The Conjuration Wizard

“I suppose it’s nice to see things when they’re peaceful,” I murmured, more to myself.

Aldin gave a soft hoot of agreement, his eyes sweeping the streets as though he too, was taking in the sights of the city. The lights of Canterlot were gentle beacons against the deepening twilight, and as we walked I could see thestrals beginning to emerge. It was strange, almost surreal, seeing these newcomers from Hollow Shades navigating the sprawling architecture of Canterlot, where everything was open and brightly colored, so different from what I imagined Hollow Shades to be like.

In the distance, I spotted a thestral family unpacking crates from a wagon near one of the castle’s side entrances. The parents were discussing something in hushed tones while their young colt clung to his mother’s side, his eyes wide as they darted between the statues, lamps, and the occasional pony passing by. He looked every bit the way I had felt when I first arrived — like someone trying to make sense of a world that felt entirely foreign.

A group of ponies walked by them, slowing as they passed, their gazes a mixture of curiosity and confusion. I couldn’t blame them. Thestrals had almost become creatures myths to most ponies; even here in Canterlot, they were still regarded with an air of mystery. A few of the thestrals eyed the ponies back, their slit-pupiled eyes watching with a cool reserve, not unkind but distant. Their silent communication, the way they moved together almost in sync — it was all so different, and that difference created a tension in the air, subtle but noticeable.

I understood that feeling. The thestrals were here for a new start, to pledge their loyalty to Luna once more, and yet... they were also entering a world that didn’t quite know how to accept them.

Aldin, ever the unbothered one, took off from my shoulder and flapped to a nearby lamppost, his eyes settling on me as if to say, Why not say something, then?

I sighed, aware of his unspoken encouragement, and approached the thestral family. The colt caught sight of me first, his eyes growing even wider as I drew nearer. His mother followed his gaze, her expression respectful but guarded as she dipped her head slightly. “Sir Consort,” she greeted quietly, her voice soft and almost musical.

“Please, just Sebastian,” I replied, offering a reassuring smile. “You’re settling in alright?”

The mother exchanged a glance with her partner, who gave a barely perceptible nod. “It’s... different,” she admitted, glancing around. “We’re more accustomed to the shadows, the safety of Hollow Shades’ trees. Here it’s... open.”

I nodded, understanding more than she might have realized. “It’s a bit overwhelming, I know. When I first arrived, I wasn’t sure where I belonged, either.” I glanced down at the foal, who was still staring up at me with a kind of wide-eyed fascination. “How about you? Are you getting used to all this?”

He blinked, startled, then nodded quickly, as if he didn’t want to disappoint. “Yes, Sir— um, Sebastian,” he stammered, his voice a shy whisper.

His mother’s gaze softened as she looked down at her son. “It’ll take some time, but we’re here to support Princess Luna. For her and for her Consort, we will find our place.”

I felt a pang at that — the dedication, the willingness to adapt for Luna’s sake, and for mine. The weight of expectations, of being her consort, of standing in this new position not only for Luna but for every thestral who now called Canterlot home, sank into me with that familiar heaviness. But I remembered Luna’s words, her assurance that being myself was enough. Still, the fear of failing them lingered, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

I was about to say something more when Aldin swooped down, landing with a flourish beside me. He hooted at the foal, and he giggled, hiding his face behind his mother’s leg, a small smile breaking through his earlier shyness. Aldin had a way of doing that — cutting through the tension in a way I could never quite master.

Another group of ponies walked past, their eyes flicking between me and the thestrals, some murmuring quietly among themselves. It wasn’t overt, but I could see the discomfort there, the way they glanced away or gave a polite but distant nod. A few thestrals had noticed too, their expressions carefully blank as they carried on. One of them, an older stallion wearing the fresh armor of the Lunar Guard, paused to nod in my direction, his gaze steady.

“Sir Consort,” he greeted, his voice rough but warm.

“Good evening,” I replied, returning the nod.

The stallion’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, something almost appreciative in his eyes before he moved on, the others following him. Watching them go, I felt a mixture of pride and unease. They looked to me with such unwavering respect, as if I were a part of this ancient heritage they all held close. It was daunting, knowing they saw me as Luna’s choice, the one who walked beside her in the night. Part of me worried if I’d ever really belong in that role.

“You’re overthinking again,” Aldin muttered in his own owl-like way.

I gave him a rueful smile. “Can you blame me?”

He turned his head, a glint of dry amusement in his eyes. “Well, you could try something radical — like believing in yourself.”

I rolled my eyes, giving Aldin a mock scowl as we walked through the evening-bathed streets toward the castle. "That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one they look at like I have the solution to every problem they have."

Aldin fluffed his feathers, settling on my shoulder with an air of exaggerated wisdom. "Please. You’re the one who chose to fall for a princess, and now you’re the one stressing over what her ponies think. If I recall correctly, I wasn’t the one who dragged you into the whole ‘Consort’ thing."

“Technically, you were the one who led her to me when I was trying to stitch myself back together,” I countered, raising an eyebrow. “If anything, it’s your fault that any of this happened. The love confession, the title, the—”

“Oh, don’t even start,” Aldin interrupted, poking me with his beak. “I led her to you because I knew you two were overdue for that moment. Someone had to push you two oblivious lovebirds into realizing what everyone else already saw.”

I chuckled, nudging him lightly. “You mean you wanted me to stop throwing off emotions you had to deal with?”

Aldin let out a low hoot, his version of a laugh. "That’s definitely part of it. But, I’ll have you know, it wasn’t half as annoying as your continued, endless self-doubt. So I figured — help Luna out, help myself out, maybe you’d calm down a bit and stop sending out such distracting ‘I’m-in-love-but-I’m-too-stubborn-to-admit-it’ signals."

“So noble of you,” I said, chuckling. “The patience of an owl who apparently puts up with a lot.”

“Oh, I’d say I’m a saint, honestly,” he retorted with a mock-sigh, his feathers puffed up proudly. “After all, I sit through all the lovey-dovey nonsense you two put out. It’s a small miracle I’m not drowning in your saccharine emotions.”

“Saccharine, huh?” I smirked, shaking my head. “You don’t mind it nearly as much as you pretend to. Let’s be real here — you’re practically taking notes half the time, hoping one day you’ll figure out how to woo some feathered sweetheart of your own.”

Aldin let out a screech that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Me? Wooing? Let’s not be ridiculous, Seb. I leave the ridiculous romantic speeches to you.” He gave my ear a teasing nip. “Besides, I’ve got you trained up pretty well for entertainment.”

“Oh, really?” I said, grinning as we neared the castle gates. “Because last I checked, I’m the one who keeps you fed and housed. That’s training, huh?”

“Training you to be properly grateful for my company,” he replied, unruffled. “And you’re welcome.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing under my breath as we walked through the castle grounds. “You’re the worst,” I muttered, but the lightness in my tone betrayed the fondness underneath. “All right, oh wise and all-knowing bird, where should we go next? Amplification practice in the sparring grounds?”

Aldin fluffed himself, his feathers glowing faintly in the evening light. “Finally, something I can actually enjoy! You’ve been holding out on me with all that gift making you’ve been up to. And if we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get to blow up something impressive.”

“Nothing says ‘practice’ like explosions,” I replied, shaking my head. “But hey, maybe I’ll work on improving my stamina pertaining to amplification. We can throw in some amplified Fireball spells, or maybe a few amplified Scorching Rays, or maybe an amplified Lightning Bolt, really make things interesting.”

Aldin gave an approving hoot, practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s what I like to hear. Let’s get to it, Sir Consort.”

I ignored his smug tone as we headed toward the sparring grounds, ready to put theory into practice. Amplifying spells was tricky, but with each night of practice it inched closer to becoming almost second nature. And, judging by Aldin’s excitement, he was more than ready to offer his 'support' — or, rather, watch in delight if anything happened to catch fire, or explode.

But when we reached the sparring grounds, the place was already buzzing with activity. Rows of thestral guards in fresh silver armor stood in formation, their voices carrying across the grounds as they practiced drills. Noctra was there, overseeing the training with her usual stern focus, her eyes catching even minor errors before she moved to correct.

Aldin clucked in mild disappointment. “Looks like our explosive night has to wait,” he grumbled, watching the guards.

I nodded, not wanting to disturb their training. “The library it is, then,” I said, sighing as we turned back.

“A quiet night in the library, without explosions…” Aldin gave me a dramatic sigh, clutching at my shirt with his talons. “Seb, you’re testing my patience.”

I chuckled, rolling my eyes. “You’ll survive. Besides, think of it as delayed gratification. We’ll get our turn soon enough.”

“Fine.” Aldin huffed, reluctantly settling onto my shoulder again. “But if I have to sit through another night of you reading some musty tome without anything to entertain me, I might start squawking. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I shook my head with a smirk. “Sure. You’re such a martyr, best-buddy.”

Aldin puffed himself up, as if he were about to deliver a grand speech. “Martyr, indeed! All the sacrifices I make — like enduring your self-doubt, your prolonged practices of magic and swords, and worst of all, your lack of any real sense of humor. No, I don’t count puns as ‘real humor’!” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a wonder I haven’t flown off to find a new wizard by now.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, raising an eyebrow as we walked through the marble-floored corridors. “As if any other wizard would be able to put up with you. I’ve heard you muttering to yourself about how good you have it here. Admit it, best-buddy, you’d miss me.”

Aldin squawked indignantly, feigning shock. “Miss you? Ha! What an ego, Seb. I’d miss the high-quality food and the palace. That’s about it. And maybe the explosions, but only because they’re… well, entertaining in the way watching you try to cook is entertaining.”

“Hey, I can cook,” I shot back, giving him a light nudge with my shoulder. “Just because I burnt a pot once—”

“Burnt a pot? Once?” Aldin scoffed, fluffing his feathers again. “That ‘one time’ nearly set the castle’s guards to panicking. I was convinced the smoke would never clear.”

“You’re being dramatic,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If anything, you should be grateful that I provide you with an endless stream of free entertainment.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m grateful all right,” Aldin said with a gleam in his eye. “Grateful to be here as your personal critic, entertainment director, and occasional fire manager.”

I chuckled, patting his side with a finger. “How generous of you, best-buddy. Truly, I’m in awe of your dedication.”

“You should be,” he replied with a smug little huff. “Just don’t expect me to sit by quietly if you start reading one of those dry, ten-volume spell theory tomes in the library tonight. I swear, if you crack open that Magic Treatise on Modern Spell Theory again—”

“Hey, I happen to find it interesting. Besides, I need to understand the theory if I want to keep improving my usage of amplification.”

Aldin made a groaning noise. “Improvement, sure, but I’d rather chew through the bindings of that book than listen to one more lecture on arcane ley lines. Even Luna looked bored the last time you started talking about it!”

“Right, because you’d know what bores Luna,” I said, amused. “This coming from the owl who sat through our lovey-dovey moments without making a peep.”

Aldin clacked his beak. “Sacrifice, remember? Martyrdom, and all that. I sit through those moments because I care.” He fluffed his wings, preening a feather with exaggerated importance. “And, maybe, because I know you’ll get all mushy about it and say I’m the best.”

“Well, you are the best,” I admitted with a smirk. “Though don’t let it go to your head. You might explode from smugness.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “A little praise now and then isn’t going to make me explode. I’m perfectly capable of handling it. Unlike you, who nearly combusts when Luna so much as glances in your direction.”

I shot him a sidelong glare, but couldn’t resist the small smile tugging at my mouth. “Yeah, well… some of us happen to have emotions, you know?”

“Oh, emotions!” Aldin threw a wing up dramatically. “How exhausting they must be for you. Perhaps you should leave them to the professionals.”

“Professionals, huh?” I chuckled as we rounded the corner, the ornate door of the castle library coming into view. “All right, professional, here we are. Ready to help me with some reading? Maybe a bit of scroll scribing?”

“Help?” Aldin scoffed. “I’ll observe, maybe critique. But don’t expect any actual help from me.”

“Fine by me,” I replied with a grin, hand reaching for the library door.

The library was dimly lit and cozy, an ideal setting for the late hours. The quiet that settled over the room felt oddly companionable, the soft glow from a pair of enchanted lamps casting warm pools of light across the table and shelves. I settled into one of the chairs, pulling a copy of Magic Treatise on Modern Spell Theory from a nearby shelf. Aldin hopped down to perch on the edge of the table, stretching his wings out lazily.

I flipped the heavy tome open, scanning through the introduction. “You know, you’re welcome to join me in learning something new instead of just complaining,” I teased.

Aldin’s eyelids drooped halfway, giving me a look of feigned agony. “Join you in reading about unicorn magic?” He made a show of yawning, his beak stretching wide. “No, thanks. The moment I feel my intelligence slipping, I’ll know you’re rubbing off on me.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Suit yourself. Just don’t interrupt me if you’re not going to contribute.”

True to form, he settled into a silent watchfulness, occasionally blinking sleepily as I dived deeper into the treatise. The book outlined complex theories on the manipulation of ley lines and the nuances of how unicorns shaped and directed magic through them. I made notes here and there, occasionally glancing at Aldin, who had started bobbing his head slightly, each movement slower than the last. Before long, he gave up entirely, closing his eyes and settling into a light sleep.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to my other task of the night. Carefully, I set out a blank scroll, my quill, and my ink. Tonight’s scroll: the Ice Spears spell. I could feel the familiar thrum of arcane energy building within me as I began to write, letting it seep carefully into the ink strokes.

The spell required a precision that didn’t come easily. I had to ensure the runes aligned just right, capturing the essence of ice without losing control of the arcane magic itself. Each symbol I inscribed on the parchment held a piece of the spell, and as they came together, I could almost feel the coldness of the ice spears crackling through the air, if only in anticipation.

A snort from Aldin broke my concentration, and I looked up to see him stirring slightly, his feathers ruffled as he adjusted his perch. “Still with me, best-buddy?” I murmured, half expecting no reply.

Aldin opened one eye, giving me a groggy look. “If this scribing business gets any more riveting, I might fall into a deeper sleep.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll actually be quiet then,” I said, a grin tugging at my lips.

“Touché,” he muttered, his eyes already closing again. Before long, his breathing evened out once more.

I returned to my work, the scratch of the quill and the smell of the ink becoming a kind of meditation. The library grew even quieter as the hours wore on, the soft shadows shifting with the passage of time. The spell was nearly complete; the last few runes glistened with icy blue energy, faint frost momentarily clinging to the edge of the scroll before disappearing into the paper, proof of the spell’s successful containment.

Just as I began to pack up my tools, the first light of dawn started filtering through the narrow window. Aldin, sensing the movement, shifted on his perch, grumbling something incoherent.

I had barely finished placing the Ice Spears scroll into my Bag of Holding when I heard the library door creak open. Turning, I saw Shining Armor step in, looking hesitant but determined, his usual confident demeanor tempered by an uncharacteristic nervousness. Aldin’s eye cracked open briefly before he fluffed himself up and settled back, his breathing slow and even.

“Sebastian,” he greeted, a bit quieter than usual, glancing around before he looked at me. His eyes shifted to Aldin briefly before resting on me again, and for the first time, he looked almost… hesitant.

“Shining.” I smiled, catching his unusually timid expression. “Everything all right? You look like you’re about to ask me to go on some impossible quest.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe not impossible… but, well, it is something pretty big.” He shifted his weight, glancing down, then back up, as if gathering his words. “Cadance and I… we’re getting married in a month.”

“Married?” I blinked, feeling a swell of surprise before I grinned. “About time! Congratulations!”

Shining’s smile widened, though the hint of nerves remained. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.” He paused, taking a breath, and I sensed a question on the tip of his tongue.

“So, what’s up?” I prodded gently, watching his ears flicker as he worked up the courage.

“Well…” He took a deep breath. “Sebastian, would you… would you do me the honor of being my best stallion?”

I blinked, stunned for a moment. “Best stallion?” The meaning settled in, and a warmth spread through me at the thought. “Shining, I would be honored.”

The tension in his shoulders melted, and he let out a relieved laugh. “Thank Celestia, I thought for a second there you might have said no.”

I gave him a playful jab in the shoulder. “You think I’d say no to something like this? Don’t sell me short, Shining.”

He grinned sheepishly, his usual confidence returning. “I know, I know. It’s just that… it means a lot. Cadance and I were talking about it, and I realized that no one’s been there for me quite like you’ve been since you showed up. It’d feel wrong to have anyone else standing beside me.”

“Hey,” I said, voice a bit softer. “It’s my privilege.” I paused, glancing at Aldin, who was still asleep in his feathery bundle, blissfully oblivious. “And I’m sure this one will be thrilled too, assuming he doesn’t start snoring during the vows.”

Shining chuckled, his own gaze fond as he looked at Aldin. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He does have a knack for making an impression, doesn’t he?”

“Sometimes an impression, sometimes an impact,” I replied, smirking. “It varies.”

Shining shook his head with a smile, his eyes brighter now. “Anyway, I’ll let you get some rest. We’ll talk more about it soon, get you fitted and everything. There’ll be a bit of pomp and ceremony, but I think you’ll look good in royal wedding attire.”

“Pomp and ceremony?” I sighed with mock horror. “What have I gotten myself into?”

He laughed. “Trust me, you’ll manage.” He gave me one last pat on the shoulder before he headed for the door. “See you around, best stallion.”

I watched him leave, a strange feeling settling over me — a mix of pride, honor, and a bit of wonder that he’d thought of me for this. I glanced down at Aldin, who was still dozing away, blissfully unaware of the new responsibilities awaiting us.

Carefully, I lifted him from his perch, cradling him in the crook of my left arm. His small form settled comfortably against my chest, his breathing even and peaceful. Through our empathic link, a faint feeling of contentment radiated, warming me in a way that words couldn’t quite express. I smiled softly, letting the quiet happiness linger as I turned to make my way toward Luna’s tower.

There was no way I’d keep this kind of news from her.