispers, obviously unsure how to react to his presence.

“Not yet,” Cure assures him, making his way closer to the group. “Just Serpentus until next month.”

“Second Lieutenant Silver Streak,” the stallion replies, introducing himself.

“A pleasure. Do I need to do anything to participate? I was hoping to learn, ya know… just in case.”

He gives the colt an understanding look, then turns his head right, meeting Song’s eyes as he flicks his left wing towards the building. “I think Drop has everything set up. Could you ask her to see if we have a pegasus harness?”

“No need,” Cure interjects. “I just need to see one and I can reproduce a facsimile or something to fit myself.”

Silver furrows his brow in thought, then shrugs in acceptance. “Alright… well, there’s forms for parents normally,” the stallion pauses, letting a small sigh escape him as he changes gears. “Everypony, let’s head in!” he commands over his shoulder. “Come on, Serpentus. I’ll get you set up,” he adds, turning to follow everypony in. Cure follows along, trotting alongside Silver on his right as they enter the building.

They make their way past the lobby, through a set of double doors (made of solid clouds, he notes), and into the gymnasium. Another twenty students and several other parents are already there waiting, as are two ponies on the floor standing near equipment racks full of padding, helmets, wooden practice weapons, and wing-shaped harnesses of various sizes.

They all repeat everypony else’s “freeze and gawk” performance from earlier. Accepting that this will just be how ponies initially react, Cure doesn’t pay them much mind. He sticks by Silver as he approaches the other instructors to explain the colt’s presence, Song joining the pair on the stallion’s left.

While they chat Cure meanders in a circle around the adults, taking in the room. The interior is surprisingly well lit with rows of lights in diffusing fixtures down the length of the building. A bulletin board near the entrance has duplicates of several notices he’d seen, but didn’t have time to read, displayed in the lobby. Two that immediately catch his eye give the times and dates for the class he’s here for, along with one for day pegasi at three in the afternoon each Saturday.

That Song hadn’t mentioned the class is a little disappointing. She’s not absentminded enough to have not thought about it, so he can only assume she intentionally neglected to do so for some reason. The tease about not having a bat fillyfriend and the mention of her daughter being present leads him to only one conclusion. Only a conscious choice keeps his ears from folding back when the realization sets in.

Sighing internally, he continues looking about. There isn’t any wooden or metal furniture at all, though along the walls are random free floating clouds that several parents immediately take wing to perch on, joining the others already present in more hushed conversations.

Cure can tell he’s the only topic they’re discussing; the dozen parents are hardly subtle with how frequently they look in his direction, quickly turning back like a caught misbehaving child when he meets their eyes.

The foals aren’t much better, though it’s easier to accept that they wouldn’t know better than to stare so brazenly. They begin suiting up, only putting on the harnesses and weapons for now, talking amongst themselves while stealing glances in his direction or, in some cases, flat out staring at him like he’s some kind of zoo exhibit.

In a way, he’s not really sure what the big deal is. Sure, he’s one of only two alicorns in existence, as far as they know. On the other hoof, he isn’t some towering behemoth like Celestia is, relative to most ponies. He doesn’t have her room-dominating presence or her eye-catching ethereal glow. Visually, he’s just a wider, more muscular, unusually colorful pegasus colt, just with an extra accessory on his forehead.

He’s not even doing anything; just walking around, looking about the gym like anypony else would. He certainly understands everypony being curious, but watching him longer won’t encourage him to reveal his secrets, do a trick, or even start dancing. The five minutes of unblinking staring that some ponies are doing is just bizarre.

Mentally rolling his eyes, he observes the foals as they prepare for the class. An immediate oddity stands out. The gender ratio is far more heavily skewed than expected; of the twenty eight students only two other colts are present. Both look to be nearly adults, though due to their tribe are only a few hooves taller than he is. He knows that bat pony colts are born at the same rate as the other tribes, so he can only assume there’s some other reason for the proportional lack of male attendance.

Moving on from the foals, his focus is drawn back to the instructors. A couple mothers had flown down to join their quiet conversation when he wasn’t paying attention. Turning up his hearing slightly, he catches their increasingly enthusiastic argument, which is gradually slipping from mostly tones outside of normal pony hearing into typical auditory ranges as it heats up.

A throat clear stops the argument as six heads swivel his direction. “I… uhh, could hear all of that,” he explains, waving a hoof vaguely in their direction. He wiggles his ears as he continues, “Alicorn, remember? Not a typical pegasus. I’m not here to be matched up with somepony’s daughter,” he insists, facing the suddenly abashed looking parents. With a look of utter disappointment, he continues, “I’m here to learn how to protect myself if my magic is disabled, not… that.”

The mares cringe and dip their heads, apologizing before slinking away to rejoin the other parents. He catches a mocking “told ya so” from one of the ones that didn’t come down and another light argument starts from there. He also notes a slight widening of Song’s eyes at his rebuke, which he interprets as confirmation of his suspicion.

Silver nudges Cure’s shoulder with a wingtip and tilts his head towards the safety equipment. “I’ll work with you myself for today. We normally do one-on-one with new participants anyhow. You won’t need padding or a helmet today, but let’s see about setting you up with some practice stuff and getting started, okay?”

Cure readily agrees, following the stallion to the equipment racks while everypony else lines up in four spread out rows in front of Song and the other two instructors. The group begins a set of drills; katas, essentially, some of which are performed in the air. It’s fascinating to watch how effortlessly even the foals lift off, perform a move or set of moves, then land almost right back where they started.

Though they’re foals, they do so with a surprising amount of synchronization that he is certain he would initially botch in a horribly embarrassing manner. Silver, unaware of his rumination, looks back and forth between the colt and the remaining harnesses trying to determine how to proceed. A light cough draws Cure’s attention back to the stallion. “Sorry. Was distracted. It’s quite the impressive display,” he admits.

“It is,” Silver agrees as he points at the rack. “We need to get you geared up, though. You said you can do… well, something, to make a set of your own?”

“Right,” he agrees, “I also don’t need padding other than a helmet. Healing is part of my talent and I’m way tougher than a pegasus could possibly be. As far as the whole blade thing,” he trails off, extending his wing up.

On both wings he absorbs the leading edge of feathers and skin while he thickens the bone underneath. He extends the bone all the way down past his first set of primaries and continues it up each wing, past the joint, and towards the center of his back. To counter the necromancer vibe of bone armor, he alters the outside layer slightly to add a golden pigmentation, leaving the edge rounded, then inserts crystal dust particles, spreading a Hardening enchantment down the length originating from a crystal between his shoulder blades.

The powder gains a light blue glow when the enchantment activates, giving the entire piece an intimidating look that isn’t much alleviated by the color or rounded edge. A few test flaps and a rotation of the joint reveals some points that limit mobility, but adding some cartilage in those spots for flexibility and reducing the thickness of the bone solves that issue. It only takes a moment for him to have a full-length, though blunt, wingblade, ready to go.

Cure looks up for his work to find not only Silver staring, but everypony else as well. “Uhh… ta da?” he says with absolutely zero enthusiasm. Ignoring the stares, he focuses on the dark stallion and asks, “Will these work?” while waving his wing in front of him to pull him out of his trance.

Snapping back to awareness, Silver gives him a slow nod. “Yeah… that should be fine. Normally only the last quarter of the wing is covered so the wing can flex without risking a break, but I’m guessing yours can take a harder hit.” He finishes and gives the other instructors a look, motioning for them to get the group refocused back on their drills.

“Earth pony resilience,” Cure agrees, “I could probably dent steel with these.”

Silver grimaces at the thought of trying to parry or block a blow with that much force behind it. “If you come enough to start sparring you’ll have to be careful with the others.” Satisfied that the colt is appropriately clad, Silver motions for him to follow a little ways away from everypony else. “Okay, so what experience do you have with melee combat?”

“Almost none. I’ve wrestled with my sire a few times and got in a little scuffle once with a bully when I was an earth pony, but that’s it.” Edward had several memories from his younger years, but the experiences as a plantigrade, bipedal creature will probably not translate quite right.

“Okay. A blank slate, then,” Silver mumbles approvingly. “The first thing we need to practice is how to move and keep your balance primarily on your hind legs. If you’re on the ground facing somepony that’ll maximize your options, even if it does present more of your chest and barrel. More importantly, it puts some distance between your opponent and your face.”

Silver takes a half step away, half-squatting and lifting his wings up nearly forty five degrees from parallel with the ground, half folded, while continuing. His left hind leg is slightly more forward and his forelegs are close to his chest, ready to kick forward or deflect an incoming blow. “This is the basic starting stance. Are you a righty or a lefty?”

The stance looks a little awkward from the perspective of somepony with memories of a bipedal being, but aside from the fact the stallion looks like he’s preparing to drop a deuce he seems otherwise prepared to move in any direction, including up.

“Fully ambidextrous. I used to be a righty before I got my talent. My muscle control is off the charts, though,” he answers, rearing back and matching the stance perfectly. “Unicorns have an aura that lets them ‘see’ an area around them. If you’re okay with it, I can also use my talent on you while you go through stances and moves. I’ll be able to duplicate them perfectly.”

“Really? That’s insane.” He comes back to all fours and walks around Cure analyzing his form.

Cure nods in agreement. “It is. I learned basic flight in a few hours one morning. One of my fillyfriends let me scan her while walking me through everything and giving demonstrations.”

“That’s fantastic. I’m going to test your balance. Try to stay still upright and mostly still,” he warns before gently nudging Cure one direction or another. Cure has an iron grip on the floor and has shifted enough weight to his rear that he doesn’t move at all. “Huh. Very good. I’m fine with you using your talent.

“You’ll still need practice actually sparring, but if you can master the basics that’ll save you months of work. I’m a little concerned you may end up hurting somepony due to the strength difference, though.”

“Maybe if I only spar with instructors or older foals?” Cure suggests. “Also, if an accident happens I’m a healer, so no problem there.”

“Ah. Okay. The height difference may be an issue, but otherwise that would work.” Cure casts Enlarge, increasing his height by half again as much and nearly perfectly matching the dark stallion. Taken aback momentarily, Silver pauses in thought before slowly nodding in approval. “Well… problem solved. I kind of forgot about magic,” he confesses.

“Understandable,” Cure concedes, noting how several of the others are watching him again. The parents have, for the most part, never stopped, so he does his best to continue ignoring them and rears back up onto his hind legs. “So, Sensei Silver,” he smirks as the stallion mouths the unfamiliar term, “how bout you show me some cool moves?”

Silver can’t help but shake his head as he watches the colt. An hour. A little over a single hour and he’s gone from no experience whatsoever to somepony that looks like he’s been doing this for years. It’s unnecessary to have him practicing the moves, Silver reflects, but at the same time he’s not really sure what else to do with him and class is almost over anyhow.

Serpentus should be fine to spar with others if he comes to future classes. He had shown he could moderate his strength just fine, even in a brief practice grappling spar the two had. The problem is he’s strong enough that, even when he lacks the experience to know how to respond to a move, he can simply barrel through it with raw power.

Few things could possibly damage this pride more than having an inexperienced colt not even ten years old pick him up, flip him over, slam him down, and pin him in place. The “whoof” noise he made when the air was blasted out of his lungs didn’t help, nor did the cheers and impressed whistles from literally every pony in the building who had paused to watch. Which was, of course, every single pony present.

The worst part? Somepony evidently spread the word that the new prince was there. An extra few dozen bats and pegasi showed up just to watch, and more than one bright flash from a camera went off when the colt laid him out. He can only hope his eyes weren’t bulging out too much; he would bet a paycheck that those pictures are going to be on the front page of every paper in the nation soon.

With the other instructors wrapping up, Serpentus stops his repetitions, flares his large, angular wings, and begins changing them to their typical state while releasing his Enlarge spell. A few more flashes go off, causing the colt’s ears to pin, tail to droop, and wings to sag for a split second; a reaction that doesn’t escape Silver’s notice. In a way, he pities the colt. Sure, becoming an alicorn prince or princess is a storytime fantasy for many foals; dealing with the consequences of it happening is looking more like a punishment.

Silver is just about to go have a word with the responsible ponies when the colt apparently has the same idea, turning towards and approaching the group that seems to be reporters. Unwilling to risk the new prince losing his patience or slipping up, he’s just about to rush over to lend a hoof as best he can, though as he catches the colt’s answer he realizes that his concern appears to be unnecessary.

“... appreciate the time the volunteers commit to working with the young ponies that will someday ensure all of us can rest easy every night. As a former earth pony, I’ve had virtually no opportunity to interact much with ponies that are more comfortable at night, which is why I came to the morning session; a chance to become better acquainted with them and learn a valuable skill at the same time.

“And, candidly speaking, to avoid this,” he waves at the cameras, “kind of scenario. I understand that everypony is curious about me, but I imagine the parents of these and other interested foals would prefer the focus be on learning rather than… Well, this. I know reporters need to earn a living as well, but I think it’s fair to ask that consideration is also given to the impacted ponies that would surely prefer to go about their days, or nights, as normal.

“I appreciate you all coming out just to see me, and I acknowledge that this is a public venue in which all are welcome, but at this point I would ask that any further questions be directed through the proper channels and my privacy as an individual be respected, as her majesty has requested. Thank you.”

His piece said, the young princeling turns and makes his way back to Silver and the other staring instructors, leaving the stupefied reporters looking on in shock. “Colt,” Drop begins, “where in the world did you learn to talk like that?!”

“What?” he responds, low enough not to be overheard, “You mean kiss flank, lightly criticize them, and give them almost nothing useful all at the same time?” The mare takes a second to process the question and slowly nods. “You pick things up when you hang out with her majesty for a little,” he misleadingly answers. “So before I leave, if anypony has anything wrong with them, be it a cavity, a sports injury, or something far more serious, I can probably fix it real quick, assuming the parents are okay with that.”

“I’m hooooome! Finally!” Cure calls with a huff while trotting in the door. The family still hasn’t moved to their new house, though it had only taken a day to get the legally binding paperwork together and the eviction notice was served at the same time.

The mare that had been, sort of, conned into “renting” their house will move into Amethyst and Lemon’s house at the end of the month. Starting June first, his family will finally take possession of their new home. Cure had gone through and made all the same repairs and upgrades as their own home, so the mare had no objection as long as she can still access the garden for food.

Their attorney wasn’t nearly as sympathetic to the alleged victim. She had several good points; the lease may have been wholesale fake, the mare may refuse to leave or pay rent at the end of November, or she could do who-knows-what to the house in the meantime.

They’re all valid worries that a typical landlord should be very concerned about. None of them bother Cure or his parents much at all though, mainly due to the family’s current financial situation and his capabilities. They don’t have a buyer or a renter lined up for the house, so collecting no income from it for six or more months doesn’t hurt them. If she damages the property, short of burning it to the ground, Cure can Mend or use his plant to fix it up in an hour or two.

The ultimate goal of getting her out of their new house quickly is the only thing they’re worried about, so if she crops up as a problem come December first they can deal with her easily enough then. Besides, in the meantime the family can get a small credit for the would-be rent since they are providing free housing to a single mare with a young foal, so they’ll recover a small portion of the lost income anyway.

Title looks up from her mat and says, “’bout time, what’d ya bring me?” The pink mare has her daughter snuggled between her forehooves, a letter book open on a stand in front of her.

Shoulders sagging, Cure takes the paper bag off his withers and passes it to the mare before flopping on her right by her shoulder.

“Aww, honey,” she sympathetically says, “I was just teasing. Thanks for getting us donuts, though. That was very sweet of you.”

Despite her words, she doesn’t hesitate to open the bag and start cramming an eclair in her face, happily humming and wiggling her booty as she savors the cream filled pastry. Savvy gets in on the action, too. Her dam tears off a tiny piece, scoops a little cream on it, and passes it to the excited filly.

“Daaaam! Come get a donut before mom and Savvy eat ‘em all!”

“We’ll be right down, honey,” he hears from the stairs.

Nuzzling the top of his head against his mom’s shoulder, he asks, “Where’s Amy and the girls?”

“She took ‘em over to play with Fall and Summer. They’re going to the pond to swim. Lemon just left a few minutes ago to open up.” She turns her neck back to nose at his right side, giving him a quick nuzzle. “Your dam said you had some kinda big kerfuffle over there. Everything alright?”

“Ugh. First off, let me say that secret identities are a massive nuisance.”

Heavy clops coming down the stairs draw his attention to his sire, followed by his dam right on his tail. “Heya sport, it all turn out okay?” he asks. He leans down to plant a smooch on his daughter’s head, then snatches the donuts up and hops away from Title as she squawks in protest.

“I’ll put a cup of coffee on for you, honey. Are you sure you’re going to be okay working today?”

“Thanks, dam. I’ll be fine. I’ll just take a nap later. All is well, pa.” Cure takes a deep breath and begins his tale, speaking up a little so Vines can hear from the kitchen. “So the class thing went really well.

“They apparently work individually with newcomers, so I spent most of the class working one-on-one with a stallion. Silver Streak. He’s a second lieutenant over in Baltimare. He was fine with me cheating, so I can do the moves; I just need actual experience to know when and how to use ‘em.”

“Gonna keep goin?” Deed asks, chewing his way through a chocolate donut with sprinkles. A few of the sprinkles fall off, and the stallion doesn’t bat an eye, licking them right off the floor. It’s a move that makes Cure want to cringe, but is actually completely acceptable in pony society. Earth ponies, in particular, are far hardier than a human, and somepony using their mouth to move something just isn’t uncommon at all.

“Yep. It was fun. I may go to the afternoon one on occasion too.”

“There’s an afternoon one?” Vines asks as she walks back in from the kitchen. Cure’s coffee mug is floating just by her shoulder, held firmly in her TK field. She sets the coffee in front of him and lays on her side turned his direction. She still has a month left, but with two foals in her she looks ready to pop. Deed passes her the donuts and she hums in delight when she spots a raspberry jelly filled one Cure got just for her.

“Yeah… there is. Three o’clock,” he huffs. “I think Song maybe had an ulterior motive for neglecting to mention it before.”

It only takes a second for his mom to catch on. “Her daughter?”

He wobbles a hoof left and right in an unsure gesture. “Ehh… or just any young bat filly. There were twenty-six of ‘em there. She played it off as a tease, but she did mention that I have at least one of every other tribe in my circle. Anyhow, it’s not really a big deal either way; the morning class was probably better overall, even if it makes for a long day.

“So I ended up changing behind a closed store, then teleported the last few hundred meters to the side of the community center. Apparently somepony saw the flash and caught sight of me. By the time class was half over several dozen spectators and a few newsponies had shown up.”

“Didn’t embarrass yerself too bad, didjya?”

“Heh… no. In fact I may have kinda embarrassed Silver accidentally. We were doing a little grappling after he showed me several of the moves. Ya know, kind of a ‘Here’s how you use it’ thing. I enlarged myself so it wasn’t too awkward.”

“Oh my,” Vines hums, having a pretty good idea how that ended.

“Yeah. Most things from my memories aren’t applicable to a quadrupedal stance, but we were wrestling on our hind legs, and I’m a lot stronger than even an adult bat.”

“Poor fellah,” Title sympathizes with a chuckle. “Had no idea what he was in for, huh?”

“Nope. I got my forelegs around his barrel, lifted him up, and slammed him down on his back, maaaaaybe a smidge harder than I meant to. I think I knocked the wind outta him. From both ends, even.”

Deed gives an impressed whistle, “Beatin up the instructor on the first day. Way ta go, son.”

“The newsponies,” Vines notes, holding a hoof in front of her full mouth as she giggles.

“Yup. They got a nice picture outta that, I’m sure. Hopefully the dude doesn’t get too much crap from his subordinates. You know that pic’s gonna be in every paper in the country by Friday.”

Title extends her horn and lifts the treats back over, looking for another to share with Savvy. Cure rolls to his barrel and takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “So the reason I’m like three hours late is ‘cause I offered to give the foals all a checkup and a quick fix before I left. Well, one of ‘em had a heart problem.”

“Wow,” Title mumbles. “She’s lucky you happened to be there.”

“It’s a hereditary condition,” he adds.

“Her dam?” Vines asks, immediately catching on.

“Mmhmm. And her sister,” he answers. “A ventricular septal defect. It’s basically a hole in the heart, which actually sounds worse than it is. I mean, it’ll eventually kill ya, but the most common symptom is lack of energy ‘cause instead of sending oxygenated blood to the body like it should, some of it gets sent back to the lungs instead. Your body isn’t getting the air it needs and the heart has to work harder to compensate.

“Granddam apparently kicked the bucket in her early fifties from heart failure, probably suffering from it her whole life. They never got checked themselves, but… yeah. The mare has a couple siblings she’s gonna reach out to. They need to get checked too.”

“Damn, son… that’s ten or more ponies’ lives ya may have saved. Was it really hard ta fix or somethin?”

“Nope. It took about two minutes per to fix ‘em up. I’m way late ‘cause I ain’t tinkerin with somepony’s ticker unless a doctor gives the go-ahead first, though.”

“Ah,” his sire intones, “hadta go to the hospital.”

“Yep. Shock and dismay, there’s not a cardiologist on site most Saturday mornings at six thirty. It took an hour and a half for one to show up, another thirty minutes for her to confirm my diagnosis, and the direct intervention of Dr. Care to approve me doing the treatment. Over two hours wasted for five minutes of work,” he laments, taking a long draw of his brew.

“On the plus side,” he says, perking up, “the whole thing will probably be an enormous PR win for me. The mare had an absolute meltdown when,” he pauses when all three parents cock a brow at the term. “Right. Meltdown. Uhh, it’s when something overheats to the point it literally melts down. It later became a euphemism for an explosive loss of control. Like, a mental breakdown, sort of, at least in this context.

“Anyhow, when I scanned the filly and saw the heart issue I pulled her dam off to the side. I mean… I explicitly told her it’s a minor, non-urgent, easily addressed issue. The only words that registered were ‘heart defect’ and ‘foals’ to her, apparently. Probably some trauma from losin her mom,” he offers with a shrug. “She completely lost her sh… stuff. But,”

His sire finishes the line of thought, “All’a them newsponies got ta see ya comfortin a distraught mare?”

“Not really. She was inconsolable until her husband and wives showed up. I had to ask Silver to call them on my Sending crystal. But the newsponies heard her, then waited for us to leave the hospital for a photo op. They got a picture of a whole herd of bats squashin me in a group hug right there on the front steps of the hospital.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic, honey!” his dam gushes, smiling broadly. “Princess Celestia will be so excited when she sees it!” She rolls over her belly, continuing to her left side and rests her head on his back, rubbing her left cheek and muzzle against him. “I’m so proud of you, sweetie!”

“Good job, sport. Not ta rain on yer parade, but I do have a tiny concern.”

“That doing stuff like that will encourage ponies to seek me out?”

“Got it in one.”

Cure finishes his drink, lets out a long sigh, and scoots his mug away to lay his neck and head down between his forelegs. “Dunno what I coulda done different, pa. Not offered to check over the foals, I guess, but it was a good opportunity and I didn’t expect all that.

“I think I need to focus back on creating treatments. I’ve repeatedly said that’s the biggest bang for the bit. The whole healing thing is just a stopgap and a PR move anyhow, just like we originally discussed. There’s some things I’m just not sure how to address safely though. Maybe I should talk to Dr. Care about it next time I see her.”

Cure pauses, glancing over to Savvy as she completely ignores her dam’s attempt to focus her on the book. Deed follows his eyes and smirks at the display, chuckling as he says, “May be a tad early for that, babe.”

“You shut it!” she snaps back. Tightening her forelegs’ hold and nosing at the little tuft of a mane she continues, “Our little Savvy is the smartest filly in the world! She’ll probably start talking any day now,” she firmly insists.

Everypony looks at the girl in question as she tilts her head up to meet her dam’s eyes. In a cute, high pitch she makes a vaguely “ah” noise. Title’s eyes grow big as saucers as she starts repeating “dam” to the girl, trying to get her to speak up. After a moment with no success, Savvy finally freezes in place for a second, looks right up at her dam, and lets out a crystal clear “oink!”

Deed’s jaw falls open, Vines gasps and rolls off of Cure, and Title slowly turns her head right, finding Cure shaking with barely contained laughter, his horn extended and made to glow visibly. “You little shit!” she growls.

“Like dam, like daughter, eh ma?” he asks, cutting off the Illusion spell to reveal the happily burbling filly doing nothing in particular.

His sire has more sense than he, shouting, “Run, colt!” as he pulls his daughter out of the way. It’s enough of a warning that Cure manages to dive away from the pounce. He launches himself behind his sire, shoots towards the stairs, and literally runs up the wall to escape, giggling madly the whole way and leaving the shouting, cursing mare behind.

“Gottagetreadyforwork!” he yells, darting into the bathroom. “Love you, momma!” he shouts, slamming the door shut.

The fuming mare had stopped at the base of the stairs. She glares up the short flight and grumbles, shifting on her hooves as she mutters under her breath about whoopin’ a blue hiney. Her focus is drawn to her mates, both of whom are quietly laughing, trembling with mirth while using her daughter as a pony shield.

“He’s a brat ‘cause of you!” she accuses, pointing a hoof at the innocently smiling stallion.

“‘Cause ‘a me, nothin. This one’s the trouble maker,” he insists, flicking his tail at his first wife.

Vines gives him an affronted look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she declares, sniffing dismissively and turning away. The other two share a knowing look, but wisely choose not to respond.

Author's Note

It's pretty far out, but just a warning right now - I have travel plans that'll make it impossible for me to write for a few weeks at the end of August and beginning of September. I always like to give plenty of warning so that no one thinks the story's been abandoned, though (disappointingly) it seems like a lot of people don't read the A/N section for some reason and ask anyhow. So yeah... heads up on that. I know it sucks going for a week or three without an update, but RL comes first.

I've also been getting lots of questions about time skips and some about when this story will eventually reach canon MLP's time. The former will come when it comes - There's a few major things to come in the remainder of 909, of course, but since this is a slice of life story there will be just random pure SoL chapters for a few days in there too. There's no reason to rush to 999 AB and there's a lot of things that'll happen over the next 90 years.

I mean... I'd be bummed AF, as a reader, if I opened a story like this and it eighty or more years of timeline was just skipped over.

What's the rush, anyhow? It's about the journey, not the destination, right?

If / when we get to MLP canon it won't be for a long, long time, I expect. I mean... story-wise only like 9 months have passed.

Oh well. Thanks for reading, as always. Enjoy!