Sunday, August 16th, 909 AB (the next morning)

Lemon Sweet can’t really imagine what her last life must have been like, assuming she even had one at all. She understands that they may never truly find an answer to the colt’s predicament, but she’s quite confident at this point that if she did, in fact, have a past life, she must have done something incredibly right.

Sprawled out on a couch in the living room, she has to fight to hold back the deep, highly inappropriate sounding moan that threatens to escape her lips. Her first wife isn’t any better; Amethyst is similarly laid out on the next couch over, both of them receiving massages that she’s not sure the maker herself could hope to match.

A tiny part of her brain was wary about climbing under the multi-limbed stalk hanging down from the ceiling, but she knows Cure would sooner cut off his own head than let anypony harm his family, so she metaphorically kicked that concern’s teeth in and hopped right up on the couch. Granted, the colt cutting off his head is probably something he would do for a cheap laugh if his dam hadn’t already firmly told him not to.

Life is kind of weird sometimes.

Either way, prey-brained Lemon is an idiot and can shut its dumb mouth, and massage-brained Lemon is one happy camper.

“I wanna know,” her beautiful gem begins, pausing to slurp back the line of drool that she nearly let fall on the couch, “how in tarnation yer doin all this at once, colt.”

The Alicorn of Ecstasy deftly flips the pancakes out of the pans onto their waiting plates and casually answers over his withers, “Same way ya get good at anything, ma. Practice, practice, practice. Besides, you know I’m cheating as much as a cheater can possibly cheat. By the way, I’ll have your breakfast started in a minute. You wanna wait a while or do ya want me to stop so you can eat?”

Title calls back from the nursery, asking, “Can you bring us ours?”

“You bet. Incoming, ma!” The colt’s horn ignites and three plates disappear in a flash.

“Thanks, sport!”
“Thank you, honey.”
“Thanks, babe! The service here is top notch!”

“I’ll second that,” the yellow mare finds herself slurring in agreement.

“What about you two?” he calls, turning their direction. “I can’t exactly give you a massage while you’re eating, but if you want to wait...”

“Nah,” Amethyst grunts, struggling to get her hooves under herself. “I’m starvin, colt. Much as I’d love ta stay right here all day, I need to eat somethin. Thanks a million, though. Ya got us right spoiled, tell ya what.”

A plaintive whine escapes Lemon when the plant retracts into the ceiling.

“Sure thing, ma. Gimme a sec and I’ll have yours for ya. Then I need to get ready and head out. How do ya want yer coffee?”

“Strong and dark, just like my stallion,” Amethyst quips as she slinks over to the table and plops down, leaning heavily against it while fighting to recover from the colt’s ministrations. “Where ya headed out to? Ya do realize it’s Sunday, dontchya?”

“Sure do. Gonna go visit grandpa real quick.” He pauses to flip both flapjacks and, while pouring them a couple mugs of life-giving brew, explains, “I need ta see about arranging a carriage for Solar and his friends next week. I figure gramps may have somepony under him that’s willing to earn a little OT. Also gotta pick up my mail and start making plans for my Fillydelphia excursion.”

He cranes his head back and calls to the front of the house, “Hey! Did y’all decide who’s come with me to Fillydelphia next month?”

“Reckon that’d be me,” Amethyst answers as his sire yells back, “Plan’s fer Amy ta go with ya!”

“And we have a consensus,” the colt nods. “Works for me. Ya know, ma, we really oughta start lookin for a nice house we can flip.”

“I’m up fer tryin,” she confirms with a nod. “Seems only right I help out what with the fillies gettin older ‘n V doin so much. Only so much housekeepin ta be done between that two ‘a us.”

“Sweet. Hey Pa!” he shouts out again, “Can you bring home a listing of homes for sale either here or in Baltimare tomorrow? Might be best to try a local one first, ya think?”

“You bet, sport. I’ll bring one home for ya.”

“Cool,” he more quietly mumbles.

Two pancakes lift out of the pans and onto their plates while another couple massive dollops of berry-filled batter are squirted down to take their places. As is appropriate for pony pancakes, the batter completely fills the bottom of each two and a half hoof skillet, making each serving easily three or four times as large as Ed used to make. Despite the pan being completely filled, flipping the monsters is far easier than it normally would be thanks to the utter ridiculous flexibility of a horn’s aura.

The colt continues idly chatting as he cooks, “It would be awesome if we could find a couple really run down ones in nice areas for cheap. Should be able to fix damn near anything in a few days and mark it up twenty, thirty percent or more over what we pay for it.”

“Sounds ‘bout right ta me, colt. Maybe I oughta talk to yer sire ‘bout gettin inta the business with this whole merger plan. Bettin I’d make a dern good appraiser or price consultant or whatnot.”

“I think the bank does the actual appraisal, but being able to tell a seller what they oughta be listin the house for would be a helluva lot of help. It’d be great on the buying side too; bein able to tell when you’ve got a good deal or if somepony’s tryin ta rip folks off.”

“Always knew you could make a mint with that talent,” Lemon comments, scooting closer to touch sides with her wife. She plants small kisses all up her neck, saying, “I’m glad you’ll finally get to shine, babe.”

Amethyst huffs in faux annoyance, gently pushing her wife’s focus back to her food. The light darkening of her ears and small smile don’t escape either pony’s notice, but neither Cure nor Lemon are bold enough to suggest the gruff mare is actually blushing. The challenging scowl she sends the pair reinforces that decision as they refocus on their work; one making the last couple flapjacks, the other devouring the one in front of her.

A moment of quiet passes over the three as they busy themselves. The last couple pancakes finish cooking, then appear, exactly as if by magic, on the two plates. A couple more mouth-full grunted thanks sound out as he Cleans the pans and sets them aside to cool. He fetches a bowl out of the cabinet and coaxes the plant to fill it with enough batter for the lazy foals still in bed.

“Here’s some for the girls, whenever they decide to get up,” he tells them as he makes his way around the table. He rears up and glomps on Lemon’s side, wrapping the mare in a quick wing hug and nuzzling against her chest. She passes her fork to her left hoof to give the colt a squeeze, releasing him when he shifts to make his way to her wife to do the same. He knows the relationship between himself and his newer moms isn’t nearly as strong as it is with Title, but he’d promised them and himself he would never treat them any differently for it.

He heads up towards the nursery as the pair work on their meal, stopping to climb on his sire’s back as the stallion cuts off tiny, syrup-saturated pieces to feed to the twins. “Headin out sport?”

“Yeah. Gonna go pick up my mail and maybe talk to Grandma Sabre about something.”

“Oh? Finally gonna ask yer grandma fer some sword lessons?”

“You bet. I can’t believe it took me so long to realize I could. When did you figure it out?”

“‘Bout when Onyx drooled on tha thing back in Canterlot.”

“Ah. Well… I feel kinda dumb then.”

“Ain’t no shame in it, colt. Just keep an eye aboutchya. Ya know yer dam worries somethin fierce.”

Cure lightens himself and hops off his sire, flapping once to gently land on his dam instead. Wings and forelegs wrap the mare’s shoulders and neck in a hug as he nuzzles into her bright yellow mane. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, dam. Even when I’m not in the air and invisible there’s not more than a few creatures on the planet that would last more’n a couple seconds if they tried something. I know you’ll still worry no matter what I say, but really, there’s just no reason to.”

“I know that, sweetie,” she insists, leaning back into the hug, “and you know that it doesn’t matter. I’ll still always worry.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, nodding against the back of her head. “Haze said the same thing, more or less, last night.”

“You mean when you were giving him the super dong five thousand?” Title asks with a laugh.

“Phrasin, babe,” Deed chuckles.

“C’mon ma, I don’t go blastin your private info all over the place.”

“You all but told them you gave both of us your upgrade just last night!”

“You spoke up first!” he insists, pointing a hoof in accusation.

“You did,” his dam agrees with a nod. “You’re the one that said it helped with Savvy. I didn’t though,” she points out, turning so Cure can see her exaggerated pout.

“Yes you…” he pauses, recalling the conversation with mounting horror as it replays in his mind. “Oh. Oh shit!”

“Language!” all three parents reflexively scold.

“I am so sorry dam!” he shouts, squeezing her much harder. “I didn’t even think about it! Gah! I’m always so careful about it too!” Burying his face in her mane, he pleads, “Don’t be upset! It’s not like they’re gonna say anything to anypony!”

“It’s alright, sweetie. I was only teasing. Mostly. Still, it’s something you should be more careful of in the future. Don’t you dare go out there and tease Mr. Haze, assuming he did agree.” She turns and gives the other parents a look, clearly showing how unlikely they think it is that he declined.

“I don’t think it’ll be that hard to tell,” Title mumbles. Cure and both of his parents slowly turn to stare, mouth agape, at the pink mare’s implication. “Not what I meant at all!” she insists, blushing brilliantly. “I mean it’ll be pretty obvious when you see either him skippin through town whistling a jaunty tune or her walking funny, but still smiling ear to ear.”

“Or Dawn ‘n Solar lookin traumatized ‘n overtired, I reckon,” his sire suggests.

“Unicorn bedrooms have privacy wards for their auras built into the walls just like the ones I put in your room, and assuming you all are right, I would have suggested a Sound Bubble for the noise.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, that way foals don’t have to watch their parents get busy through their aura.” He narrows his eyes at his sire and his mom. “Assuming the parents remember to use them,” he nearly growls, holding his wings up in challenge. Both parents chuckle uncomfortably and duck their heads in submission as his dam heats up so much he could cook another pancake on her back. “I’m only teasing. Like I’ve said a dozen times, I’m just happy you’re all happy. I mean… I could do without quite so much evidence, but hey… I’ll take that over yelling. In anger, that is.”

“Sorry, son.”
“We’ll remember next time, Cure.”

“I would appreciate it. Anyhow, I’m headin out. Love you, dam!” he shouts, hugging her again. “Hope you kick tail at the market.”

“It’s not much of a competition, but I love you too, sweetie.”

He hops down and smooches the twins on their heads. They give him bonks on his chin, but pay him little mind, far more interested in the sugary deliciousness that Deed is offering. He gives a couple quick hugs to his mom and sire, then slowly stalks around to finds his final victim.

He squats down, wings spreading up and booty wiggling in the air. “Saavvvvyyyyyyy. Savvvyyyy Veeeeentuuuure!” The girl’s ears perk instantly, her head whips away from her dam, fork still stuck in her mouth. Her eyes land on the colt and widen comically as she turns, scrambling to run away while flapping madly. A peal of giggly laughter sounds out as the fork falls to the floor.

“I’mma gonna get you Savvy!” he shouts, pouncing after the filly.

Left minus a foal, but still sitting in front of a stack of pancakes, Title shrugs in false surrender. “I suppose it would be a shame if they were to go to waste.”

Brick leans away from his wife, shielding the newspaper with his body. “Caramel, sweetheart, I’m not even done reading!”

“Well hurry up! That one has a good picture of him slappin that skinwing ‘round!”

Vino sighs and takes a swig of her fruity drink, shaking her head in disappointment.

Sabre looks to the sky for guidance and blows out a frustrated sigh. “Land’s sake, Care, for the thousandth time, you can’t call ‘em that! It ain’t right!”

The mare scoffs and rolls her eyes, brushing the argument away with a wave of her hoof. “There’s none of them around, so who cares?”

“He would!” the silver mare counters, pointing to the picture of Cure at the previous day’s training. “You know he likes them bats, and him hearing his great granddam using tribal slurs like that’ll upset him!”

“Fine! Fine! I’ll try to watch what I say! Not like I’d use words like that around a colt his age anyhow.”

“You really should let that go either way,” Brick chides. “I never gave that mare the time of day, and she’s been dead for going on sixteen years now.”

“Feh,” she snorts to the side. “Doesn’t matter. Chasing after a married stallion like that. And a day pony, no less!”

Brick sighs, rubbing at his brow. “Fifty-five years later and you’re still just as spiteful as you were the day I told you.” His ear rotates back at the sound of approaching hoofsteps, prompting him to look over his left shoulder at the intrusion.

Measured Corner pokes his head into the kitchen and meets Brick’s eyes. He fully steps in and stands at attention, drawing breath to speak only to pause when a familiar voice loudly whispers, “Dude! You gotta wear the hat!” The stallion’s ears go pitifully limp and his bottom lip quivers as the most ridiculous hat Brick has ever seen floats from around the corner and deposits itself on his head. “Also, I don’t see no trumpet, so take this,” a pink kazoo floats out to hover in front of his mouth, “and get on with it.”

Corner nods in resignation and takes a deep breath, stalwartly ignoring the openly giggling mares watching on in amusement. “Presenting the Alicorn of Life, His Royal Highness, Prince Serpentus!”

“Blow!” Cure insists, levitating the kazoo to tap against Corner’s snout.

“Do I have to?” he despondently asks.

“You wouldn’t if you’d learned a real instrument, dude! It’s been three months now. What the hay have you been doing this whole time?”

The stallion looks to his right and snaps back, “Oh yeah?! What instrument did you learn?!”

A beat of silence passes.

“Fine! Don’t blow the damn kazoo!” Said instrumental disappears in a flash of Teleportation. “And I’m taking back my hat, too!” Another flash leaves the stallion uncovered as the young alicorn marches into the room, grumbling under his breath as he gives Corner a baleful side-eye.

“No hat, no instrument. You did the announcement alright, I guess, but that still barely gets you a two out of ten, bro. I’m not angry!” Cure quickly insists, holding a hoof up to stay an argument that wasn’t coming. “I just know you can do better, and I don’t want you to let you down like that.” Rant concluded, Cure does an about-face and pauses. He looks at the table, then glances over his withers back towards the hallway closet before coming to a decision.

One last flash fires off and, standing in the same spot, is an earth pony sized, yet still youthful looking, alicorn stallion. Corner takes the opportunity to flee the room as Cure approaches Brick on his left, stopping between him and Vino. It’s not quite as obvious when he’s colt-sized, but Enlarged as he is, it truly drives home how broad and muscular the colt has become; far more evident in pony than in the newspaper pictures.

With the help dismissed, the colt prances over, nuzzling into Vino and trapping her against his left side in a one-winged hug. “Heya grandma! Whatcha got there, hmm?” he asks, pointing his muzzle at her cup.

“Some fancy tea from Bitain. Gin, Elderflower, and some lemon juice with tea. ‘s not bad,” she says, sliding the glass closer. “See what you think.”

The colt doesn’t hesitate a second to lift it with his horn and take a small drink. He sets it down and tilts his head side to side in consideration. “Mmm I don’t think that’s for me, grandma. Maybe with some pineapple juice instead of lemon? I dunno… never been real big on either tea or gin, to be honest.”

Brick can’t help but think that that’s an odd statement from a nine year old foal.

“You get over here right this instant!” Caramel demands, her forehooves held wide and high. He separates from Vino and reaches out for a quick hoofbump with his great grandsire before quickly slipping around the mare’s back and getting pulled into a tight embrace by his great granddam. “Look at you, all poofed up with that fancy magic! Why… even still, you’re barely more than skin and bones!”

Brick, Sabre, and Vino share looks of utter bewilderment.

“Skin and bones my toned, muscular flank,” Sabre crows. “That colt’s damn near as wide as he is long, Care! You ought to check her eyes while she’s tryin to squeeze the daylights out of you, Cure. Something’s not working right up there!”

“You be quiet,” Caramel insists, lightly swatting her wife’s right haunch with the end of her tail. “You want anything to eat, dearie? I made brownies last night. We still have a few left if you want!”

“Caramel swirled brownies?!” he nearly shouts, eyes sparkling and tail dancing happily behind him.

The mare leans back, holding the colt in place with a hoof on each shoulder. She gives him the sternest, most offended look she can muster and asks, “Who do you think I am, young stallion?! You should know better than to even ask! Now, you sit that patoot right here,” she points to the floor, “and let your granddam get some food in ya!”

“Yes ma’am!” he chirps, snapping off a textbook perfect salute. She gives a firm nod of approval and scampers off to fetch his treats, pausing at the refrigerator for milk. Cure meanwhile snakes closer to his other great grandmother and wraps his right wing across her barrel in a hug, disengaging and sliding back to his designated spot before he’s caught out of place.

“How are your parents doing, son?” Brick asks. “Seems like your sire’s branching out a bit.”

“Doin great, grandpa. He ‘n ma Title are lookin to partner up with somepony in town and see about expanding into Baltimare. Lemon’s shop’s doin real well, too. Dam and Amy are stayin busy with the foals. They’ve been takin ‘em all to the park and pond and whatnot for the girls to play with other foals and to introduce the twins to new ponies. All in all things are going great.”

“Good. Good. How about all those fillies chasing after you? I heard about one of them passing out fliers downtown. Washout’s eldest, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yep! Wind Shear said something about starting a job a few weeks back. She’s quite the looker, just like her dam, so I offered to give her a little makeover if she came to work for me drumming up business. She’s been makin way more bits and keepin my schedule full, so everypony’s coming out ahead if ya ask me. Just a heads-up; there’s a pegacorn stallion that had himself done up in my colors, so if you bump into him don’t call him grandson or Cure or whatever.

“The rest of the girls are staying busy too. Rising Pitch may have a scholarship lined up for her music in a couple years. Dawn Glow is making a mint selling crystals. Ferric Shine has been doing a lot of neat things with different alloys at the smithy. The pegasi are probably coming out ahead of everypony, though. I can use my talent to make flight suits that they’re selling and delivering around town.”

“With your talent?” Sabre asks. “Another one of your trees?”

“I do make them from plant matter, but I make ‘em myself, same way I did this one,” he says, tugging on his collar. “It’s silk, same as spiders make, just in sheets instead of threads. I just have to transmute it.”

The mare gives him an impressed look and casts a somewhat envious stare at his suit. Cure makes a mental note as to what to get them all for Hearth’s Warming.

“So how’re things here, grandpa?”

“Busy. Everything is moving forward on the project and, otherwise, my businesses are doing well. Speaking of goings on around here, we’ve gotten a few hundred letters from schools all over the nation. They’re in the satchel waiting for you, but it seems like every school district east of Foaledo, and some further away, is damn near begging to have you visit. I know you’re not fond of public speaking, but…”

Cure cringes and nods in understanding. “Yeah… yeah. I guess it would score me some political capital if I did, huh?”

Brick nods and points out, “May be a good way to make sure foals are in good health, too. There’s too many schools for you to go all over the place, but if you’re interested, maybe think about at least visiting some of the bigger ones.”

“That’s not a bad idea, grandpa. Maybe for suburbs we can have the schools bring all the foals to a town hall or park or something like that.” Cure’s ears perk up as a thought occurs to him. “Duchess Suncrest is all about education, apparently. I bet if we reach out to her office she’d be thrilled to take care of the logistics.” Shoulders sagging slightly, he adds, “And… I guess we should probably include Marquis Merryland’s offices in the correspondence, at least.”

Brick sighs and nods in agreement. “That may be for the best. I don’t think anypony expects you to go all over the place -”

“They better not!” Sabre nearly growls. “You’re too young for anypony to be expecting you to fly all over whenever they want you to. You do way more than anypony should expect you to already. You don’t let them take advantage of your good nature!”

Brick shrugs helplessly by waves a hoof at the silver mare to indicate his agreement. “Maybe aim for once every month or so. If her grace approves we could start sometime in late September when most of the farming foals are done helping their family.”

“Sounds like a plan, grandpa.”

“Such a dedicated young colt!” Caramel coos as she slides a plate with three enormous, caramel-slathered confections in front of the colt. “You eat up, now! I don’t want to see a single crumb left on that plate, ya hear?!”

A quick casting of Clean fires off, removing anything from his hooves as he tears a small piece off. An ecstatic moan escapes him when he takes his first bite. His right wing unconsciously reaches out to pull the preening mare against his side.

“There’s plenty there, Cure,” Caramel teases with a laugh, “You don’t have to take such small bites!”

With his mouth full of brownie, the colt points insistently up at his horn. Finally swallowing the bite, he explains, “Gotta take small bites ‘cause of the Enlarge spell, grandma. Watch,” he says, tearing another small square off. He pops it in his mouth, but doesn’t start chewing right away. With the piece held between his front teeth, he opens back up to show it had nearly doubled in size.

“Ah,” Brick mumbles, slowly nodding in understanding. “I didn’t realize the spell did that. Seems like a choking hazard.”

“Definitely,” Cure agrees. “It won’t enlarge something that won’t fit, but if the spell runs out of power or you stop maintaining it you’ll still shrink to normal. I don’t care to imagine what would happen if you enlarged somecreature, then shoved something in their mouth that barely fits, then let the spell fade. Or, I guess, it wouldn’t have to be their mouth.”

Silence descends upon the room as four great grandparents process the idea with mounting horror.

“Son,” Brick finally manages to get out. “What in the maker’s name has the princess been exposing you to?!”

Cure waves his hoof in placation, doing his best to assure them of the misunderstanding. “Oh, don’t worry grandpa. That’s not her doing. It’s just something that I realized when I saw how the spell actually worked a while back. There’s warnings about it in the guard manual, but I didn’t get a copy of that until a month after I figured it out anyhow.”

“How?”

“Did I figure it out?” Cure clarifies. At Brick’s nod he explains, “Well I kinda assumed it worked like that when I cast Enlarge the first time. See, if all the spell did was change somepony’s size then they’d immediately start suffocating. Our lungs are designed to take oxygen out of the air for our blood. It wouldn’t work right if, all the sudden, the oxygen was relatively half as big, and even if it did then your blood cells would have a similar problem. It would probably also mess up somepony’s vision and other stuff too, but that’s not quite as urgent as not getting air.

“Either way, once I realized something else was going on, I took a bite of a carrot to test it. When it suddenly changed in size it was pretty obvious what was happening. That’s why I still hafta take colt-sized bites or I’ll end up with a mouth packed full of brownie. Which isn’t the worst thing ever, obviously.”

“Obviously,” the stallion agrees. Noting his wives’ still shaken demeanors, he opts to get them back on topic. “As for the school visits, I’ll have my ponies reach out to the duchess’s office and sort out the details.” He pauses until the colt nods and hums his approval around another mouthful. “Excellent. Now, you had previously mentioned going up to Fillydelphia to raise funds for the project. We need to start planning for that, though I suspect that’s one of the reasons you came today.”

“Yep! I also wanted to get my mail, see if you maybe have a few ponies that wouldn’t mind playing chaperone next weekend for a friend of mine, aaaand,” he drawls out, turning to his left to face Sabre, “I was wondering exactly how good you are with your namesake, grandma.”

Cure pauses his eating to reach under his left wing and slowly extracts a sword seemingly out of a slit in his barrel. With the sword being removed from a compressed bag, its size was not impacted by the Enlarge spell, just like the bags themselves. It’s something he’s learned to compensate for by surrounding the bags with a small gas pocket when he alters his size.

The sword is a design that both Sabre and Brick recognize instantly. “A griffon gladius?” the mare questions. “The one that ambassador gave you, I take it?”

“Yep. I’ve sparred with a spear a little, gotten some basics with daggers and lots of experience with wingblades and hoof-to-hoof at Junior Guard training,” he says, motioning to the folded newspaper with his snout, “but haven’t learned any proper sword work yet.”

“It’s too small for you,” she immediately points out. “It’s fine for a pegasus or griffon, but you’ll need something much larger when you’re grown. Especially if you keep growing.”

“That’s fine, grandma. With my talent I don’t really need any weapons at all, but learning how to use each one will still help if I ever get caught in a bad situation.”

“Always carry a weapon, colt,” Brick chides. “That horn’a yours may eventually put a unicorn to shame, but never underestimate the value of raw steel.”

Cure bobs his head in agreement, explaining, “Absolutely, but I wasn’t talking about magic, grandpa. Watch.” The colt spreads his left wing forward and reaches across his barrel with his right hoof, plucking a two hoof long feather from the edge.

With the sword in one hoof and the feather in the other, he strikes the two together as if honing a pair of knives. Four sets of brows shoot into their manes when, instead of the feather being sliced in half, a grinding SHHHH noise like a blade being sharpened on a whetstone sounds out. The colt’s horn lights, floating a cloth napkin over, which he then drops on top of the upturned feather. The napkin falls unimpeded, splitting in half cleanly on the part that touches the feather’s edge.

All four slowly pan to the colt’s right wing still wrapped gently around his great granddam’s side. The mare herself leans more heavily into the colt’s barrel, doing her best to put a little room between herself and the downy razors.

A snorted laugh dispels the worried atmosphere as he waves his feather-holding hoof airily. “It’s not like I can’t control it! Come on, really?!” he laughs, briefly squeezing the mare more tightly to his side. He pokes the remains of the napkin with the feather again, merely sliding it across the table instead of cutting into it, then sticks the feather back into place on his wing. Some quick hornwork has the napkin laid out flat and a Mending makes it whole again.

“And that’s not a spell of some kind?” Sabre slowly asks, still staring at his wing like it’s some kind of dangerous beast.

“Nope. Not as best I can tell, at least. I suppose it depends on your definition of magic, but it’s a similar, if different, effect to what we can all do when we lift stuff with our hooves.”

“Like a griffon’s talons,” Brick pointedly suggests.

“Something like that, grandpa.”

His great grandmother peels her eyes away from his wing and asks, “Then why do you want to learn how to swordfight?”

“First, I’ll eventually need the skill for some reason, I’m sure, be it from some dumb noble insisting I duel them or for when I eventually join the Guard. Second, having the skill helps defend against it, I’m sure. Getting sliced open wouldn’t really slow me down much, but I’d prefer not do that, all things being equal.

“Lastly, having their gift truly appreciated would probably please the griffons a fair amount. I’m sure I’ll have to deal with them sooner or later and I don’t want anygriff gettin their feathers ruffled because I haven’t even bothered to learn how to use what is apparently a nearly priceless present.”

“Those are all good points,” the mare agrees. “Alright. I may be a little rusty, but what with me bein a youngster again I oughta start acting like one, I suppose.”

“Awesome! Thanks, grandma!”

“Of course, honey. It’ll be nice to finally have somepony else in this family learn the art,” she idly grumps, giving her husband an accusatory glance out of the corner of her eyes.

Brick huffs and rolls his eyes, explaining to the colt, “Was always better with a hammer, myself.”

“Really? Awesome! Any chance you’d show me that too? One of my fillyfriends has a maul on her mark, but she has no training yet.”

Sabre scoffs, turning slightly away from Brick while muttering, “Ain’t hardly anything to learn. It’s just a big hammer you swing around like a dumb brute.”

“Better than dancing around like some prancing ponce, twirling your fancy toys that don’t do a damn thing to solid plate!”

“Can we not?” Vino mildly asks, looking entirely bored with an argument Cure suspects has come about more than once.

“You stay out of this!” Sabre hotly retorts. Vino, for her part, simply rolls her eyes and otherwise doesn’t respond.

“I’d like to learn ‘em both, grandma, grandpa. Dunno if I’ll ever need ‘em, but I’ll be around a long while, so I’m guessing that eventually I will at least once.”

“Seems like a lot for a young colt to learn all at once.”

“I learn really, really fast. Like… ‘show me something once and I’ll do it perfectly every time’ kind of fast. How about I come over Saturday mornings after training, spend a little while with you two, patch us all up so you’re not tired all day, then get out of your manes?”

“You’re not leaving here without eating something!” Caramel insists, tapping the still brownie-covered plate meaningfully and giving him a ‘you will do as I command’ stare.

Husband and wife share a look and come to an agreement, turning back to the colt and nodding in acceptance. “Sweet! I can’t wait!” The colt celebrates by popping another bite of brownie into his mouth and washing it down with a swig of milk. “So… Fillydelphia. The easiest way for me to get there is to fly. I can literally see the city from here if I go high enough, so I should be able to get there in twenty minutes, roughly, but it’ll have to be the same team that went with me to Canterlot if I do that.”

Brick nods and says, “That’s who I’d propose anyhow. They already know you’re an alicorn and have been sworn to secrecy. What day were you thinking?”

“Saturday the nineteenth. I’ll need to see about running ads in the Fillydelphia Inquirer soon so word gets around, but I planned on flying straight there after training, do my thing, then zip on home afterwards. I’ll pay to put your squad up in a nice hotel Friday and Saturday, no problem. How much would it cost to hire them for a couple days?”

“Eleven hundred should cover wages, food, lodging, and their tickets.”

Cure reaches in his mane and pulls out three coins, one larger than the other two, and slides them across the table. “An extra hundred in case anything unexpected comes up,” he explains.

“That’ll work. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help, son.” With an amused smirk he adds, “Not often they get to escort a member of royalty around.”

Cure rolls his eyes and huffs good naturedly. “If everything goes well enough it won’t be the last, either. Just make sure they understand; above all else I value loyalty and discretion. They keep their muzzles clamped on what they see and hear and they can expect more jobs in the future. Tell them to expect a few extra bits to go out and have fun with on Saturday night, but warn ‘em I won’t be there to patch them up Sunday morning.”

Brick gives the colt a firm nod in understanding. “Now… you said something about providing a detail next weekend?”

“Solar Strike is leaving for Maelstrom on Saturday night. He and his friends are going to hit the town Friday. I’d like a carriage, driver, and maybe a couple ponies to make sure that if they party too hard they still get home safe. You know what’s appropriate for a stallion about to ship out better than I, grandpa, so I’ll leave the details to you, but that’s the gist of it.”

“Not a problem. I’ll put a feeler out amongst the team to see who’s looking to earn a few extra bits. A few teens hitting the bars should be an easy gig, so I don’t expect it to cost more than a hundred and fifty bits.”

“What about the carriage?”

“Don’t you worry about that, honey,” Caramel interrupts. “Your little friend can use one of ours.”

“You sure?” he asks, looking to the other grandparents for confirmation. Vino stares on placidly, barely shrugging and bobbing her head in a shallow nod, but Brick and Sabre both give their approval. “Great! I’ll check with him and find out the when and where and Send that to you.”

“You do that,” Brick agrees. “In the meantime, before you head out, how would you like to step out back and show me and your grandma your hoofwork? Celestia’s sun hasn’t heated it up too much just yet, and I’m curious to see how well those bats have been teaching you.”

Strolling through the wispy cloud-like surroundings, Celestia is left momentarily dumbfounded at the creature she finds waiting for her. Rather than the blue or, on rare occasions, brown and golden alicorn, she is instead confronted by a dark gray yak calf. One with disproportionately tiny wings and, instead of their normal curved horns, two straight horns sticking up diagonally at forty-five degree angles from his forehead in a V.

Struggling to make sense of the situation, she freezes when the calf turns to face her.

“Pony astral realm dumb! Yak astral realm much better! Has punch and pie! Me smash pony realm!” he shouts, then proceeds to make a valiant attempt to stomp on any cloud that drifts nearby.

She can only assume the yakicorn… alicyak? Whatever it is, it must have some sort of power to affect other creatures’ limbs, for she has no other explanation for how her hoof, heedless of her command, came to be pressed firmly against her brow.

“Cure Wave… What in the world are you doing?”

“Cure?! Who Cure?! Bring this stupid Cure pony and I smash him good too!” he boasts, stomping his hooves one after another as he turns in a slow circle.

“That sentence was entirely too well formed for you to be a real yak. And I would have expected ‘dumb’ instead of stupid. Too many syllables.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, coming to a stop. He thrusts an accusing hoof in her direction and, in his normal voice, snaps back, “Your name has too many syllables! Yeah!” he shouts, bobbing his head side to side. “Whatta ya think of that, huh?”

“I recall my sister making the same argument once.”

The disguised colt scoffs, nodding in agreement. “Duh. All the best alicorn’s names have four letters, after all.” The flat look she sends him prompts him to clear his throat and add, “Uhh… or multiples of four, I suppose.” He tilts his head in thought and mumbles, “Just don’t tell Love I said that. You know. In like, seventy, eighty years or whatever.”

“I’ll make note to do so.”

“Good. Err… wait… You’re going to make a note to tell her or to not tell her?”

“Get out of that disguise,” she insists rather than answering. “You look absolutely ridiculous, especially with those,” she waves a hoof at his horns and tiny wings.

“Fiiine!” he whines. In an unsettling display, the yak’s features seem to almost melt back into the colt as he emerges from the ambiguous blob-like transformation. One horn recedes, the other shifts to the center, and mass flows up and over his wings to grow them to normal proportions. The whole display leaves the princess feeling slightly ill.

Either unaware or uncaring for her discomfort, he finishes the transformation and glances between the mare and the indistinct floor, silently demanding she takes her normal position.

Sighing, she approaches and lowers herself, twisting her barrel to lay half on her left side. Grinning victoriously, the colt pronks over, rears up, and crashes more lightly than she’d expected onto her right shoulder. “So… how’s my currently-favorite princess doing today?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “About as well as my currently second favorite prince, I suppose.” Just as he opens his mouth to respond, she quickly adds, “And no, I am not talking about Blueblood.” The pouty, jutting bottom lip she gets in return brings her more satisfaction than she cares to admit.

“Big ‘ol meanie,” he weakly grumps. The fake pout disappears all at once when he nuzzles against the side of her neck. “So boss, teasing aside, what’s shakin?”

“Very little, thankfully. I have to ask, though… Why a yak?!”

“Eh, I thought about doing a griffon, but I knew you wouldn’t even bat an eye at that or a hippogriff. You’d asked me not to do the whole slit-eye thing, so bats were similarly out. Dragon was a maybe, but the whole scales thing seemed like a lot of work. I considered popping in with all mismatched parts, but I was kinda worried you might start shooting and ask questions later.”

“Please, please do not do that. Ever.”

“Right. I’ve not actually met a yak yet -”

“I could tell.”

“- so I figured that would be a good one to get a cheap laugh out of you without sparkin some kinda automatic fight or flight response. I also kicked around the idea of a bull or whatever, but… meh. I came this close,” he holds his hooves barely apart, “to doing minotaur, but I didn’t want to have my stuff all wavin around what with you being a taken mare and all.”

She blows out a snorted laugh, nodding in faux agreement. “Oh yes, we need only set a date for it to be official.”

“Still haven’t seen him?”

“No,” she despondently replies.

“He was probably a changeling. I bet you killed him.”

“What?!”

“Yep. You dumped so much love into him on that one night that he went home and exploded. Popped like an overfilled balloon, I reckon. Better put an APB out on him, boss. Twenty bits says somepony’ll point you to his house and you’ll find nothin left but a green puddle and flecks of chitin embedded in the walls and ceiling.”

“Cure! Wave! What is wrong with you?!”

“Do me a favor and scoop as much up as you can. Stick it in a freezer or something. I won’t be able to get as much as I would for a living specimen, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.”

An enormous white wing jabs the colt in his left side. “He was not a changeling!”

Cure flops bonelessly on his right side and smirks up at the elder alicorn. “Big bully!” he whines, then scoots closer to lay with his hooves resting on the outside of her foreleg. “How would you know if he was, hmm?” The glare she sends him could melt an iceberg. “Fine, fine! Why haven’t you simply sent him a letter or, better yet, used Sending to send a message?”

Celestia freezes stock still.

“You didn’t think of that, did you?” he nearly snickers.

“I’m supposed to be a pegasus!” she weakly defends, turning to face away from the smug brat.

“Uh huh. And we all know pegasi can’t use Sending crystals, huh? You could even enchant one so you’re not lying when you tell him you used one. Shame he probably won’t have one to reach back out. Do you have somepony you trust not only to know you met somepony, but is also capable of finding him?”

Her snout scrunches but she does reluctantly nod. “I would much prefer not to go that route, but yes.”

“I could come up with an excuse to bring the girls with me to Canterlot. Crosswind could find him for you.”

“That’s really not necessary, Cure. We met once in a bar a couple weeks ago. All this talk of hunting him down is making me feel like some kind of stallion stalker.”

“It’s ultimately up to you, boss. I bet I’d have to physically hold the filly back from flying there if she found out that her majesty has need of her special talent and is asking for her to come to Canterlot post-haste. All of my friends know how important discretion is. If you don’t get a response from Sending then I don’t see the harm in it.”

She sighs, nodding in acceptance. “I will keep the offer in mind. Or I may just see if I meet somepony else. As I said, we only spent the one evening together.”

Cure shrugs his wings and nods. “Hey… question. You know how when you get a Sending you know who sent it?”

She nods. “Yes, and given the subject, I suspect your next question is if that would reveal my true identity.”

“Yep. Or mine.”

“It could, but is unlikely. The nature of the relationship between the sender and recipient is crucial to the function of the spell. In my example, Comet knows me only as Sunny, so there is no way for him to ‘know’ that a Sending from me is from me instead. In your case you may need to take care if you are Sending a message to somepony you know in both identities, but is unaware that both are the same pony.”

Cure twists his barrel to sit more upright so he can meet her eyes during her lecture. As much as he likes to just lay there touching the mare, it somehow feels like laying down when she is in teacher mode doesn’t quite convey that he really is taking in everything she says.

“Your friends and family will no doubt always interpret your messages as coming from Cure Wave. You are Cure to them, even if you are in your Serpentus guise. With somepony not ‘in the know’ you must take care to mentally consider yourself to be the intended sender of the message or it could be transmitted as being from either identity.”

“So, in other words, get ready to cast the spell, mentally chant, ‘Prince Serpentus calling Captain Stance,’ then actually Send the message?”

The proud smile of a successful teacher graces the princess’s muzzle. “Exactly! You may want to practice with somepony to be sure you have it. I would recommend perhaps a friend’s parent, Staff Sergeant Bulwark, Captain Stance, or even Chief Physician Care.”

“I’m betting Dr. Care would receive it as Cure either way. The sergeant is a good idea, though. Or maybe even Sgt. Blackhoof.” The colt takes a moment to ponder who else would be a good test subject before deciding to move on and laying back down. “I think I had my first ‘alicorn moment’ yesterday.”

He looks up to meet her arched brow. “So with Solar heading out next week, we invited his family over for dinner…” he begins, explaining the circumstances of his power-infused declaration. The Princess of the Sun sits regally throughout his tale, listening with rapt attention. Though he skips some details pertaining to why he and Haze were in the room alone, he concludes with, “and the sarge even told me my friggin eyes were glowing. What’s up with that?”

A brilliant, joyous smile crossing her muzzle is the only warning the colt has; one he completely fails to respond to. With the alacrity of a striking snake, Celestia’s front half snaps to her right overtop his prone form. His eyes go wide, wings spread, and hooves come into the guard position, all to no avail. Forelegs and wings entomb the colt in an unyielding embrace, mercilessly smashing him against her warm, soft chest and grinding him deeper into her fluff as she writes back and forth, squealing in joy.

“Your first Invocation! And so soon after your ascension! Oh, Cure! I’m so proud of you! It took nearly a year and a half for Luna and I to declare our domains so definitively!”

Muzzle full of white fluff and lungs almost fully compressed, Cure ripostes with as much grace and eloquence as befits his station.

“Ack!”

The mare freezes, flushing in embarrassment for her outburst. Loosening her grip, she gently sets him on his back between her forelegs and gives him a moment to recuperate. When the lazy colt refuses to move, she prods him carefully with her right wingtip. “Cure? I know you are fine. It would be a poor showing for the Alicorn of Life if he were to perish via hug.”

She reaches to tickle his snout with a primary, unprepared when he lunges up and chomps down on the feather, growling like a rabid dog. The wing and the mare recoil involuntarily, flinging the colt off into the surrounding clouds with a shouted “WEEEEE!” Celestia stares, muzzle agape, at the spot he disappeared into when it clicks; the pest had lightened himself just so she would send him flying.

A chuckle escapes her lips that quickly grows into full-blown laughter. The colt comes trotting back out of the clouds giggling adorably at his own antics, gives her chest a nuzzle, then turns and flops on his left side, scooting until his back is pressed against her left foreleg.

“You. Are. A. Nuisance!”

“You mean hilarious.”

“Cure! Be serious for once in your life! This is important!”

The colt sighs heavily, rolling his eyes. Despite his flippant response, he looks up at the mare and listens attentively. “Alright, so I’m guessing this is like… the first sparks of my alicorn abilities showing up?”

“It is! I cannot truly tell you the significance; it could mean that your abilities are manifesting more quickly or, perhaps, the circumstances just aligned correctly where they did not for myself or Luna. She did not experience that until long after I had.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” she energetically nods. “I still remember it like it was yesterday. Many of the village’s defenders had just bedded down for the night. With only a fraction of our forces at the ready, an enemy force began approaching from the nearby woods. Luna was, of course, the first to notice something amiss.” With a fond smile, Celestia reminisces, “She ripped a halberd off the nearest weapon rack and leapt upon the watchtower closest the enemy, holding it high and moving the moon so her silhouette cast a shadow upon their forces. Shouting at the top of her lungs, she boldly shouted, ‘Honorless knaves! Attacking under veil of darkness! Thy efforts art wasted; thy lives forfeit! No shadow obscures mine sight, for I am the Night itself!’”

The princess pauses when the colt snorts a laugh. “Waitwaitwait… she actually said that? I am the night?”

Feeling as if she had missed the joke, Celestia slowly nods. “Yes? Why?”

“AHAHAHA! That’s awesome!” he cackles. In a deep voice, as if he has a mouthful of gravel, he repeats back, “I am the night! I. AM. BATMAN!” then cracks up all the harder for it, pounding his hoof on the aetherial surface of the realm.

“It was a profound moment,” she sulks, turning away. “You do not need to make light of everything, you know.”

“I’m sorry boss,” he insists despite still chuckling. “That was a catchphrase for a comic book hero that was meant to be serious, but was so overused it became more of a joke. It isn’t something anyone would say out loud unless they were making a reference to the original.”

She huffs and turns back. “Regardless, her speech roused the defenders and gave the enemy pause. It did not, by itself, prevent the attack, but the moon’s light fouling their vision and her selfless flying charge at the enemy commander cast their forces in disarray, giving desperately needed time for the guards to don their armor and arrive at their stations.”

He still can’t help but smile in amusement, but nods nonetheless. “That’s pretty badass, boss. Was this before or after y’all found out you couldn’t actually die?”

“After, thank the maker. I do not know if my heart could have taken seeing her dive headfirst into their ranks without knowing she would emerge unharmed. Thankfully she had learned the Mistform spell before, so all attempts to skewer her hit only empty air. Or, occasionally, their own allies.”

“Woah, wait a friggin second! That’s a spell?!”

“Of course it is. A restricted one, but -”

The colt rolls to his hooves and bounces in place. “Gimme! GimmeGimmeGimmeGimmeGimme!” he shouts, dancing excitedly between and around her forelegs.

“I… suddenly feel as if I should not.”

“Aww, come on boss! That move is awesome! Don’t be bogartin the good stuff, Tia. I’ll only use it responsibly,” he insists. His eyes grow comically huge, ears fold down, and bottom lip quivers as he begs, “Pweeeeeeeese, Pwincess Cewestia? I’ve been a very good little colt, honest!”

She gives him a doubtful stare.

“Mostly. I’ve been mostly good, which ain’t easy, lemme tell ya. Besides, I really will only use it if I have a good reason to. You know… like messin with my parents inside our own home or scaring the pee outta my friends.”

“I do not think either of those is very responsible.”

Cure scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’ll tell ya what. I’ll make ya a deal, okay?”

“A deal?”

“Mmhmm! You know how I avoid public appearances, right?”

“Yes,” she answers, lightly shrugging her wings. “I have no objections to that.”

“I dropped in on my great grandsire today and he mentioned a lot of school districts have been petitioning to have Prince Serpentus come talk to the foals. How ‘bout this: I’ll reach out to Duchess Suncrest and, I suppose, Marquis Merryweather. I’ll play all nice and whatnot and, once a month when I am available, I’ll go to a school, meet the other foals, do a little Q-and-A, and offer checkups to everypony on site just like I’m doing for your guards next month.

“As an incentive to continue being a good little princeling, if I ask to see a spell and it’s not like… ridiculously dangerous or something, you don’t give me a super hard time. Technically, I should have access to ‘em anyhow, but I totally get why you’d keep some things out of anypony’s hooves. How’s that sound? Fair?”

“Hmm. It is a tempting proposition. I’m sure a great many young foals would benefit from your efforts.”

Nodding along, Cure points out, “Studies have shown that visual or auditory impairment can have serious detrimental effects on learning. I’m not gonna be a prick and refuse to go even if you say no, but seriously… what could I really do with that spell that I couldn’t do another way anyhow?”

“Very well,” she agrees, projecting an Illusion of the spell’s diagram. “It is primarily restricted due to its danger to the caster anyhow; something that does not overly concern you. Take care to rematerialize in an area clear of everything save air. The spell attempts to clear the spot you reemerge from, but heavy, solid objects can fail to be removed.

“Also, be especially cautious of wind and lightning-based spells while immaterial. They will be far, far more effective than normal. Do not share this with anypony without my approval. I am certain you would be quite upset if somepony were to be grievously injured, even if you could likely reverse any damage they suffer.”

“Got it, boss. No problem,” he assures her, reproducing the diagram on a microscopic fragment of bone before committing it to memory. “All done.”

“Good. I look forward to hearing the results of your initiative. I’m certain the duchess will be positively delighted to hear the good news.”

“I bet. I would expect that it’ll score some serious brownie points with damn near everypony.”

“Indeed. Which brings us back to the subject at hoof. I suspect that your powers may be showing early due specifically to your overwhelming popularity. The timing may play out nicely and coincide with your attendance at my school next year.”

“It doesn’t sound all that awesome to me. That’s just that much sooner I won’t be able to hide.”

“Not necessarily. It may be difficult to maintain concentration, but I am certain we will be able to find a way for you to continue hiding your nature even should your mane and tail begin to gain an ethereal quality. You must take care when discussing aspects of your domain when in your civilian guise, and you must also maintain emotional awareness.”

“So… watch what I say and don’t get pissed off too much?”

She nods and clarifies, “Anger may cause your magic to surge, but other emotions will as well.” Her cheeks flush slightly and she smiles as she explains, “Passion and love, especially given your domain, will likely cause you to surge. It could even happen during your sleep if your dreams are particularly intense.”

“So if I have a hot and steamy dream I might just wake up glowing. And, possibly, glued to the bed.”

Her snout crinkles as she answers, “Not how I would phrase it, but, essentially, yes.”

“Well... Shit.”

“Indeed. Mine sister took great joy in teasing me for mine own dreams when I was with mate. Or when I went too long without one.”

Her slip into “ye olde talk” gets a smirk out of the colt. “Please, please tell me you came up with some kind of protection so she couldn’t just waltz into your dreams whenever she wanted.”

“Not as such, but I was always aware when she would visit, even if not until after I woke. I could feel her lingering presence and did not hesitate to make my displeasure known in the ways that only a sister could. As we both grew in power it became more difficult for her to affect my dreams, not unlike how mental attacks on an alicorn are less effective as we mature.”

“Ah. Good,” is all that he says in response. His lack of further comment gets a worried frown from the mare.

“Cure? Does something trouble you?”

“No. Not really,” he sighs. “I mean, I do have nightmares, obviously, about… you know,” he finishes, shrugging his wings weakly against the surface.

She can sympathize; as somepony who is both uniquely familiar with the unpleasantness of dying and the loss of loved ones, she knows all too keenly that such experiences leave a lasting scar. She lays her neck and chin on his side, nuzzling against his cheek. “Do they wake you often?”

“They did at first. I spent a lot of nights those first few months in my parents’ bed. Waking up snuggled against one of them was always nice. I have Cherry and Lotus to love on most nights nowadays. Don’t worry boss, I’m fine.” Cure rolls onto his back, wrapping his forelegs behind her jaw and pulling her head into a hug. “It’s whatever,” he dismissively comments. “I’ll be alright.”

“Mmm… if you say so,” she doubtfully agrees, making a note to follow up with his parents. “I would ask that you make me aware of any other surges like the one you described. I would not anticipate any more, but with modern media and your frequent positive exposure, you have, in only a few short months, grown in popularity well beyond what Luna and I could have possibly achieved in two decades.”

“You said something kind of like that when we were talking about the bats,” he notes. “I think I told you then that the implications were a tad worrying.”

“I recall. It’s more of an idle curiosity than anything else. I’ve oft wondered why, even before her banishment, I outgrew my sister both in power and in stature. I was fully grown when we ascended, but she caught up within a couple years. As we aged and expanded our influence we both began growing again, though mine was more significant.

“By the time she turned on me I was nearly two hooves taller, and beyond what bearing Magic granted, was far stronger. And thank the maker, too, as I cannot fathom what would have happened had she been able to best me or, worse, render me unconscious and trap me in an endless dream.”

With no small amount of alarm he argues, “You just said she couldn’t do stuff like that.”

“She could not. I do not know, nor do I wish to discover, what abilities the Nightmare itself may possess.”

“A valid point,” he easily agrees. “So, long story short, I keep a positive public image going, help ponies out, and, if your theory is right, that will spur on my growth magically, if not also physically… which isn’t that important for me, really.”

“Exactly. You need not do anything other than keep me informed should you wake up one day and suddenly notice a change.”

“What kind of change?”

He catches her wings shrug off to her sides. “For lack of a better explanation, you will simply feel more. You’ll feel energized, ready to take on the world. For me it is as if a burning furnace is struggling to contain an inferno in my chest, holding it in until I allow it to be unleashed.”

Cure slowly leans to his left, craning his neck to look down towards her barrel, then turns to meet her right eye. “I would very much prefer you keep a cork on that bottle given our positions, boss.”

The mare shakes in laughter. She sits more upright, separating from him as she explains, “It is not an uncomfortable feeling. Quite the opposite, in fact. Presumably whatever imagery you attach to the feeling will differ as well. Luna once told me she imagined it as an angry storm, waiting to strike out with rain and lightning to wash away any who would dare oppose us.”

“Huh. Interesting. So when you use that instead of your normal magic…”

“You’ve felt it. Every time I held you while moving the heavens.”

Cure blinks up at the princess and opens his mouth, pauses, and reconsiders. “You know, boss… when you talk about holdin me tight and the heavens movin my mind kinda goes in the wrong direction.”

“Well I understand if those were momentous occasions for you,” she flippantly argues, “but they were barely noteworthy for me.”

The colt sighs despondently and rolls over onto his barrel, resting his chin in the cloud ground. “Yeah, I’ve heard that line more than once too.”

She pats him consolingly on his back and says, “Maybe your presence will have more of an impact when you’re capable of being an active participant instead of merely being present.”

“Mercy, boss!” he cries. “A stallion’s ego can only take so much!”

“Poor thing.”

He huffs and lightly smacks her chest with his tail.

“You’ll be hearing from the Baltimare Court sometime this week.”

The sudden subject change barely throws him off for a second. “Lady Bush?”

“Correct. Her preliminary hearing date is this coming Friday. I would expect a court officer to be waiting for you at the hospital with a subpoena for you, your guards, and some of the hospital staff.”

“The idiot is trying to plead not guilty?!”

“Of course she is. She has little reason not to.”

“I guess so. It’s not like I can say she was definitely the one hitting him. I hope Mr. Flourish is able to go through with his part.”

“It may be somewhat inappropriate for me to discuss given my position and knowledge from the investigation, but in situations of domestic abuse, oftentimes the statements given on the day of the arrest carry more weight than those at the trial.”

“Because ponies tend to change their stories.”

“Exactly. You may need to slightly rearrange your afternoon schedule. The court should try to accommodate you to some degree, so I would expect the hearing to be scheduled after your shift. You’ll likely be called as close to the scheduled time as possible.”

“Oh. That’s nice of them.”

“Cure…”

“What?”

“You are a Grand Prince. You could tell them when you’ll be there and there is nothing they could do but accept it. They should be delighted that you are taking time out of your schedule to appear at all.”

“Ah. Right. Kinda forget that sometimes,” he bashfully admits.

“That is okay,” she assures him. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I prefer you show humility rather than the alternative. When appropriate, that is.”

“I gotchya boss. The fillies and my folks won’t let me turn into a pompous prick, promise.”

“Good.”

“So… anything else going on? The second generation of mice still doing alright?”

“They are. Director Storm is moving forward with live trials. She already has a half dozen volunteers lined up, so you can look forward to hopefully delivering a few extra colts come next summer.”

“Good deal. Now y’all get to deal with the hard part; implementation without turning the nation into a total sausage party.”

“Sausage par - Cure!”

“What? I’m amazed you even know what that means.”

The mare inhales and blows out a quick sigh. “The issue has been brought up several times during our council meetings. One of your original suggestions seems to be the preferred plan. The researchers are working to determine the best method to achieve between forty and fifty percent odds of a colt.

“Whatever concentration or treatment they determine will achieve those results will be publicly available to anycreature, while treatments with higher odds of a male will only be available if other treatments have failed. It will take several generations of testing before they’ll be able to determine an ideal treatment plan, so despite the speed with which you created the trees it may be several years before the public at large will have ready access.”

“Eh, whatever. As long as we’re moving forward, I suppose. Maybe they can finally get started on my friggin viral trees. Flu season is just around the corner, and I’d hate to think they’re going to spend all their resources chasing perfect instead of settling for good enough while ponies are literally dying to a virus that they may have the cure for sitting in their damned basement virtually untouched.”

She gives him a moment to take a deep breath and collect himself before responding. “I will relay your concerns at our meeting tomorrow.”

“Good,” he grunts. Belatedly, he mumbles, “Thanks, boss.”

“Of course. I suppose I am partially to blame as well. It is difficult sometimes to not focus on large, long term issues even when immediate, but less relatively impactful ones may have solutions readily available.”

The furious look he turns and gives her makes Celestia immediately regret her choice of words. “I did not mean that the flu is not a significant issue,” she immediately assures him. “Only that on a national level, eliminating it, while a truly massive achievement, will still pale in comparison to being able to start balancing out gender ratios and increasing birth rates.”

She mentally winces when his face twists in a furious snarl. He hops to his hooves and whirls about, snapping, “Tell that to everyone that’s watched their wife die, Celestia! It feels pretty god damned important to me!”

“I know,” she calmly replies. “I understand.”

“How could -” he starts, stopping when it dawns on him who he is yelling at.

“I understand,” she more forcefully repeats. The colt’s anger falters and he sags to the ground breathing heavily. Celestia scoots forward, pulling his right side against her chest. She leans down to be closer as she softly says, “I have been where you are dozens of times. I do understand, Cure. I am sorry I failed to consider how it would appear to you when we prioritized something that is less urgent. I will bring it to everypony’s attention as soon as I can.”

“Alright,” he weakly concedes, nodding against her right shoulder.

She takes a moment to simply hold him, nuzzling against his left cheek and petting down his side. “I think maybe we should call it a night. I do not have any other issues that cannot wait.”

“Okay,” he absently replies. “Goodnight, Celestia. Sorry I yelled at you.”

“Think nothing of it, Cure. Go. Be with your family. Get some rest. I will see you next week, or sooner if you would like to talk.”

“Alright.”

“Goodnight, Cure Wave.”

Author's Note

No A/N at the moment. Gotta run out the door. Maybe when I get back I'll have an opportunity.

*shrug*

See ya later folks.

As always, thanks to all of you that rate & leave comments.

Enjoy!