The Conjuration Wizard

It had been a couple of months since Chrysalis' attempted invasion — a couple of months since everything changed.

Since I ascended. Since I lost so much.

In the aftermath of the invasion I wasn’t sure what to think, or even what to feel. The pain and hatred borne from those few hours had been overwhelming. And for a time, I wondered if it would ever ease. But it did. Slowly, surely, it all grew better.

Not by chance. Not by luck. I knew exactly how it had all gotten better.

Celestia. Noctra. Shining Armor and Cadance. And, most of all, Luna. Each of them had been there for me in their own way. Whether it was through their words, their actions, or their mere presence, they carried me when I didn’t think I could stand.

To be honest, I’m still not past all of it. Some wounds take longer to heal, and some never will, but I’m no longer drowning in all of it. I felt… lighter, almost. I could see the future again, instead of just forcing myself to believe one existed. They helped me rediscover that future, clearing away the sorrow and grief that had blinded my vision.

I will never be able to repay the debt I owe them, but I must try.

Try to be better. Try to keep moving forward. Try to keep living.

This next step on my path was a crucial one. A one-armed man is at a disadvantage — a truth as cruel as it is unavoidable. But disadvantages can be overcome, even turned into potential strengths. That path begins here, at the desk in the chambers Luna and I now shared.

The curse of Decay plagued everything I attempted to use as a replacement for my right arm. A malediction forged from pure negative energy, it was a remnant of Meridin’s passing, an unintentional parting gift as his death pulled a fragment of my soul into oblivion.

When I first attempted to attach a prosthetic a few days ago, the result had been disastrous. The limb withered and crumbled, consumed by the creeping black light of the Decay. Its corrosive touch dissolved the arm as if it had aged a century in mere minutes. The sight drove home the reality of my cursed ascension and one of the challenges it posed to every attempt I made at fixing what was stolen.

My desk was cluttered with tools, sketches, and prosthetics — each one a step closer to a solution to my missing arm. Moonlight streamed in through the tall windows, casting pale beams across the desk’s polished wooden surface, while the fire behind me added a golden glow to the shadows. The contrast reminded me of Luna’s eyes, a thought that brought a small smile to my face before I refocused on the task at hand.

Before me laid several prosthetic arms of varying materials: wood, brass, leather, and silversheen. Each was simple in design, more focused on function than form. They weren’t meant to last long — none of them were — but I needed data to move forward.

I reached for the wooden prosthetic first, a lightweight construct made from willow and pine. The straps were simple enough to fasten with one hand, though I’d had to rely on some unicorn magic to expedite the process. Once secured, I flexed the stump of my arm, feeling the faintest connection as the wood responded. It was rudimentary, clunky, and awkward, but it worked — for now.

I watched closely as the black light of Decay began to seep from the seams where the prosthetic met my flesh. The effect was almost hypnotic: a cold, unnatural glow that felt as though it were draining the very life from the room. The wooden arm began to stiffen, its surface cracking as if frost were forming in the grain.

“Three minutes,” I muttered to myself, jotting down the time in my notes before unstrapping the prosthetic and setting it aside.

The next was brass — a heavier option, but sturdier than the wood. The straps clicked into place with a metallic snap, and I gave it a cautious test, moving the joints in small, deliberate motions. It felt better, though still unnatural, the weight requiring more effort to control.

Decay started almost immediately, the black light radiating outward as if seeking purchase in the metal. Unlike the wood, which had cracked and splintered, the brass tarnished rapidly, darkening to a dull, sickly green. Within five minutes, the joints seized, rendering it useless.

“Better, but not by much.” I removed the brass arm, noting the results.

The leather prototype fared the worst. Its organic material made it a prime target for the Decay, and within seconds, the black light had reduced it to brittle, useless strips. It didn’t even make it to the one-minute mark.

Finally, I turned to the silversheen prosthetic. This one was the most promising on paper: durable, non-organic, and its was treated in Zebrat with a complex process of metallurgy and alchemy that turned its silver into a metal immune to rust and highly resistant to most environmental hazards. It was also the heaviest, requiring careful adjustments to balance and fit. The straps took longer to secure, but once it was in place, I flexed it experimentally, feeling a faint satisfaction as it responded smoothly.

For a moment, it seemed immune to Decay. Then, like clockwork, the black light began to spread, pooling in the joints and seams. The silversheen resisted longer than the others, the Decay working sluggishly against its dense structure.

“Seven minutes... eight...” I murmured as I watched the prosthetic begin to corrode, its polished surface turning dull and pitted. At just under ten minutes, it finally succumbed, the joints locking up as Decay rendered it inert.

I sighed, unstrapping the silversheen arm and setting it down. It was progress, but not enough.

My gaze fell back to my notes, the scratch of my pen filling the silence as I documented the results. Silversheen clearly lasted the longest, but it wasn’t indestructible. If I wanted a truly functional prosthetic, I needed something more.

Positive Pulse and Rapid Repair.

The two spells came to mind immediately. Positive Pulse to fill the prosthetic with Positive Energy, countering the effects of Decay. Rapid Repair to provide a continuous regeneration effect, repairing the damage as it occurred.

“If I can enchant the silversheen with those spells,” I mused, my fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the desk, “it should buy me time — maybe a few hours before I’d need to remove it and let it heal. I should also add a mechanism for quick attachment and removal. Practicality matters as much as function.”

The idea of an enchanted silversheen arm felt… hopeful. It wasn’t my real arm, but it was something. A step forward, however small.

I leaned back in my chair as I let my eye drift to the tall windows and the expanse of the night beyond. Beyond the windows, Luna’s sky stretched endlessly, stars glittering like so many shards of diamond scattered across a tapestry of night. A faint smile tugged at my lips as I sketched those familiar constellations with my eye.

The Tree of Harmony. The Navigator. The Dreamweaver.

Those constellations always seemed to brighten my night. Luna would approve. She would see the progress I had accomplished tonight, she would be proud. And I couldn’t wait to show her.

A sharp knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I frowned, glancing toward the heavy wooden door that separated our chambers from the castle below. Luna wouldn’t knock — she’d simply sweep in, her presence as natural here as my own. And Celestia, well… I doubted she’d visit tonight without Luna.

Whoever it was, I wasn’t expecting them.

Pushing back my chair, I rose and crossed the room, my bare feet making almost no sound on the chamber floor. My left hand rested briefly on the latch before I pulled the door open.

Standing there, dwarfed by the doorframe, was a thestral filly. Her coat was the color of storm-touched skies, her amber eyes glowing faintly in the dim hallway light. She looked up at me with a mixture of confidence and curiosity, her leathery wings tucked neatly at her sides. She almost appeared to be standing at attention.

“Sebastian,” she said simply, her voice was steady, but her eyes darted briefly to my missing arm. There was no hesitation, no pity, just a hint of curiosity before her gaze locked back onto mine.

“Mira,” I replied, thoroughly surprised. I hadn’t spoken to her since before Chrysalis’ invasion, though I’d seen her in passing. She’d been a blur of energy, darting between lessons or causing some form of minor chaos that left the castle staff scrambling in her wake. “This is… unexpected.”

She tilted her head, her small fangs flashing as she offered a faint smile. “Can I come in?”

I froze for a moment. My mind summoned forth memories of an alley and false visages. Memories that warned me from trusting anyone, or anything ever again.

But I could not live that way, not in fear. I had to take the risk, and ignore the paranoia that promised me a second death. I had to try to live.

“Of course.” I stepped quickly aside, letting her trot into the room.

Mira’s small hooves made soft clicks against the stone floor as she trotted in. She paused just past the threshold of the door, taking in the room with wide eyes. Her gaze lingered on the canopy bed, the desk strewn with prosthetic pieces, and finally the faintly billowing curtains. “Your room is… big,” she said, her voice holding a note of awe.

I chuckled softly. “Luna’s room, technically. She just shares it with me.”

She turned to face me, her wings shifting slightly. “Mother said I should give you time,” she began, her tone blunt but not unkind. “That you needed space to get better. But it’s been a while now, so I thought I’d check.”

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my left arm over my chest. “Checking up on me, huh? That’s thoughtful of you.”

Mira nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Mother said you went through something really bad. And I know what that’s like. The forest monsters sometimes make really bad things happen.” Her words were matter-of-fact, not seeking sympathy or offering it, just stating a shared truth.

I blinked at that. Not entirely sure how to respond, I defaulted to a simple, “Thank you.”

She shifted her weight, glancing at the desk again. “I’m also here for another reason,” she said, her tone growing more serious. “I wanted to see if you’re ready.”

“Ready?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you ready yet?” she asked. “To take me on as your apprentice?”

For a moment I wasn’t sure how to respond. I had promised Mira months ago that I would teach her when I was ready, but I hadn’t expected everything to happen the way it did. Neither did I expect her to come knocking as she did. Then again, this was Mira. And children aren’t exactly renowned for their patience, however she waited for months before coming to my door to ask again. Now that I think about it, it’s more surprising that she didn’t break into my room like last time.

I sighed, running my hand through my hair as I took a seat across from her. “Mira, I—”

“I know you’ve been through a lot,” she interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. “Mother told me about… everything. But I’m still here, and I’m still ready. I’ve memorized the castle, so I don’t get lost. I never miss class, just like Mother told me to. I can even—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I just… I want to help. Like you helped Mama. Like you help Princess Luna.”

Her words struck a chord, and I found myself smiling despite the weight of the conversation. She was so young, but her resolve was greater than that of most adults. It was impossible not to admire her for that.

I moved toward the desk, gesturing for her to follow. “Mira, are you busy for the rest of the night?”

Her ears perked up, and she shook her head quickly. “I’m not busy at all,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of excitement that she couldn’t hope to hide. “What are we doing?”

I sat at my desk, and glanced down at Mira. “We are starting your apprenticeship,” I said with a small smile. “Unless if you’ve changed your mind about wanting to learn magic.”

Mira froze. Her eyes widened and her ears twitched, and I could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she was having some difficulty trying to process what I’d just said.

Then, with a sudden burst of energy, she launched into a dance. Her little bat wings flapped erratically, sending out tiny gusts of wind as she pranced in a tight circle. Her hooves tapped on the stone floor, echoing sharply through the chamber as she spun and twirled.

Her grin stretched so wide I thought it might outshine the moonlight streaming through the windows. The dance culminated in a triumphant leap toward me, her small frame colliding with my side as she threw her forelegs around my waist in an enthusiastic hug.

“You mean it? Really? I’m your apprentice now?” she asked, her voice muffled against my shirt.

I chuckled, steadying myself against the desk with my left hand. “Yes, Mira. I mean it. You’re officially my apprentice.”

She tightened her grip before pulling back, her excitement dimming just enough for her to realize what she’d done. Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly stepped back, scuffing a hoof against the floor. “Uh… sorry about that,” she mumbled, her voice quieter. “I… might’ve overreacted a little.”

Her embarrassment only made the moment more endearing. I crouched down so I could meet her eyes and ruffled her mane lightly. “Overreact? Not at all. I’d say it was the perfect reaction.”

Her blush deepened, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks, Sebastian.”

“Don’t mention it.” I straightened up and gestured toward the desk. “Now, let’s get down to business. First lesson: how to read magic.”

Her ears perked up again, and she followed me to the desk with eager steps. I reached into my bag of holding, my fingers brushing past various items until they closed around a rolled-up scroll. Pulling it free, I unfurled it on the desk. The parchment was covered in neat, glowing runes and sigils, the arcane script of a Prestidigitation cantrip.

“This,” I began, pointing to the scroll, “is a cantrip called Prestidigitation. It’s the first spell many casters learn, and it’s perfect for teaching you the basics of reading magical text.”

Mira leaned in, her amber eyes scanning the runes with intense focus. “It’s all… squiggly,” she said after a moment, her brow furrowing. “How am I supposed to read that?”

I chuckled. “It looks that way now, but with practice, you’ll start to recognize patterns and it will start to make sense. Magic has its own language, and learning it is like learning to read any other language. The key is to take it one symbol at a time, and lots of practice.”

I spent the next several hours walking her through the basics, explaining the meaning of each rune and how they connected to form the spell. Mira was a quick learner, her curiosity and determination driving her to ask endless strings of questions. She even tried mimicking some of the gestures associated with the spell, her tiny wings fluttering as she concentrated.

Those subtle movements caught my eye. Though they seemed to be instinctive gestures made in her excitement, I couldn’t shake the feeling that, for a fleeting moment, she was on the verge of correctly beginning the process for casting Prestidigitation. It was an exciting glimpse of what she might be capable of, but tonight’s lesson wasn’t about spellcasting itself — as fun as that aspect of magic could be.

No, this was about laying the foundation, the core principles of the arcane. If Mira was ever going to reach her full potential, she needed to understand not just the ‘how’ of magic, but the ‘why.’

The hours slipped by unnoticed until a faint glow began to creep through the tall windows, heralding the approach of dawn. I was midway through explaining the importance of intention in spellcasting when I noticed Mira’s head drooping. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing slowed as she succumbed to exhaustion.

I paused, a soft smile forming as I watched her. Carefully, I scooped up a nearby spare blanket with my left hand and draped it over her. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her features relaxing into peaceful slumber.

Leaning back in my chair, I gazed out the window at the rising sun, the light painting the room in soft hues. A sort of quiet contentment settled over me as I reflected on the night. Mira’s enthusiasm and determination reminded me of myself in the early days of my apprenticeship under Luna.

That was before… everything.

My smile faltered.

Aldin would’ve loved this. Gods… I wish he were here. He would’ve loved seeing Mira’s excitement, alongside my poor mentorship. I could practically hear his voice. Aldin would’ve hopped all over the desk, and made all sorts of witty comments while messing with the various scrolls and papers. A cocktail of negative emotions planted themselves in my gut, but I pushed those thoughts aside.

He wouldn’t have wanted me to sour this moment.

Instead of wallowing in the negativity, I focused on the positive, on the future. Mira had so much potential. So young and she was already showing signs of picking up the arcane.

The door opened without so much as a knock. I knew who it was before the door even fully opened. Luna. Only she would walk in without knocking. It was our room after all.

Luna stepped into our room, her presence soothing me in a way only she could. Her expression softened the moment she saw the scene before her. She paused just inside the doorway, her teal eyes narrowing slightly as they moved from Mira’s sleeping form to me.

Her voice, though quiet, held a teasing lilt. “Have I interrupted some grand conspiracy, my love? Or is this merely an adorable plot to steal you away?”

I rolled my eye and gave her a mock-exasperated look. “If it is, she’s playing the long game. I’ve been duped into taking her on as an apprentice.”

Luna raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a sly smile. “Ah, so the valiant Sebastian Hilam, Consort of the Moon, Slayer of Hydras, and Hero of Canterlot, has finally met his match in a six-year-old filly.”

I gestured at Mira, her tiny chest rising and falling under the blanket. “Look at her, Luna. She’s determined, bright, and stubborn. How could I possibly say no?”

Luna crossed the room in a few graceful strides, her hoofsteps little more than whispers. She leaned down to examine Mira more closely, her expression softening further as she brushed a stray lock of the filly’s dark mane from her face with a wingtip. “She is precious,” Luna murmured, her voice carrying an almost maternal warmth. “And ambitious. It seems Noctra’s daughter takes after her mother in more ways than one.”

I chuckled quietly, leaning back in my chair. “She’s going to run circles around me. I can already tell.”

Luna straightened, her gaze shifting back to me, and her teasing smirk returned. “I fear she already has, my moonlight. Soon, you will be but a memory, a stepping stone on her path to greatness.”

“Very funny,” I replied dryly, though I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

Luna settled herself near the edge of the desk, her wings folding neatly at her sides. “So, how has the first night of her apprenticeship fared? Have you imparted some great wisdom?”

I gestured at the open scroll of Prestidigitation on the desk. “We started with the basics. She was eager and is picking up the fundamentals quickly. Though, as you can see…” I glanced at Mira, still sound asleep. “She couldn’t quite keep up with my exhaustive lectures.”

Luna laughed softly, the sound like the first notes of a lullaby. “It seems your penchant for thoroughness has claimed another victim.”

“Harsh,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help but laugh with her. “She’s a quick learner, though. I think she’ll surprise us.”

Luna tilted her head, her expression thoughtful as she regarded me. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I think I am. She reminds me of… well, me. Back when I first started learning from you.”

Her gaze softened, and she reached out with a wing, brushing it lightly against my arm. “You’ll be a wonderful teacher, Sebastian. She’s lucky to have you.”

I glanced at Mira again, her small form dwarfed by the chair she had curled up in. “Honestly, I think I’m the lucky one.”

The silence that followed was warm and companionable, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the soft breathing of the sleeping filly. Luna leaned closer, her mane brushing against my shoulder as she looked out the window at the rising sun.

“Do you think…” she began softly, her voice a ghost of a whisper. “Do you think we might ever—”

She stopped herself, her cheeks tinting faintly as she quickly looked away. I blinked, taken aback by her sudden shift in demeanor, but before I could ask, she cleared her throat and gestured toward Mira. “She should return to Noctra soon. The night has ended, and rest is overdue for all.”

I nodded, though her unfinished question lingered in my mind. Carefully, I stood and lifted Mira into the crook of my arm. I paused, and watched her as she stirred slightly, her ears twitching, but she didn’t wake.

I used to hold Aldin just like this. This was his favorite sleeping position—

“I’ll take her back,” I said, using my voice to cut short the thought. “You get some rest. I’ll be right back.”

Luna smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek. “Thank you, my love.”

I carried Mira out of the room, her soft weight felt oddly comforting. As I descended the spiraling stairs of the spire, my thoughts kept drifting back to Luna’s unfinished question, and I couldn’t help but wonder… was she thinking the same thing I was?

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Wizard’s Arm.

A name as unassuming as the prosthetic was extraordinary. Weeks of rigorous testing and intricate spellcraft had culminated in its creation. The silversheen of the prosthetic gleamed with layered enchantments — Rapid Repair and Positive Pulse — granting it the resilience to stave off the Decay’s effect and thus keep the arm operational.

The most ingenious feature, however, was the modified Secluded Grimoire spell, painstakingly engraved into its structure. This enchantment allowed the prosthetic to automatically retreat to the Ethereal Plane for self-repair when its durability reached critical limits. Alternatively, I could send it there manually, whether to gain the upper hand in battle or, if the mood struck, to literally disarm myself.

The result was a complex fusion of arcane engineering and Zebrat alchemy. Incredibly expensive, undeniably innovative — and entirely untested in combat.

That, I would soon change.

The sparring grounds spread before me as I crossed the threshold, the familiar earth beneath my boots crunching softly with each step. A crisp breeze carried the faint scent of grass and damp soil, invigorating in the early evening air. Celestia’s sun dipped low on the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the grounds. The fading golden light mingled with the cool glow of Luna’s rising moon.

Soon, Luna's domain would reign supreme.

At the far end of the field, a cluster of thestrals stood in a loose semicircle around Noctra. Her silver armor glinted in the fading light of the sun, the armor was a relic of Luna’s personal guard from long ago, her mane neatly tied back as she instructed the newest batch of Lunar Guard recruits. Her voice carried across the distance, sharp and commanding yet oddly comforting — the sort of tone one might expect from a veteran soldier who saw herself as the den mother of her troops.

I stopped for a moment under the pavilion at the edge of the grounds, adjusting the Wizard's Arm with a flick of my left hand. Its intricate runes caught the light as I flexed the steel fingers, testing their range and speed of motion. So far, so good. No glitches, no sluggishness. This might actually work.

"Consort," Noctra called, her eyes locked onto me.

The recruits turned as one to follow her gaze, their expressions a mixture of awe and curiosity. To them, I must have seemed a curious figure: a true alien, Luna's consort and apprentice, and — if gossip held any sway — an enigma who occasionally emerges from his solitude to train, attend some event, and occasionally get maimed.

"Noctra," I greeted her, striding into the training circle with deliberate calm. I gave the recruits a quick nod, their bat-like wings twitching in response, though none dared meet my one-eyed gaze for long. I turned back to their captain, my lips curling into a faint grin. "I couldn't resist coming to see how you're tormenting your newest recruits."

"Discipline, Consort. It is called discipline. And they are in need of much of it," she replied evenly, her stoic mask firmly in place, though her ear flicked slightly — a subtle tell. "But I suspect you did not come here to observe."

"You're right," I admitted, lifting the Wizard's Arm for emphasis. "I'm here to give my newest creation a proper test run. And who better to help than the famed Captain of the Lunar Guard?"

Her amber eyes narrowed slightly, though there was a flash of amusement in them. "You wish to spar, then?"

"I do," I said, folding my real arm across my chest. "Besides, I need to know if this arm can keep up. It's only fair to test it against someone who might give me a challenge."

Her brow arched. "Might?"

I let my grin widen. "I promise not to use magic, Noctra. That way, you might actually win."

The recruits behind her gasped softly, their reactions ranging from shock to barely suppressed laughter. Noctra's stoicism faltered for a split second, her mouth twitching as if fighting a smile.

"You’re a pain," she muttered, turning slightly to dismiss the recruits with a wave of her wing. "Leave us. You have your drills to complete."

The thestrals saluted in unison, murmuring affirmations before retreating to the perimeter of the grounds. Once they were out of earshot, Noctra stepped closer.

"And this," she said, gesturing to the prosthetic, "is what you intend to test?"

"Among other things," I replied, flexing the arm again. "But mostly, I want to see how well it handles in a fight. Who better to help than my second most capable opponent?"

"Flattery will not sway me," she deadpanned, though the corner of her mouth twitched again.

"No flattery intended. No magic. Just me, the arm, and your best effort. What do you say? Help out a friend with his new arm? I really need a hand here.”

"Very well," she exhaled sharply, but her voice carried an edge of amusement. "If only to assist you with your 'Wizard’s Arm,'."

"Ah," I said with mock solemnity, raising the prosthetic to gesture dramatically. "The gauntlet has been thrown. Or, in this case — the arm."

Her stoic facade cracked, a faint chuckle escaping before she caught herself. "Prepare yourself, Sebastian," she said, wings flaring slightly. "You will need more than clever words to win."

With a burst of unicorn magic, I levitated one of the wooden practice swords into my new right arm. “Oh, but Noctra,” I said, unable to keep a tinge of excitement from coloring my tone. “I’m always prepared.”

The recruits dropped their training routines almost immediately, their curious eyes darting toward the sparring circle. Whispers fluttered through the group, but a sharp glance from Noctra silenced them.

Her amber eyes locked onto me as she slid into a combat stance, wooden hoofblades gleaming faintly in the moonlight. "Do not hold back, Sebastian. I will accept nothing less."

I grinned, as I gave the wooden sword an experimental twirl with the Wizard’s Arm. The prosthetic responded flawlessly, the enchanted mechanisms making not a noise. The weight and balance of the weapon felt natural, as if it were an extension of my body. Just like Luna said all that time ago, when we first began our sparring lessons. I shifted my stance, feet shoulder width apart, and nodded.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, though I briefly glanced at the recruits. Their eager expressions betrayed the weight of their expectations. The Captain of the Lunar Guard sparring against the Consort of the Moon wasn’t just practice — it was a spectacle. For a fleeting moment, I considered letting her win, if only to preserve her reputation.

Her sharp tone cut through my thoughts. “Eyes here, Sebastian,” she barked. “Do not worry about them. It is an honor to spar with you. Prove why you are worthy of the blade you carry.”

Promise.

The tension in the air thickened, and the recruits leaned in, practically holding their breath.

Noctra moved first.

Her speed was astonishing, a blur of motion as she closed the gap. Her wooden hoofblade darted toward my side in a feint. Anticipating the trick, I pivoted on my heel, deflecting the true strike with the wooden sword. The clash echoed across the sparring grounds.

She was relentless, her strikes coming in quick succession. Each blow was precise, aimed at testing my reactions. The Wizard’s Arm absorbed the impacts flawlessly, its enchanted silversheen structure absorbing the shock seamlessly.

I countered with a diagonal slash, forcing her to retreat a step. She spun with the momentum, her hoofblade sweeping low in an arc meant to unbalance me. I jumped back, the edge of the practice blade grazing the dirt where I’d stood moments before.

“Not bad,” I quipped, already stepping forward to press the advantage.

Her response was a wide grin — rare, but sharp as her strikes. She launched a flurry of attacks, forcing me to gain experience with the use of the Wizard’s Arm at a pace I did not anticipate. Coming to her for a spar had been the right move. The recruits murmured in awe as we exchanged blows, their eyes darting back and forth, struggling to keep up with the speed of the fight.

Finally, I saw an opening. I parried one of her thrusts, redirecting her momentum, and landed a quick tap against her shoulder with the wooden sword. It wasn’t enough to stagger her, but it earned me a raised brow.

“Well done,” she said, only to immediately press forward with a renewed intensity.

I barely had time to react as her wooden hoofblade struck my left side. A second blow landed on my thigh, solid enough to sting even through the sparring gear. I staggered slightly, regaining my footing just as she pulled back, giving me a moment to breathe.

“That only counts as one,” I quipped, wiping sweat from my brow.

“Two,” she verbally countered, her breath steady despite the exertion.

I smirked. “Fine. Two it is.”

“And you’ve yet to show the recruits why they call you the Consort of the Moon.” She nodded toward the watching thestrals. “Perhaps a demonstration of the upper limits of magic in combat is in order.”

Before I could respond, she stepped back. “Now,” she said, her voice loud enough for the recruits to hear, “show them what magic in combat looks like.”

I hesitated, glancing at the recruits who now stood in rapt attention. Their eyes sparkled with expectation, waiting to see what I could do. Magic was a different game entirely — dynamic, unpredictable, and, in the wrong hands, devastating.

My gaze shifted back to Noctra. Her stance was solid, her amber eyes filled with determination. She wanted this. She wanted me to push the boundaries of our sparring, to show her recruits the potential of blending magic and martial skill. And perhaps to show her a glimpse of Mira’s future.

"Alright," I said, gripping the practice sword tighter. A smirk tugged at my lips. "You asked for it."

The air shimmered faintly as I activated Shift. In an instant, I reappeared behind her, wooden blade already swinging toward her flank. She started to turn, but not quickly enough — my strike landed cleanly against her armor, eliciting a grunt of acknowledgment.

Before she could retaliate, I felt the familiar heat of Mythic Power building within me as I dipped into some of that wellspring of power. My left eye burned, the sensation both electrifying and nearly euphoric as my vision sharpened and my reflexes heightened. Her counterstrike came fast — hoofblades arcing through the air with precision — but I moved faster. I twisted away, every motion smooth, almost preordained.

I sidestepped her second strike and darted in, landing another blow against her shoulder before using Shift again to create some distance.

The recruits murmured in awe as I appeared several feet away, raising my prosthetic. The fingers on Wizard’s Arm flashed through the necessary somatic gestures as the incantation spilled from my lips.

With a flex of silversheen fingers, I cast a nonlethal version of Burning Hands.

From the fingers of the prosthetic, a wide cone of golden-green flame erupted, washing over the area between us. The flames danced harmlessly along Noctra’s armor, the heat intense but entirely nonlethal. The light illuminated her sleek frame, her narrowed eyes glinting with approval even as she braced herself.

The recruits gasped, the display clearly more than they’d expected from a simple sparring match. They most likely did not expect to watch their captain get bathed in flame when they woke up this evening.

When the flames subsided, Noctra stood firm, smoke curling faintly from her armor. She didn’t attack immediately; instead, she dipped her head slightly in respect.

“Well done,” she said, a trace of a smile tugging at her lips.

I lowered the Wizard’s Arm and offered her a nod. “Thank you, Captain. Sparring with you is an honor.”

Her smile widened slightly before she turned to her recruits. "Now, learn from this. As you have just witnessed with the Consort of the Moon, mages are a significant threat on the battlefield."

Noctra pivoted sharply, her amber eyes locking onto mine as she gestured for me to step forward. “Consort,” she said, her voice steady but commanding, “perhaps you would share your insights with the recruits. They’ve seen what a mage can do — now they should know how to fight one.”

The recruits turned their full attention toward me. I stepped closer, resting the practice sword against my shoulder and flexing the fingers of the Wizard’s Arm as I considered how best to condense my experience and knowledge into a few key lessons.

“Fighting mages is all about disruption,” I began, my voice carrying over the courtyard. “Most mages are vulnerable in melee. They rely on maintaining a certain level of focus and distance to effectively cast their spells.”

I let the wooden blade fall into my left hand, holding it at the ready as I continued. “Your primary goal when engaging a mage is to keep them from casting at all. Close the gap quickly and keep up the pressure. If they can’t complete their incantations or gestures, they’re as good as unarmed.”

The recruits nodded, some muttering to each other as they processed the advice. I tapped the blunt edge of the practice sword against the stump of the Wizard’s Arm for emphasis.

“With unicorns, there’s an additional weakness,” I said. “Their magic is channeled through their horns, and it’s more fragile than you’d think. Even a small crack or nick can sever their connection to their magic entirely. A glancing blow is all it takes to temporarily separate the average unicorn from their magic.”

One of the recruits raised a hoof. “But what about mages who use artifacts?”

“Good question,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “The principle is the same: disrupt their rhythm, force mistakes, and don’t give them time to recover. Take out their focus item if they have one, and watch for traps. Smart mages always have a contingency plan.”

I paused, letting the recruits digest my words before finishing. “Above all, never underestimate a mage’s ability to adapt. If you drop your guard for even a moment, they’ll exploit it. Treat every spellcaster like they’re capable of taking you down with a single spell — because the best ones are.”

A ripple of murmured acknowledgement ran through the group, and I saw more than a few thoughtful expressions among Noctra’s recruits. Satisfied, I returned the practice sword back to its stand and turned to Noctra.

“Thank you for the opportunity,” I said, inclining my head.

She nodded, her sharp features softening for a moment. “And thank you for the lesson, Consort. My recruits will not forget it.”

I saluted her lightly, then turned to leave, heading toward the barracks to retrieve my belongings. As I walked, I flexed the Wizard’s Arm again, marveling at how seamlessly it responded. Every movement felt natural, almost as though it were an extension of my own body rather than an intricate piece of spellwork and engineering.

With a satisfied smile, I stepped into the cool evening air. I felt a renewed sense of confidence in the arm and what it could accomplish. Now I just needed to figure out what to do about my right eye, and I’ll be back in tip-top shape.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

I had taken to wearing the Wizard’s Arm constantly since my bout with Noctra. Familiarity with the limb was essential; every motion, every sensation had to become second nature. Consistent use was the only way to achieve that goal.

The silversheen fingers of the prosthetic tapped a steady rhythm against my desk. My remaining eye glared at the blank pages before me, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The idea for the Wizard’s Arm had come together with relative ease, but designing a solution for my missing eye was proving far more complex.

The curse of Decay loomed over every attempt to replace what I’d lost. Anything I used for my eye would be no exception; the curse would attempt to consume whatever I placed into the socket that had once held my right eye.

I raised my left hand to the scarred, unnaturally smooth flesh that was sealed over the hollow where my eye had once been. Meridin’s touch had done more than take my arm and eye — it had warped the muscles around the socket, sealing the lid shut with no hope of natural movement. To implant a replacement would require cutting it open, exposing the hollow beneath.

The thought of watching — and seeing through — an eye as it rotted away inside my skull made me grimace. I could enchant the replacement as I had with the Wizard’s Arm, weaving spells to delay the Decay, but the prospect felt impractical and disturbing. There was another solution, one far simpler: I didn’t need an eye. Not in the conventional sense.

Raising my hand, I slid the Laurel of Vast Intelligence from my head. Its silver leaves shimmered in Luna’s light spilling through the tall windows, and I tapped them lightly with my prosthetic’s silversheen fingers. The haunting resonance filled the room, a sound both eerie and invigorating.

Inspiration struck, bringing with it a grin that split my face. This would require meticulous effort — it would require time, careful spellwork, divination magic, and a touch of my mythical power. The Laurel could evolve, its purpose redefined. No longer an item that granted intelligence and a small boost to resistance alone, it would become something far greater — a device that replaced my lost vision while sidestepping the curse altogether.

A smile tugged at my lips as I imagined the possibilities. It wasn’t just an upgrade — it was a reinvention.

And with that reinvention came a new name: the Laurel of Vision.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

The grand hall of the Night Court was bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight streaming through the tall stained-glass windows. The light of the moon mixed with the dancing light of braziers that lined the court, and held the chill of winter at bay. Lunar Guards stood stationed at their posts along the walls of the court, and hidden among the rafters high above. The quiet of their vigilance was challenged by the noisy petitioners in the queue, stretching along the length of the hall and through the doors. Nobles in fine cloaks rubbed shoulders with weary peasants bundled against the winter chill that permeated the space beyond the castle’s walls.

I stood to Luna’s right, my left hand resting lightly on the pommel of Promise — more out of habit than form of necessity. The sword was a constant comfort, as was Luna’s presence beside me. This was my first time attending Night Court in months, and although the proceedings had not changed since then, I found the experience comforting.

Luna sat upon her midnight throne, regal and serene as always. Her crown caught the light as she leaned slightly forward, listening intently to a petitioner — a well-dressed merchant from Trottingham who was lamenting some new trade tariffs. Her calm, measured tone carried through the hall as she responded, a bastion of reason amid the petitioner’s overblown dramatics.

I couldn’t help myself. “Trottingham merchants are passionate, aren’t they?” I murmured, leaning just a hair closer to Luna.

A faint quirk of her lips — one I’d learned to read as her private smile — was her only reply.

The petitioner bowed low with a look of satisfaction before retreating. A noble mare from Manehattan stepped forward next, her expression prim and her mane done up in elaborate curls. She began with a long-winded introduction about her family’s history, clearly building toward some self-serving request.

I waited until the noble paused for breath before whispering again. “I didn’t realize Night Court doubled as a genealogy lesson.”

This time, Luna’s eyes shifted slightly, catching mine in a glimmer of shared amusement before returning to the petitioner. She answered the mare’s request with her usual poise, deftly redirecting her toward more practical solutions than the limitless funding she’d clearly hoped for.

The noble left with a mixture of relief and disappointment, and a stallion in tattered winter clothes stepped forward next. His face was gaunt, and his bow low. His petition was simple: his village, far to the north, was struggling with the unusually harsh winter, and he sought aid.

Luna’s tone softened as she addressed him, promising to send supplies and speak with the weather teams about easing the storms in the region. Her compassion was blatant, and I found myself watching her not as her apprentice or consort, but as someone deeply impressed by her unwavering grace.

Somehow, Luna made such promises of aid to be akin to a gift from the divine. Although in this case, it might as well have been.

As the stallion left, she turned her head just enough to glance at me. “You have been quiet,” she whispered, her voice low enough to not carry.

“I’m saving my best lines for when the nobles return,” I replied, my tone light.

She shook her head faintly, though her expression held the barest hint of warmth.

The line of petitioners continued, each pony stepping forward with their concerns. Some sought help with genuine problems — lost crops, damaged homes, disputes over land. Others came with grievances or ambitions thinly veiled as public interest. Through it all, Luna listened, judged, and responded with the wisdom that made her so beloved by those who sought her aid.

Between the petitioners, I found small moments to comment, to tease, to quietly remind her that even in the midst of these long, often taxing nights, she was never alone.

As another petitioner — a young mare with an earnest plea for better education funding in her district — left the throne room, I shifted slightly, letting the Wizard’s Arm stretch and flex. It had been nearly two hours since I’d donned it, and I could feel the faint magical tension that signaled it was time to send it away for repair. I focused briefly, activating the Modified Secluded Grimoire spell. The silversheen prosthetic dissolved into runes of golden-green light, which faded in a fraction of a second.

“Impressive as always,” Luna remarked quietly as the next petitioner approached.

“I live to impress, my lady,” I replied, keeping the grin off my face only because the petitioner — a stout earth pony wrapped in a thick scarf — was already launching into a tirade about property disputes.

I allowed my mind to wander slightly, thinking of the changes I’d made that changed the Laurel of Vast Intelligence into the Laurel of Vision. The enchanted silver leaves rested on my head, and I was eager to show Luna the modifications — she was in for quite the surprise when all these petitioners leave.

I glanced at the line ahead, noting that we were halfway through. Still, a faint smile played on my lips as I looked at Luna again. Tonight wasn’t just about Night Court or surprises — it was about being here with her, sharing her burdens and, hopefully, making them just a little lighter.

The hours stretched on as the line of petitioners slowly thinned. Each new pony that approached carried with them the weight of their concerns — some valid, some less so — but Luna remained steadfast. Her calm responses reflected a patience I envied. She truly was a master of her court, balancing justice and compassion with a level I could only hope to emulate.

As the last petitioner approached, the sound of hooves against the polished floor echoed faintly. This one was a weathered pegasus stallion, his wings tucked tightly against his sides. His plea centered on the deteriorating state of a bridge near his village, a structure vital for trade. Luna listened intently, nodding at intervals, and assured him that engineers would be dispatched to assess and repair it before the winter storms worsened.

The stallion offered a deep bow before retreating, his relief evident in his grateful expression. As the grand doors of the throne room closed behind him, the room fell into a momentary hush.

Luna exhaled softly, leaning back against her throne. “At last, a moment of peace,” she murmured, her voice carrying just enough weariness to reveal how taxing the night had been.

“And here I thought you enjoyed the endless tales of mismanaged farms and forgotten bridges,” I teased as I stepped closer to her side.

She raised a brow at me, though her lips curved faintly. “You seem far too entertained by these proceedings. Perhaps I should make you sit upon the throne next time.”

“I’d last an hour before I set the hall on fire,” I replied, my tone light. “Oh, I have something to show you…” I reached up, fingers brushing against the silver leaves resting on my brow.

Luna tilted her head, curiosity gleamed in her eyes. “You’ve been fidgeting with that all night. What are you scheming, Sebastian?”

“Fidgeting? Scheming? Me?” I placed a hand over my chest in mock offense. “I’m merely eager to show you an upgrade I’ve been working on. Call it a late-night experiment.”

She straightened slightly, her interest piqued. “Go on, then. Let me see what has you so eager.”

With a small grin, I flexed my mythical power activating the enchantment woven into the Laurel of Vision. The silver leaves glimmered faintly as the magic activated, and I felt the familiar sensation of the mythical power activating the spellwork. Behind me, a halo of glowing hazel eyes materialized, each one identical to my own. The ethereal orbs hovered in a perfect circle, their soft glow casting faint shadows against the stone walls.

Luna’s reaction was immediate. Her ears flicked back, and her wings tensed against her sides. Her gaze darted from one floating eye to the next, her expression shifting rapidly from surprise to... something far less impressed.

“What... is that?” she asked, her voice tinged with an unease I hadn’t expected.

“These,” I said, gesturing to the halo of eyes, “are part of the Laurel’s new function. They grant me complete all-around vision. Perfect for battle or avoiding sneak attacks. Ingenious, don’t you think?”

Her lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated, her eyes lingering on the glowing orbs. “It is... effective,” she said finally, though her tone carried more reservation than praise.

“You don’t like it.”

“I do not dislike it,” she countered quickly, though her gaze flicked away from the hovering eyes. “It is simply... unsettling. Must they all look like yours?”

I chuckled, allowing the spell to fade. The halo of eyes dissolved into shimmering motes of light, leaving the room dimmer without their glow. “I thought it fitting. Though I admit, I may have underestimated their… impact.”

Luna shook her head, though there was a faint hint of amusement in her exasperation. “You always find ways to surprise me, Sebastian. Even when I’m certain I’ve seen it all.”

“That’s the goal,” I said, stepping closer and offering her a mock bow. “Consider it my way of keeping things interesting.”

Her laughter was soft, but genuine, as she rose from her throne. “Interesting, indeed.”

The throne room began to empty as the guards prepared for the shift change, and I fell into step beside her. For all her reservations, I could tell the Laurel’s newest enhancement had intrigued her. If nothing else, I had succeeded in making her night a little less predictable.