Harry Potter and the Harmony Kingdom

Rarity gazed at her reflection in the mirror Nurse Redheart held aloft with her magic, tilting her head slightly as she studied herself. A shiver ran through her. Despite the healing spells that had closed the wound, her left eye remained lifeless—healed, but in a word, dead.

The cut had been deep. Too deep. With blood loss threatening her life, the doctors had faced a grim choice: save the mare or save the eye. They chose her life, of course. The result was a perfectly functional-looking eye—her pupil moved as it should—but it was no longer "connected." The severed optic nerve left her effectively one-eyed.

The scar along her eyelid, Redheart assured her, would fade in a few months. Yet for now, it served as a stark reminder of how close she'd come to something worse.

Beside her, sitting stiffly in a chair, was Daine. The younger mare hadn’t spoken much since the incident, her head bowed low, long, straight hair hiding her face. She wouldn’t meet Rarity’s gaze, no matter how gently the older mare tried to coax her. Even in the suffocating silence, Rarity could hear the telltale drip of tears hitting the floor and the muffled sobs that filled the nights.

Rarity didn’t blame her. In truth, she held herself accountable. She was the elder, the one who should have known better. Daine had warned her—her sister’s threats hadn’t been idle. But rather than seek help from the guard or take extra precautions, they’d dismissed the danger, opting instead to carry on with their day as if nothing were wrong.

Now, here they were, paying the price for their negligence. Perhaps this is karma for my carelessness, Rarity mused grimly, closing her good eye to trace the line of the scar that reached her eyebrow. The thought sparked another: Maybe it’s time to take up self-defense classes again.

If nothing else, she was grateful she’d had the foresight to get Daine out of the house that day. Celestia only knew what might have happened had her younger friend been the one to answer the door.

Rarity’s good eye wandered back to Daine, who still refused to look at her. Her heart sank further. They had been in the hospital for three days now, keeping a low profile at Daine’s insistence. That plan had lasted until Eye Wink, the town’s infamous radio host, somehow caught wind of the attack and broadcasted it for all to hear. How Eye Wink obtained such information remained a mystery, even to Pinkie Pie.

“And as you can see, Miss Belle,” Nurse Redheart interrupted her thoughts, her tone professional but empathetic, “our team did everything we could. Your eye may appear healthy, but the damage to the optic nerve was too severe to repair with the magic we have here. Perhaps someone in the capital could attempt it, but… with our resources, this is the best we could manage. I’m truly sorry.”

Redheart slipped the mirror back into her uniform and bowed. Rarity nodded graciously. “Thank you, dear. I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s just hope next time it doesn’t cost me a leg!” she quipped, forcing a laugh to break the tension.

The joke, however, only seemed to deepen Daine’s gloom. Her shoulders slumped further, and her hair fell like a curtain between them.

Sensing the unease, the veteran nurse checked Rarity’s IV bag, murmured that visiting hours had begun, and excused herself quietly, leaving the two mares alone in the room once more.

The heavy silence that followed felt like a weight neither of them could lift.

[Night – Unknown Location]

Limestone Tasha Pie was, in every sense, flat. Flat in appearance, flat in personality, and flat on paper.

A hardworking, cynical, friendless, and sharp-tongued mare.

So, forgive Agent Sweetie Drops for being skeptical as she flipped through Lime’s file.

No one in Equestria was this ordinary. Everyone, without exception, had a quirk, a strange habit, or at least an embarrassing anecdote buried in the archives of S.M.I.L.E. Yet Limestone’s record was as unremarkable as they came.

Her school grades? Average.
Her military service? Clean.
Taxes? Perfectly filed.
Infractions? Not even a warning for jaywalking.

The sheer normalcy of it all set Sweetie’s instincts on edge. No one was this... plain.

Her unease only deepened as she skimmed the medical file of Rarity Teresa Belle. The weapon Limestone used during the attempted kidnapping—a Herra-blade—was more than unusual. This highly experimental hybrid of a Herra-helmet and a razor was compact, versatile, and lethal. Designed for precision strikes, it could be wielded for incapacitation by targeting weak points: the eyes, knees, or, failing all else, the throat.

And yet, this was no mass-market tool. Only Canterlot’s elite suppliers or S.M.I.L.E. itself had access to such cutting-edge gear. For someone like Limestone—a civilian, at least on paper—to not only possess but master such a weapon was, at best, unsettling.

Sweetie Drops set the medical file aside and turned to the Pie family records.

Her unease sharpened into outright suspicion.

Every member of the Pie family, from the patriarch to the youngest foal, had spotless records. Too spotless. No infractions, no red flags, no peculiarities. Too clean to be a coincidence.

Sweetie paused, cradling a steaming mug of coffee between her hooves. The bitter warmth grounded her, though it did little to calm her growing dread. Her eyes flicked to the scattered documents on the table, their contents gnawing at her nerves.

The Elements were compromised.

In Ponyville, no less.

She reviewed her mental checklist of the bearers:

• One had lost an eye.
• Another had nearly bled out during the Griffonian War.
• The third was an aging half-thestral, possibly a survivor of Vlad Manenor’s reign of terror.
• Then there was the student of a former agent, whose psychological instability—while seemingly better managed now—remained concerning, especially given her rumored ties to one of the kingdom’s most powerful crime families.
• And the fifth? Dead. Killed on her first mission as Princess Celestia’s personal protégé.

Sweetie’s gaze fell on a sealed document she’d hesitated to address earlier. After a long moment, she broke the seal, her resolve hardening as she read the contents.

Headmistress Crescenta wouldn’t like this. Acting so decisively—so hastily—would undoubtedly provoke backlash. But they were out of options. Waiting any longer was a gamble they couldn’t afford.

With steady precision, Sweetie cast a messaging spell, the paper vanishing in a swirl of enchanted flame.

The Elements had to be removed from Ponyville. Immediately.

Before something—or somepony—destroyed them.

Or worse.

Princess Luna sat in her office, a discreet and somewhat hidden space within the castle's winding hallways, poring over an ever-growing stack of documents and reports.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she scanned one particular complaint—a letter from a mother criticizing the education provided by the EUSDC. The grievances were many, but the one that stood out most was the mother’s objection to what she referred to as "Mudbloods" among the student body.

Another thing you handle better than I, dear sister. I doubt I would have lasted even a decade in your place without some heads rolling if I had to endure such… complaints on a daily basis, Luna mused, shaking her head.

With practiced efficiency, she composed a standard response in her own meticulous handwriting:

The administration appreciates your feedback and will take your concerns into consideration during the next faculty meeting. Our goal remains to foster a healthy, inclusive learning environment where all students can thrive.

In essence: Noted and dismissed.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she thought of Harry's world and the idioms he often shared. TL;DR, she thought wryly, a wonderful tool for brevity.

Her smile faded, however, as her thoughts inevitably drifted to the wizard.

Harry had taken the news of Rarity’s injury hard. The revelation that the Element of Generosity had been harmed so grievously had shaken him, though Luna suspected he was attempting to mask the extent of his distress. She understood the impulse well. After all, wasn’t it that same inability to process her own emotions that had led to her downfall all those years ago?

All she could do now was give him space and time, hoping he would find a healthier way to cope.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

Setting her papers aside, she adjusted her glamour spell, ensuring her appearance was immaculate. Drawing upon the composure instilled in her since fillyhood, she called out with regal authority, "Enter."

The door opened to reveal Night Search, the stallion in charge of the castle’s night patrols.

For a fleeting moment, Luna’s mind wandered to something Nimbus had said about pony names, a notion she had dismissed at the time but now found oddly prescient.

Night Search. Blue Violet, the gardener. Sure Victory, the war advisor. Clean Service, the head butler.

Coincidences? Perhaps. Yet Luna, founder of S.M.I.L.E., had long since learned not to disregard peculiar patterns. Filing the thought away for later reflection, she refocused her attention on the captain standing before her.

"Report," she commanded, her tone steady and authoritative.

As Night Search began to speak, Luna listened intently, her earlier musings retreating into the recesses of her mind. For now, duty called, and her kingdom demanded her full attention.

Vox often found himself marveling at his unlikely fortune. Life, it seemed, had smiled upon him in ways he couldn’t fully comprehend. After all, he had survived an accident that left him partially amnesiac, his horn shattered, and his sense of self all but erased. He had no clear memory of who he was, where he came from, or what his purpose might have been. And yet, here he was, content with the position fate had thrust upon him.

It was sheer luck—perhaps destiny—that his first encounter in this strange land was with Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, or simply Cadence, as she preferred to be called. Their magical energies had been remarkably compatible, and her healing magic had worked wonders on him. Thanks to her, his mind had cleared significantly, though fragments of his past remained elusive. The memory of his life before the balloon incident was still a blank canvas.

Once lucid, Vox’s gratitude knew no bounds, particularly toward the one who had saved him after the accident. Derpy Hooves, the ever-dedicated mailmare, had insisted there was no need to thank her. After all, it was her balloon that had fallen on his head and caused the entire debacle. Still, Vox felt deeply indebted to her. She could have left him there, unconscious in the snow—a creature unlike any pony she’d likely ever seen. But she hadn’t.

They remained in contact, exchanging letters through the mail as a playful excuse to keep in touch.

The only thorn in Vox’s otherwise pleasant existence was the ever-watchful eye of the Imperial Guard. Their scrutiny wasn’t hostile, merely cautious. He was, after all, an unknown species that had appeared out of nowhere, and their vigilance reflected the kingdom’s natural suspicion.

It seemed fate—or perhaps Cadence herself—had devised a solution to keep him close to the castle under the guise of practicality. Vox had been appointed Harlequin of the Empire.

The role was an ancient, somewhat whimsical one: part jester, part confidant, and part advisor. His duties ranged from entertaining the princess with lighthearted jokes to gently reminding her when she was overworking herself. He even offered counsel when needed.

Despite his fractured memories, Vox found himself surprisingly adept at this role. Somewhere deep within his scattered mind lay an extensive understanding of Crystal Empire politics. This knowledge suggested two possibilities: either he had once been an emissary sent to negotiate relations between his homeland and the Empire, or he had been seeking integration into Crystal society.

The third, more sinister possibility—that he had been a spy—seemed utterly implausible to Vox.

If I couldn’t see a hot air balloon falling on my own head, how could I possibly have been trusted with espionage?

He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of the thought.

Whatever his past may have been, Vox chose to focus on the present. His life, while unconventional, was rich with purpose and connection—a newfound stability in a world where so much was uncertain.

Report from Scout Drone Designation: Alpha Bravo Alpha

Subject: Status Update on Lost Drone Epsilon-Epsilon-Epsilon-Epsilon-Epsilon-Omega

The situation regarding our lost drone has taken a significant and unexpected turn. Prolonged exposure to the Fountain of Love appears to have triggered a gradual recovery of its personality matrix. This development raises concerns about its potential loyalty and its current alignment.

Thus far, nourishment drone Epsilon-Epsilon-Epsilon-Epsilon-Epsilon-Omega has shown no overt signs of betrayal. It continues to perform its designated role without deviation. However, we cannot guarantee this will remain the case. The influence of the Fountain of Love may compromise its adherence to the Hive's objectives over time.

Despite these risks, the drone’s current position as the personal harlequin of the Fountain of Love presents an intriguing opportunity. Should we manage to:

1. Reestablish its connection to the network,
2. Reinforce its original directives, or
3. Replace it with an operative capable of flawless impersonation,

...we could secure a critical advantage for the execution of Operation Cupid. This embedded role would grant us unparalleled access to sensitive information and decision-making processes within the Fountain’s sphere of influence.

Requesting further instructions on whether to proceed with reactivation, replacement, or passive observation.

Awaiting orders.

Big Macintosh blinked, raised his head, and, looking at the ceiling, gave it a slight shake before returning his gaze to the piece of paper in front of him. He read it again, blinking a few more times as he tried to process the incredible surprise he had just received.

Regaining his composure, his eyes moved to a flyer pinned to the side of his bed. A smile spread across his face. Without hesitation, he stepped out through the front door, looked at his family gathered in the living room, and spoke the words that sent them into a whirlwind of excitement:

“Pack your bags... we’re going to Acoltpulco.”

The three mares, each from a different generation, stared wide-eyed at the only stallion in the house before bursting into joyful and incredulous shouts.

It had always been a family dream to visit that tropical paradise, ever since the Orange relatives shared their experiences about it some time ago.

This was why both he and Applejack had been working so hard on the farm, keeping labor costs low and saving every bit they could to make this dream come true, especially while Granny Smith was still around to enjoy it.

But now, thanks to the investment deal Big Mac had signed with Miss Spoiled Silver, the family had far more than just enough for tickets. They had plenty to truly enjoy the experience to its fullest.

Feeling that the occasion called for celebration, Big Mac poured himself a shot of tequila and drank it with satisfaction.

That was when Applejack, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, turned to him and smirked.

“And speaking of family trips,” she began, “don’t you think it’d be a good idea to bring your sweetheart along?”

The two younger mares at the table burst into laughter, delighted to see their older sister teasing their big brother.

To their surprise, Big Mac remained completely composed, finishing his tequila shot calmly before responding.

“Of course I’ll invite her. That’d only be polite,” he replied smoothly, with a rare eloquence.

Applejack’s confident smirk wavered when she saw a mischievous glint in her brother’s eyes, followed by a sly smile spreading across his face.

“But if I’m bringing Miss Spoiled Silver,” he added with deliberate slowness, “then naturally, you should bring along your sweetheart... Rarity.”

Applejack froze, her jaw dropping. Apple Bloom squealed in delight, and Granny Smith clapped her hooves, exclaiming, “I knew it!”

The farmer mare hadn’t seen that comeback coming. Her face turned bright red as mortification and disbelief battled for dominance. Unable to form a coherent response, she slammed her head against the table with a groan.

Her frustration only deepened when the filly and the calf started poking her sides, begging for more details about Rarity.

Lifting her head just enough to reveal one eye, Applejack shot the sharpest glare she could muster at her still-smirking brother.

With another groan, she slammed her head back down. The humiliation wasn’t over, as Granny Smith chimed in with, “So when are you bringing her over for dinner?”

Desperate for an escape, Applejack remembered she had promised to visit Rarity at the hospital to help manage Pink—er, Daine, who stubbornly refused to leave the premises or even freshen up at home.

Grabbing some fruits and cloths for Daine, she stomped to the door, muttering under her breath. She didn’t respond to Granny’s parting comment:

“Just make sure to invite her, ya hear? I want to meet her!”

Her only reply was slamming the door behind her.

The family stared at the door for a moment, listening to Applejack’s muffled complaints as she stomped away. When the sound faded, they exchanged glances and burst into laughter.

It was only a couple of hours later, out in the fields, when Apple Bloom turned to her cousin Arizona with a hint of concern.

"Do ya think we went a bit too far teasin’ AJ like that?" the filly asked, glancing up at the older female.

Arizona paused mid-step, tapping a hoof against the ground thoughtfully. Then, with a slight smirk, she shook her head.

"Nah," she said confidently. "She’s been pokin’ fun at Big Mac for weeks now. And, in the immortal words of Granny: ‘Why dish it out if ya can’t take it?’"

To punctuate her point, Arizona gave a sturdy kick to the nearest apple tree, her smile widening as the majority of its fruit tumbled neatly into the basket strapped to her side.

Apple Bloom opened her mouth to counter but found herself nodding instead. Her cousin had a point. With a shrug, she got to work, gathering up the few stray apples that hadn’t made it into the basket.

“Guess you’re right,” she said with a small laugh, tossing an apple into the pile.

“‘Course I’m right,” Arizona teased, nudging Apple Bloom’s shoulder. “Now, less chatter, more gather. Granny’s gonna want these apples ready for bakin’ before sundown.”

The two fell into an easy rhythm, their earlier mischief forgotten as they worked side by side under the golden afternoon sun.

Fluttershy took a slow, deliberate drag from her cigar, the embers glowing faintly in the dim light of her cabin as she flipped through a stack of documents. Her sanctuary for Awakened animals was coming together better than she could have hoped.

The land was secured, the permits approved, and the qualifications validated. A few of the first residents had even been settled comfortably. By all accounts, her dream was well on its way to becoming a reality.

But one obstacle still loomed large in her mind.

(Finding someone to take over... or at least someone I can trust to help. That... will be the hardest part.)

She grimaced, tapping the ash from her cigar into a small tin on her desk.

The shadows of her past always loomed nearby. The Guard had made it clear they were watching her. Every step she took as Maria, her alternate identity, was a step closer to exposure. A single mistake could unravel everything she’d worked for, bringing her new life crashing down.

Another drag. Another attempt to calm the storm inside her chest. But the fragile silence was broken by a sound she knew all too well—a crossbow string being drawn tight, mere inches behind her head.

The air in the room grew heavy, the tension almost suffocating. Fluttershy closed her eyes, exhaling smoke as she sighed deeply. Slowly, she turned just enough to glimpse the figure standing behind her.

It was him. Her cave brother.

His form was shrouded in shadows that clung to him like a living cloak, obscuring everything but his piercing, blood-red eyes. The hunter's crossbow in his hands gleamed in the flickering candlelight, the silver-tipped bolt aimed directly at her.

"So," he began, his voice flat and cold, yet layered with hidden weight, "this is your decision?"

Fluttershy met his gaze, unflinching. Her own voice, calm but unyielding, carried a finality that left no room for doubt.

"This is my oath."

Her blue eyes burned crimson as she spoke, their intensity cutting through the dimness like twin beacons of defiance.

They held each other's gaze in a silence that felt eternal. Then, like a wraith, the figure vanished into the shadows, leaving nothing behind but a crude object on the floor—a simple trinket crafted from two sticks tied together with a worn piece of string.

Fluttershy stared at it, her heart tightening in her chest. It was a pitiful little thing, yet it carried with it the weight of a world she had chosen to abandon. To her, it wasn’t just a token; it was a tether to the life of Maria Shy, the person she once was.

For only a moment, her hoof hovered above it, trembling with hesitation. Then, with a single, decisive motion, she crushed it beneath her hoof. The brittle wood splintered into fragments, scattering across the floor.

She stood there, staring at the remains, her expression unreadable. Somewhere deep inside, as the trinket shattered, so did a part of herself.

But the choice was made. There was no turning back.

Rarity winced as she accidentally knocked her knee against the corner of a piece of furniture. The jolt of pain made her pause for a moment, but she quickly brushed it off.

She was still adjusting to the fact that her vision had become a fraction of what it once was. It was a strange new reality for the once-impeccable tailor, but she was managing. Fortunately, she favored her right eye over her left when working, so her craftsmanship hadn’t been overly compromised.

In fact, it gave her the perfect excuse to wear the monocle her father had given her many years ago. She had never quite figured out the best way to wear it, but now, as she adapted to the changes, it had become an oddly comforting accessory.

The monocle itself was simple—a silver frame with a clear crystal lens. Its enchantments were the only thing remarkable about it. They kept it firmly in place, no matter how much she moved her head, and protected her eye from dust and debris, or so her father had explained.

(He really has no idea how to save money, does he?) Rarity chuckled softly to herself, recalling the ridiculous extravagance with which he’d bestowed such a "precious" gift.

"Mewru?"

The familiar voice of Winona, her senior cat, broke her reverie.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, sweetie!" Rarity called, her voice gentle and affectionate as she levitated a can of cat food with her magic. With a precision born of muscle memory, she twisted open the can and poured its contents into Winona’s dish. Feeling a bit playful, Rarity decided to test her aim, tossing the can towards the trash bin on the far side of the room.

She missed.

The can flew right out the open window instead, its trajectory sending it directly into the path of a figure resting on a nearby branch. A sharp, startled curse followed by the unmistakable sound of something hitting the ground confirmed her suspicion: someone had been struck.

Rarity winced, her face paling slightly, but she quickly covered it with a breathy 'shhhs' sound as she stalked over to the window, her steps filled with the weight of impending embarrassment.

As she peeked outside, her eyes widened in surprise.

"Scootaloo?!"

Scootaloo, for her part however, was not having a good day.

First, her scooter’s wheel broke when she hit a pothole. Then, Diamond Tiara had relentlessly mocked her and Applebloom at school, especially since Silver Spoon was absent and there was no one to keep Diamond in check. To top it off, Rainbow Dash had once again missed their flying lessons, leaving Scootaloo feeling even more adrift than usual.

(She'll come next time, t-t-that's Rainbow Dash! She's the best, YES!) the young pegasus thought, trying to cling to a thread of hope despite the rising frustration.

Scootaloo climbed up the tree with practiced ease, finding a branch to settle on. She looked up at the clouds, watching the occasional pegasus or griffon fly by, envious of their effortless grace in the skies.

"Hrnnn..." She growled under her breath, her jealousy mingling with self-doubt.

How she wished she could fly like them—soar through the sky, bask in the clouds, maybe even visit Cloudsdale. Or better yet, be Rainbow Dash’s subordinate, something that didn’t feel like a constant failure. The weight of her disappointments hung heavy on her heart, but she tried to shake it off as she closed her eyes, seeking solace in a quick nap.

For a few moments, peace settled over her. The breeze was cool, and the sounds of nature calmed her troubled mind. But then, out of nowhere—

Thud.

Something metallic collided with her head, and Scootaloo lost her balance, falling from the branch with a startled scream.

"FUCKING MOTHER!" she yelled, clutching her head in agony.

The fall itself wasn’t the problem—she had taken worse tumbles before—but the impact from the object hitting her head hurt. Opening one eye, she blinked in disbelief.

(A can of cat food?!)

Who in the name of Celestia’s wings throws cans of cat food at trees?!

"Scootaloo?!" Rarity’s voice called down to her, full of concern and embarrassment.

Harry blinked, his jaw working but not managing to form any coherent words.

Luna sat curled up, a little ball of shame, and the kitchen around them was nothing short of chaotic. It looked as if the very concept of cooking had imploded. Pans were aflame, pots contained substances that Harry couldn’t even begin to identify, and the oven spewed out clouds of smoke like an old chimney. A soup pot seemed to have developed a life of its own, sliding across the counter as though it had somewhere more important to be.

Harry put a hand to his jaw, genuinely impressed. He never thought he’d see someone worse in the kitchen than Neville, but life, as he’d learned long ago, was just that unpredictable.

Shaking his head, Harry knelt down, placing a reassuring hand on Luna’s back.

“Calm down, Luna. It’s not the end of the world,” he said softly, trying to console the goddess princess who, despite her centuries of life, had somehow managed to turn the kitchen into a disaster zone.

Luna mumbled something unintelligible under her breath, letting out a small, defeated moan. Harry’s lips twitched into a small laugh at the sight of the powerful princess, who had conquered entire realms, now looking utterly deflated by a failed attempt at cooking.

With a shake of his head, Harry restored the kitchen with a simple flick of his wand. The smoke cleared, the pots settled, and the flames extinguished as if nothing had happened. Then, he began moving with fluid precision, gathering ingredients from the shelves and placing them neatly on the counter. Gently, he levitated Luna, still curled up in embarrassment, and placed her onto a conjured chair.

“Let’s start from the beginning, okay?” Harry said, his tone patient.

Luna let out another groan but slowly sat up, patting her face to pull herself together. She took a deep breath, nodding decisively, ready to try again. Harry fought back a laugh, finding her determination both endearing and comical. He gave her a warm, encouraging smile anyway.

The princess, however, saw through the smile. With a light push on his shoulder, she responded firmly but without malice, a teasing glint in her eyes.

“Stop making fun of us.”

Harry clutched his heart in exaggerated pain. “Me?! Make fun of you? Who told you such lies, Your Highness? Who’s the traitor who spread these rumors about me?” He asked dramatically.

Luna snorted, her lips trembling as she tried to suppress a smile. “There’s no need for informants or gossip when we have such a fool in front of us!”

Harry took a dramatic step back, clutching his chest as though struck by an unseen force. “Oh, but what cruelty! What agony it brings me to be called a fool by the one I consider a friend, an ally! What a fate! What a dreadful fate!”

Luna’s smile widened into something mischievous. With impeccable poise, her tone dipped into mock haughtiness, a flair so dramatic it could rival the Malfoys at their most regal.

“And writhe more, for you shall remain my faithful harlequin!” she proclaimed, throwing her head back in a mock evil laugh. Her wings expanded, casting a grand shadow over Harry as they filled the space around them.

Harry inhaled dramatically, eyes widening in exaggerated horror. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He collapsed to the floor in mock defeat, unable to maintain his composure any longer.

The two fell into a comfortable silence before the laughter broke out, the tension evaporating entirely. Luna shrank back to her natural size, a satisfied grin still on her face.

In much higher spirits, they resumed their cooking lesson, and this time, they made real progress.

Luna could now cook spaghetti without burning it. It wasn’t a gourmet meal by any means, but it was a step forward.

The two of them shared a warm hug before Luna left to continue her nightly patrol, ensuring that the Nightmares wouldn’t trouble her realm for a while. Harry watched her go, grateful for the small moments of peace and laughter they could share, even in the midst of everything else.

The wizard sighed, and with a subtle wave of his hand, the chaotic kitchen vanished like mist, replaced by a grand ballroom. The room shimmered with soft golden light, its elegant chandeliers casting a gentle glow across the polished floors and ornate tapestries that adorned the walls.

A small flash of light flickered, and in an instant, Princess Celestia appeared, her radiant form glowing with the warmth of the sun. Nimbus Firebolt was already waiting for her, though he looked far more nervous than he ever let on.

“Thank you again for helping me with this, Your Highness,” Nimbus said, bowing awkwardly. His voice, though respectful, carried a trace of unease.

Celestia smiled, raising a hoof in a graceful motion. “And once again, I tell you that thanks are unnecessary.”

Nimbus gave a slight mischievous if nervous grin. “And once again, I’ll ignore that.”

The princess laughed softly, amused by the stallion’s determination. She couldn’t help but appreciate how earnestly he tried, even if it meant turning his own discomfort into a joke. There was something so endearing about his humble manner.

When Nimbus had first approached her with the request to teach him how to dance, Celestia had been surprised, but pleased. It wasn’t every day that someone—especially a stallion as reserved as Nimbus—asked for such a favor. The sincerity in his request, and the knowledge that it would bring happiness to his sister, made it easy for Celestia to say yes.

With another gentle flash, Celestia's form shimmered into a simple yet elegant ball gown. It wasn’t elaborate, but it was beautiful—designed with quiet grace, its soft fabric catching the light as she moved.

“Now, my good lord,” Celestia said, extending a hoof with a smile that made her eyes sparkle, “may I have this dance?”

Nimbus, already feeling the heat of his nerves rising, swallowed hard. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. His wings fidgeted anxiously as he tried to calm his racing heart. The suit materialized on him with a gentle puff of mist, but it was almost as if he couldn’t focus on anything except the dance ahead.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he said, his voice a little too high-pitched as he awkwardly placed a hoof in hers.

The music began—a light, graceful waltz that seemed to hum through the air. Nimbus, his hooves trembling, tried to follow the rhythm, but everything felt wrong. He was stepping too quickly, too slowly, and his hooves kept tangling with Celestia’s. Every time he thought he had the rhythm, he’d end up tripping over himself.

Celestia, with a small but reassuring smile, led him gently, her movements graceful as ever, trying to guide him without overwhelming him. But it was clear: Nimbus was a total beginner.

“Don’t worry, Nimbus,” Celestia said, her voice a soothing melody. “Take it slow. One step at a time.”

Nimbus nodded, though his face flushed with embarrassment. His steps were clumsy, and he couldn’t seem to get his hooves to do what he wanted them to do. He accidentally stepped on Celestia’s gown at one point, and they both stumbled.

“I’m so sorry!” Nimbus blurted out, mortified.

Celestia chuckled softly, her expression gentle. “It’s alright, Nimbus. You’re doing just fine. You just need more practice.”

But Nimbus could barely hide his nerves. His hooves seemed to have a mind of their own. With every misstep, his confidence faltered a little more. His wings twitched uncomfortably, and he found himself focused more on not falling than actually dancing.

“Don’t worry,” Celestia said again, smiling brightly. “You’re learning. The important thing is that you’re trying. We all start somewhere.”

Nimbus, trying his best to steady his movements, took a deep breath and tried again. Slowly, carefully, he began to match her steps. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but his rhythm was beginning to settle. With each misstep, he learned, and with each correction from Celestia, he improved.

By the time the music began to fade, Nimbus was no longer stepping on her hooves—though he was still a little offbeat. But Celestia’s smile was warm and approving.

“Well, my dear friend,” she said with a chuckle, “I think you’re ready for another lesson.”

Nimbus, his face flushed from both exertion and embarrassment, gave a small laugh of his own. “I think I need a lot more than just one lesson.”

They both shared a laugh, and though Nimbus was far from perfect, the bond between them had deepened.

[2 Months to the Galloping Gala]

Celestia blinked, her ancient yet still-vibrant eyes tracing an invisible path from the object embedded in the wall less than a meter from her. Her gaze followed the jagged impact site with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

At the epicenter of the chaos was her nephew, Blueblood, who had clearly seen better days. His body was slumped against the wall, blood trickling from his mouth, a grim testament to the teeth he had lost upon impact. His once-pristine suit—so often a symbol of his arrogance—was now a grotesque display of ruined fabric, stained with dirt, grass, and his own blood. The crimson liquid continued to drip from his lips, painting a sickening streak down his chin.

Celestia blinked once more, her mind struggling to process the scene before her. Slowly, her gaze shifted, following the flight path that had sent her nephew crashing through the walls. Her powerful eyes took in the path of destruction, noting the broken fragments of stone and splintered wood marking each wall he had passed through. With every shattered barrier, a confused servant or guard peeked out, their eyes wide in disbelief at the carnage.

A low, impressed whistle broke the heavy silence.

"I must admit, Princess, I am once again surprised." Typhoon, the leader of the Dragon Merchant Guild Embassy (EGMD), said jovially, his voice carrying a quiet amusement. His eyes gleamed with an almost nostalgic affection for the chaos unfolding before them.

"You certainly know how to make an old flame feel at home," the dragon added with a hearty laugh, clearly unperturbed by the destruction.

To him, scenes like this weren’t out of the ordinary. Having lived through countless brawls and disputes on the Boiling Islands—home to the dragons—he had witnessed more than his fair share of property damage, whether from feuding families, disagreements over trade, or even the occasional drunken brawl to settle debts.

Celestia, on the other hoof, having centuries of diplomatic experience, took the scene in stride. With a practiced air of composure, she gave her old friend a smile, even as she carefully retrieved her nephew from the wall and placed him on a nearby bed that a medic, both pony and griffon, had hastily prepared.

"Oh, Typhoon," Celestia said with a playful yet serene tone, "you know me, old friend. A warm welcome is the least I can offer."

Typhoon chuckled again, clearly entertained, as they both made their way toward the source of the projectile that had been Blueblood. However, they had barely taken more than a few steps when a soft, sorrowful sound reached their ears—a noise that pierced the air, tight with grief.

Celestia's pupils constricted, and her ears drooped as recognition hit her like a bolt of lightning. The heartbreaking sound—the raw, wrenching sobs—came from a place she could never have predicted.

"Go," Typhoon said in a voice that was as much an order as it was an understanding. His words were the only push Celestia needed.

With the swift grace only the princess of the sun could possess, she threw away all semblance of royal decorum and galloped straight toward the source of the sound. Each step was driven by urgency, her heart thundering in her chest as her mind filled with nothing but the need to be there.

Blueblood could wait. The one that had caused this cry of despair needed her first.

"Oh, Celestia! What happened to him?" One of the midwives in the castle's medical wing gasped as she surveyed Prince Blueblood’s sorry state, immediately beginning her diagnostic spells.

(Broken ribs, spinal disc damage between 5, 6, 7, and 8, brain contusion, minor internal bleeding, and a rather generous loss of teeth... Whoever did this really gave him a thorough lesson.) The medic grimaced, mentally cataloging the injuries, and swiftly began issuing orders to the other healers who had entered the room.

A veteran guard who had witnessed the whole event snorted, amusement tinged with disdain.

"He opened his big mouth to the wrong pony, that's what happened."

The blunt statement was met with murmurs from everyone within earshot. More than one guard muttered, "It's about time." Even some of the medical staff exchanged glances, nodding in quiet agreement.

A rookie guard, clearly confused by the situation, looked around the room, trying to make sense of it all.

"So... Shouldn't we arrest the person responsible for this? I mean, I've heard the rumors about the Prince's bad attitude, but this seems excessive."

The veteran guard chuckled darkly and turned to the rookie.

"Of course, we should... but I highly doubt we have the authority to do anything about it. After all, who else has the right to teach Princess Celestia's nephew a lesson other than her own niece, Princess Cazadena?"

In the sudden, stunned silence that followed, the veteran simply shook his head with a quiet laugh, clearly amused by the rookie's lack of understanding.

The griffon healer, hovering near the bed and assisting with the spells, exhaled incredulously, rolling his eyes. What planet did those Council fools live on to think ponies were “soft-spined herbivores” or similar nonsense?

He muttered something under his breath, and soon enough, the tale of Blueblood’s humiliating defeat spread like wildfire through the kingdom, courtesy of the griffon’s whispers. The story grew with each telling, twisting into legend—Prince Blueblood had challenged his cousin, Princess Mi Amore Cazadena, to a duel and was so thoroughly defeated that he had to change his name to “Ourpleblood,” because after the fight, it was clear his blood was far from blue.

The rumors reached far and wide, even crossing seas and oceans. On a distant shore, a certain monkey king heard the stories and, sensing potential trouble, sent spies to investigate the truth. These spies never returned. They were intercepted and neutralized by S.M.I.L.E. before they could gather any information.

Back in the castle, the political negotiations with the dragon embassy were progressing better than expected, thanks in part to the diplomatic efforts of Spikekikular, a dragon raised as a pony, who acted as the intermediary. His efforts were proving invaluable, with an increasing number of merchant dragons visiting the kingdom.

However, Nimbus was unaware of the dramatic events involving the royal relatives. He’d spent the day in the dungeons, visiting prisoners, and had missed the entire incident. He only learned of it later, through the castle gossip.

What he did know was that the incident had made waves across the kingdom, and Princess Cazadena’s reputation had grown—both for her strength and for the sheer, unintentional hilarity that followed in the aftermath.

Princess Luna blinked slowly, her mind cycling through the surreal image in front of her as if she were still trying to process its meaning.

Before her, the Lime Cocktail operative and his "captive" stood under the heavy weight of her piercing gaze, both sweating with palpable nervousness.

"A Changeling," the princess murmured, her voice almost incredulous as she spoke the word aloud.

The operative managed a single, stiff nod, while the captive remained unmoving, though the anxiety in his blue eyes was unmistakable.

"That he is a part of the Crystal Empire... a recognized citizen... and the secret financial advisor to Princess Cazadena... Am I mistaken?" Luna asked, her words carefully measured. The operative nodded again, confirming the details.

The Changeling said nothing, but the tremor in his posture was unmistakable.

Luna’s piercing emerald eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze upon the Changeling, watching him shake with barely contained fear.

"This is... unprecedented," she declared, her voice taking on a cool, neutral tone.

For a moment, her eyes shimmered with an intensity that seemed to freeze the air around her, and the Changeling flinched, his entire body stilling in reaction.

But then the princess blinked and looked away, her expression softening as she massaged her forehead with a hoof. The captive swayed in a dizzying motion, as though the weight of the moment was too much for him, and his knees buckled.

He would have collapsed onto the table if not for the swift intervention of Lime, who caught him with a telekinetic field.

Luna continued to massage her temple in silence, her mind racing with the implications. The room fell into an uncomfortable quiet, thick with tension.

"Make sure our guest is given the finest room in the residential area, next to Princess Cazadena’s. Also, have someone notify me when he awakens. I owe Mr. Vox an apology," Luna instructed, her voice calm yet laced with authority.

The operative nodded once more, and Luna gave a slight wave of her hoof. Without another word, she began to leave, the captive floating gently behind her in the grip of her magic.

Once alone, Luna cast a privacy spell around herself and took a deep breath. Her thoughts immediately began to churn, each one circling around the Changeling’s sudden presence and the storm of consequences it might bring.

If the Changelings had indeed capitulated to the Crystal Empire—and by extension, Equestria—then a monumental threat could be contained, or, in an ideal scenario, neutralized entirely.

Of course, that was only if she allowed herself to be optimistic, given they had only the loyalty of one Changeling. As the old military saying went, “Where there’s a bug, there’s a hive.”

And once again, I find myself indebted to Harry, she thought. After all, it had been he who taught her Occlumency—the human art of mind-reading—which had proven invaluable in situations like this.

The technique was invasive and exhausting for any who were untrained, but it was far more reliable and thorough than the superficial methods often employed by ponies. With it, Luna could pierce the veil of even the most guarded minds, extracting truth from lies with unsettling precision.

Luna’s train of thought was abruptly derailed when she heard commotion outside her office. Her ears strained to catch the sound, and to her surprise, it was laughter—laughter?

Curiosity piqued, Luna opened the door just a crack, enough to hear the conversation clearly but not enough to reveal her presence.

"Are you serious? The Crystal Princess did that?" One of the agents managed to ask between fits of laughter.

There was a brief pause, a possible nod, and then another voice chimed in.

"Yep, I was there to see it live, and let me tell you, it was one of the most glorious and terrifying things I’ve ever seen. If it wasn’t for the fact that Captain Armor is more than just dating her, I would’ve proposed to him right then and there."

An exaggerated romantic sigh followed, and a new wave of laughter erupted.

Luna blinked.

(Crystal Princess?) Luna’s mind raced. (Ah! Right, Princess Mi Amore Cazadena, alicorn, and ruler of the resurrected Crystal Empire. I must contact her, not just to... get acquainted with her, but also to discuss the possible return of Sombra. Since I highly doubt that someone as megalomaniacal as he was doesn’t have some kind of contingency plan.)

Luna had originally believed that she and Celestia had permanently rid Equestria of the Umbra Steed. But after hearing Harry’s stories and learning just how far Voldemort was willing to go, Luna was no longer so certain.

"And I tell you the best part? She didn’t use Samba, Taekwondo, or even Karate to break his face!" one of the agents continued, laughter still rolling in their voice.

"Really? And what did she use then—Beast, Slugger, or Breaker style? The Crane, Snake, or Tiger style?"

(A fight? Against who and why?) Luna thought, the words sparking her curiosity further. (Breaker style, Slugger?)

Luna had knowledge of ancient and mostly forgotten fighting arts, and she could recognize nearly every style mentioned—except for the ones just brought up. Slugger was easy to deduce—likely a powerful, weapon-based style using blunt objects like clubs or maces. Breaker, however… that one remained a mystery. A fast, counter-defensive style? She would need to see it firsthand to understand its full potential.

But the agent’s next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"That’s the best part... I have no idea!"

"What?"

"Exactly! At first, I thought she was using Beast Style when—get this—she grabbed a marble decoration almost twice her size and swung it around like it was a club. But then, suddenly, she jumped so high we lost sight of her, only to fall back down like a meteor, statue-first! The thing shattered against the bastard’s head, and that was what knocked him out!"

"W-What? How in the seven circles of Tartarus is he still alive?"

"The Secret Guard and Captain Armor—who, by the way, is the greatest scholar in defensive magics in the kingdom—blessed him with the life-saving damage-reduction spell."

"Oh, yes, that makes sense."

"Anyway, she wasn’t done yet, and here’s the scary part. She let out a roar—well, not a roar, it was more like a pure wave of presence, no sound at all. Then she climbed up onto the bastard’s chest and started pounding him with blows so hard, I swear I could hear the air itself crack!"

"And the bastard only lost a few teeth and bruised ribs? How is he still alive?!"

"And you think I know? But now that I think about it, the statue was strange."

(Hmm) Luna thought, her mind swirling. (Another thing to investigate... It sounds incredibly unlikely that the ‘bastard’ could’ve survived even the first assault, much less the second. It would take alicorn magic to survive something like that… oh, no.)

A horrible thought filtered into her mind, and Luna’s breathing became shallow and quick. Her thoughts raced as she focused all her attention on the conversation, hoping beyond hope that she wasn’t hearing what she feared.

"Was it that statue of the dragon—snake—lion—thing?"

"Oh! Yes, it was that one."

Luna closed the door quickly, her heart pounding. She cast the strongest silencing spell she could muster, then rushed to write an urgent letter to both her sister and Harry. As soon as the letter was sealed, she sent it through a messaging spell, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself.

Then, with all her might, Luna screamed.

"This is not good, not good at all," Luna muttered, her words barely above a whisper as she paced in small, frantic circles. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with the raw panic of someone staring into the abyss.

Celestia, on the other hoof, was visibly falling apart. She sipped her tea with frantic desperation, her movements almost mechanical as cookies materialized before her. The plate seemed to replenish endlessly, yet the princess couldn't seem to eat fast enough.

Nimbus and Cadenza exchanged uncomfortable glances, the tension in the room palpable as they observed the scene unfolding before them.

The four alicorns had gathered in a shared dream space conjured by Luna herself to discuss the alarming return of the spirit of chaos—Discord. The words "Discord was released" had barely left Luna’s mouth when Celestia immediately descended into a frenzy, her royal composure crumbling as she chugged tea like it might be the last thing she ever drank.

Cadenza had never seen her aunt like this—not the serene, composed Celestia who radiated grace and wisdom. This was something else entirely, and it made the Crystal Princess dizzy, caught in the sudden clash of images.

Nimbus, on the other hand, was intrigued by Celestia's breakdown—and more impressed that she hadn't yet reached for the whiskey.

"This... is uncomfortable," Cadenza muttered under her breath, her unease growing.

"Maybe... but you have to admit, it's pretty funny," Nimbus chuckled, clearly finding amusement in the surreal scene.

Cadenza jumped slightly, having almost forgotten he was there. She turned to him, suddenly flustered.

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot you were here!" she blurted out, immediately regretting her words.

Nimbus only raised an eyebrow at her, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Yes, that happens sometimes," he replied nonchalantly, his tone as calm and unbothered as ever.

The two alicorns fell into an awkward silence, each trying to gather their thoughts. Cadenza, however, found herself studying Nimbus more closely. There was something about him that was... striking.

His form was imposing—nearly as tall as Celestia, his emerald eyes sharp and calculating. His black fur and powerful, bat-like wings created a striking contrast against the regal surroundings. His features were marked with faint scars, remnants of battles fought and creatures defeated. But the most noticeable thing—what really caught Cadenza’s attention—was the large white scar that cut across his body in the shape of a lightning bolt, or perhaps a rune. It seemed to coil around his leg in an unsettling spiral—like vines or... tentacles.

A cold shiver ran down her spine, her mind working overtime to process the sight.

Nimbus caught her eye and gave her a teasing look, his lips curling into a mocking smile. Cadenza’s face flushed crimson in embarrassment.

"Like every straight male," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I’m flattered that such a beautiful lady is paying me so much attention. But I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve had my legs checked out so thoroughly."

Cadenza’s wings shot up in reflex, covering her face as she squeaked something about modesty, privacy, and being already taken.

Nimbus only shrugged, his tone dripping with curiosity. "You can uncover yourself if you want," he said. "It’s not like there’s a lake there."

Cadenza, though hesitant, peeked through the feathers of her wings and blinked in confusion. To her surprise, there was nothing... not even a hint of what she had expected to see. Just smooth, black fur.

Nimbus, undeterred, had conjured a desk and was now studying he´s leg. He looked at it with the same casual curiosity one might reserve for a new discovery.

Can they really do that here? Detach limbs like dolls? Cadenza thought, a small giggle escaping her despite the tension.

"H-Nimbus," Luna interjected, suddenly pulled back into the conversation. "Is something wrong with your leg?"

Nimbus glanced at Luna with an apologetic smile. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t... But Luna, do you remember my scar being this big and coiled up like this?" he asked, his voice light but laced with concern as he showed her the strange, lightning-like mark on his leg.

Luna barely blinked, her gaze fixed on the injury as she examined it carefully. "Hmm... no, I can’t say that’s what it looked like the last time we met," she said, her frown deepening as she reached out to inspect the injury more closely.

Nimbus stiffened as Luna’s magic washed over him, her mind sharp and focused as she scrutinized the strange wound. "This... this is new," she murmured.

A tension filled the air as Nimbus shifted uncomfortably. With a quick, apologetic glance at Cadenza and Celestia, the male alicorn conjured a hospital curtain around them, creating a makeshift privacy barrier that darkened the space and muted the sound.

"An interesting character, Nimbus, don't you think, my niece?" Celestia commented from her seat, her voice much calmer now, though Cadenza could see the stress lingering in her. Celestia's wings were held tightly at her sides, a subtle sign of the tension that still gripped her.

"He is certainly... unique," Cadenza replied quietly, her voice betraying the unease she felt.

A part of her wondered—would Twilight have liked to meet him? She could see it clearly: Twilight, full of curiosity, bombarding Nimbus with a thousand and one questions, furiously scribbling down answers on a scroll and examining each word as though it held some deeper meaning.

The thought was a bittersweet one.

Celestia sighed deeply, and with a graceful flick of her wing, she invited Cadenza to sit beside her at the table.

For a moment, Cadenza hesitated, unsure. But then, slowly, she accepted the invitation, easing herself down beside her aunt. The older alicorn’s wing enveloped her gently, soft and warm, offering comfort in a way words never could.

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of their unspoken thoughts hanging between them. It was Celestia who finally broke the quiet, her voice soft and low.

"I know what you're thinking about... or who you're thinking about."

Cadenza’s breath hitched, and she felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to well up in her eyes. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, but they all centered around one thing—one pony.

"I know what your advisors told you," Celestia continued, her voice gentle but firm. "That you should bear the pain in silence... and smile at your people."

Cadenza tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it felt impossible. The weight of her aunt's words felt like a crushing reality, one she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

Slowly, Celestia moved Cadenza so that they could look directly into each other's eyes.

It was then that Cadenza saw it—the deep, endless sadness in her aunt's eyes. It wasn’t just sorrow; it was tiredness, an exhaustion so profound that it felt as though it had been building for centuries. A tiredness as old as Celestia herself.

"I've lost a sister because of that advice," Celestia murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "I've lost a family because of that advice. I've lost friends, ponies who were under my care—ponies I thought of as the children I could never have..." Her voice broke, and for a brief moment, Cadenza thought she saw a crack in the eternal mask of her aunt’s composure.

"Please, Cassy," Celestia continued, her voice soft but pained. "Don't keep it inside. I know how painful it is, how those feelings eat away at your soul. I know because I’ve lived it... and I don’t want you to carry that weight any longer."

Cadenza’s breath hitched in her chest. The dam inside her finally cracked. Celestia’s voice faltered, cut off by a strangled sob. Tears streamed down her face, her breath coming in shaky gasps. It was the moment that shattered everything.

With eyes full of sorrow, Celestia pulled Cadenza into her embrace, holding her tightly, desperately. "Please... please, let it out..."

The words were a quiet plea, as Celestia, the great and powerful princess, the eternal guardian of harmony, allowed her own walls to crumble. The princess of the sun, the symbol of strength for an entire world, finally let her tears fall. And in doing so, she gave her niece the strength to do the same.

Cadenza, overwhelmed by the weight of her aunt’s vulnerability, found herself crying as well. All the sorrow, all the grief that had been building inside her—everything she had tried to bury—came rushing out in an unrestrained wave.

By the time Luna and Nimbus emerged from behind the privacy curtain, the two alicorns were lost in their embrace, holding each other as if the world had ceased to exist. They were both crying now, the dam of sorrow breaking completely.

Luna and Nimbus exchanged a brief, wordless glance before stepping back. They could see what was happening—this moment of shared grief—and they both knew better than to interrupt. Mourning was something that could only be experienced in silence, and in that silence, they gave the two princesses the space they needed.

The impending day of reckoning was forgotten, for now. There was only the quiet, sacred bond of shared sorrow between the two alicorns—each one a reflection of the other in their mourning.