Rainy days have a special charm. I love feeling the cold drops falling on my coat, as if the stress of life melts away along with them. Rain revitalizes everything, cleans the air, and leaves behind that peculiar, fresh, earthy aroma—a promise of renewal. And then, as the cherry on top, puddles of water. Perfect.

But what truly fascinates me about the rain isn’t just its natural magic, but what it represents: somewhere up there, a pegasus is working on the weather right now.

As the first drops began to fall, my excitement was impossible to contain. I bolted to the attic of the house with a clear objective in mind.

“Dad! Have you seen the spyglass?” I asked, burying my head into a box filled with old Pie family photographs.

My father, Igneous, climbed the stairs and poked his head up with his usual calm demeanor. “Last I saw it, it was on top of your grandmother Pinkie’s cupboard.”

Turning around, there it was: a dusty box resting on the top shelf of the cupboard. Far too high for me. I frowned, assessing my options.

Furniture and boxes were strategically (or chaotically) scattered around the cupboard. I could attempt an epic leap, climbing one piece at a time until I launched myself high enough to grab my target. Or, perhaps, fashion an improvised trampoline from whatever was at hoof. But before I could put my elaborate plan into motion, my ever-practical father leaned against the cupboard and gestured with his head.

Or… I could just use the obvious option.

I climbed onto him, holding on carefully. With a gentle stretch of his neck, I managed to reach the box and triumphantly bring it down.

“This is for what you always do on rainy days, isn’t it?” he said with a barely perceptible cheerful tone.

“Exactly. It’s like a rock knowing it has to roll downhill when it rains,” I replied with a metaphor I knew he’d appreciate.

With the box now in my hooves, I eagerly opened it and rummaged through its contents. There it was: the spyglass. A little dented, with small rust spots and a crack in the lens, but still functional. I peered through it, testing it out, and smiled in satisfaction.

“Thanks, Dad,” I called out as I dashed downstairs like a bolt of lightning.

“That colt’s got more energy than a landslide,” I heard him say behind me. “Good thing the others didn’t turn out so enthusiastic… I don’t know what we’d do with another one like him.”

Every time gray clouds swirl and drops start to fall, I feel like the opportunity of a lifetime is about to present itself. Ever since I came to this world, I’ve been unshakably curious to see something that doesn’t belong to Rockville: a pegasus.

Rockville is exclusively inhabited by earth ponies. No unicorns, and certainly no pegasi. Not even the recent visitors break that monotony; they’re all earth ponies. The disappointment is palpable, but hope always lingers.

I opened the window of our shared bedroom, letting the fresh, humid rain breeze ruffle my mane. With the spyglass in my hooves, I began scanning the sky, searching for something beyond the endless gray clouds.

I swiveled the spyglass in erratic directions, anxious to find something—anything—worthy of attention. And then, I saw it.

There, to the right, something feathered and flying.

“A PEGASUS!” I shouted with excitement, nearly losing my balance in the process.

Before I could refocus the lens, a quick hoof shoved me aside and grabbed the spyglass. Limestone, ever direct, aimed it skyward.

“Where? Hmm… oh, wait… nope. It’s just a dumb bird,” she said, her voice a mix of disappointment and boredom as she passed the spyglass to Maud for her turn.

I let out a deep sigh, my ears drooping. “Guess today wasn’t the day either…” I murmured to myself as the rain continued to fall.

I’ve always wanted to see pegasi in action—those masters of the weather who, according to stories, move clouds and summon rain with a grace and precision I can only imagine. I’ve never seen them work, but in my mind, it’s like a choreographed performance in the sky, something truly worth admiring.

I remember last year, my curiosity drove me to ask my parents if the rains here in Rockville were the work of pegasi or if they just happened naturally. I’ll never forget the way they looked at me, as if I’d said the most ridiculous thing in the world. To them, the idea of “natural” weather was as absurd as a rock made of cotton.

Even so, they confirmed that yes, pegasi are responsible for the weather. But to this day, I’ve never seen one at work. I guess they prefer to operate from above the clouds, far from the curious eyes of a colt with a dented spyglass.

Over time, my attempts to spot a pegasus turned into a family event. My sisters, sharing my curiosity—and let’s face it, probably bored—decided to join the "pegasus hunt" every time it rained. After all, just like me, they had never seen ponies from other tribes either.

It’s not just during the rain that I look. In theory, pegasi also clear the skies, so I try to search on clear days too, but with no success. Every time I thought I spotted something, it turned out to be just birds. That’s why rain remains my best chance; it’s the clearest signal that pegasi are out there doing their job.

But so far, nothing.

I let myself fall to the floor with a sigh of frustration.

The door suddenly swung open, revealing my mother, Cloudy, her serene expression framed by perfectly positioned glasses.

“I know you’re interested in searching the skies, but,” she said, calmly cleaning her glasses before placing them back on her nose, “there’s plenty of work to do here on the ground.”

Ah, right. Homework.

Marble, who was holding the spyglass at that moment, set it aside with a resigned sigh, and we all made our way to the living room, where our academic doom awaited us.

We sat around the table, already piled high with papers, notes, bits of charcoal, quills, and inkwells. Homework. Lots of homework.

We’d had a few days off recently, and it seemed the school had decided to exact revenge for that brief peace by doubling our workload. Not just for me or my twin sisters—or triplets, depending on how you prefer to see it—but for Limestone and Maud as well.

I suppose during those days off, there must have been some kind of educational update that gave the teachers the brilliant idea to intensify the lessons. Or maybe an important exam was coming up. Either way, we were stuck with it.

Normally, it wouldn’t bother me much. Math, the bane of many, doesn’t faze me. Numbers? Please. That’s nothing compared to the complex equations I faced in my previous life. But Equestrian history essays? Now that’s another matter. No shortcuts or tricks here—you just have to write.

With a resigned sigh, I grabbed a quill and got to work. It wasn’t going to be fun, but at least, while writing about events I hadn’t witnessed and historical figures I’d never meet, I could daydream about the day I’d finally see a real pegasus—or maybe even a unicorn.

The rain came to an end, and with it, so did our homework.

The sky cleared, letting the sun shine through.

With the recent downpour, we couldn’t work properly, so we had to take the day off from moving rocks.

And while I love the rain, this time it worked against me. The refreshing coolness in the air meant no one wanted lemonade. But that didn’t matter; thanks to the teamwork of the past few days, we’d earned plenty of bits—more than enough for my next plan.

A family outing to a restaurant.

Since I was the one treating with my share of the lemonade stand earnings, my family couldn’t say no. Though they were quite surprised when I suggested it.

Of course, this wasn’t just about spending time with my family. If I was already in the food business, why not level up? There was an opportunity waiting, and I intended to seize it.

My destination was the only restaurant in all of Rockville: The Sautéed Stone. Though calling it a restaurant was generous. It was a wooden shack with a thatched roof. Two wooden columns supported a second-floor terrace, though I doubted anyone dared to venture up there, as the creaking boards sounded like they might collapse at any moment. Out front, a worn sign displayed the name, etched in rough letters.

We pushed the door open, causing it to creak softly. Inside, the place was… functional, to put it kindly. The tables were untreated wood, stained from years of use. The chairs didn’t match, and the walls were minimally decorated with polished stones hanging like trophies. Three customers were scattered around, each eating alone in silence.

The receptionist, who also served as the waiter, greeted us from the counter with a mix of curiosity and resignation. His name tag, embroidered on his uniform, read Salt Rock. He was a tall, lanky pony with light gray fur and neatly combed black hair, though a couple of rebellious strands refused to stay in place.

We took a seat at a table by the window.

“Good morning. Welcome to The Sautéed Stone. I’m your waiter, Salt Rock,” he said, placing three menus on the table. “What would you like to order?” he asked with complete neutrality.

I picked up the parchment that served as the menu and examined it carefully. It was written by hoof, with no embellishments or pictures, just plain descriptions and prices listed alongside each item.

The Sautéed Stone Menu:

1. Rock Salad: 5 bits
2. Hot Gravel Soup: 7 bits
3. Fine Sand Sandwich with Cheese: 10 bits
4. Slate Pizza with Moss Topping: 15 bits
5. Dessert: Sugared Pebble Pudding: 6 bits

I brought a hoof to my chin, analyzing the options and their costs. I wasn’t here just to eat, of course—I was here to study the market. My next move was going to be big, and I needed to plan it carefully. How can I improve this?
The Sautéed Stone was my competition, and if I wanted to stand out, I needed to offer something they couldn’t.

“Get ready, Rockville,” I thought as I closed the menu, “Echo is about to revolutionize your concept of food.”

Only to reopen it immediately because, with so few menus available, I had to share mine with Marble and Pinkamena.

My parents ordered the Rock Salad and the Gravel Soup. My sisters opted for the Fine Sand Sandwich. I chose the Slate Pizza. And as a house appetizer, we were given a basket of... rocks.

When I took my first bite of the so-called "pizza," I immediately knew I’d made a mistake. They called it pizza, but neither its appearance nor its flavor resembled anything I remembered. Just another disappointment in my life. Although, I had to admit, the moss added a unique touch.

As we ate in silence, I found myself observing the restaurant with a critical eye. There was so much room for improvement: the ambiance, the menu, the food… However, the moment with my family was pleasant enough, and for now, that was all that mattered.

The silence was broken when my mother, Cloudy, spoke with concern.

“We appreciate you treating us to this meal, Echorellian, but... are you sure you can afford all this?”

“Of course. Well, it’ll cost me almost all my earnings, but this opportunity is worth it,” I replied, and it was true. Two birds with one stone—I was gathering intel and spending quality time with my family.

But for now, I needed to visit the bathroom.

As I headed toward the restroom, the creak of the front door announced the arrival of new customers. It was a family of white-coated ponies who stood out with their sophisticated air. The adults wore elegant hats, as if they’d just stepped out of Manehattan or somewhere similarly refined, while the colt, though theoretically sharing their elegance, had a completely disheveled brown mane. He looked like a disaster compared to his immaculate parents.

They must be part of those mysterious new visitors, I guessed.

“Eeww.” The white mare wrinkled her nose in disgust as she lowered her sunglasses to inspect the restaurant carefully. “Is this the only restaurant in this place?”

Her husband, resigned and visibly uncomfortable, swallowed hard before replying in a conciliatory tone. “We don’t have another choice. With the move, there are no provisions. It’ll just be this one time, dear.” He finished his sentence by picking up the menu with an air of dread, as if already anticipating disaster.

As they read the menu, their expressions morphed into pure horror.

“This can’t be real. How do they expect us to eat... rocks?!” exclaimed the white stallion, scandalized.

They glanced at the other patrons, who were calmly munching on stones as if they were freshly baked croissants. This only deepened their incredulity.

“This is impossible!” shrieked the mare, raising a hoof to her forehead as if she were on the verge of fainting.

Her eyes landed on a nearby table where a family of six ponies was enjoying their meal. As she observed the scene, her shock grew: the foals were biting into massive chunks of rock with the ease and enthusiasm of someone devouring cookies.

“Even the foals?!” they both shouted in unison, a mix of revulsion and astonishment on their faces.

Finally, the husband slumped his head onto the table in defeat. Without looking up, he muttered toward his son, “Go clean your hooves, please. At least let someone maintain a modicum of hygiene in this place.”

I walked into the disgusting restaurant bathroom. Three stalls in a row, a mirror mounted above the sinks, and some sad decorations in the corner. Seriously, who decorates a bathroom with rocks? Not even interesting ones—just... rocks.

This town is a joke. Gray, empty, and obsessed with stones as if they were something extraordinary. What else could you expect from a place named Rockville?

Well, at least they have me now.

I stood in front of the mirror, and as always, my reflection greeted me with that irresistible smile. Flashing Blow, as handsome and radiant as ever. I leaned against the sink with a sigh and threw another glance at my glorious reflection.

“Pff, this place is terrible. I haven’t seen a worthy challenge since I arrived,” I said, practicing my nonchalant tone. Then I added, with a touch more drama, “Rockville, prepare yourself to witness the brilliance of the great and powerful Flashing Blow.”

I smiled broadly, as if the bathroom walls could applaud my performance. I dried my hooves with some paper, crumpled it up, and aimed for the trash can. Or at least, I tried to. It hit the edge and landed on the floor.

Great.

As I bent down to pick it up, the door to one of the stalls creaked open. From the shadows emerged a filly, perhaps a couple of years younger than me, with cyan-blue fur and a pink mane.

I gave her my best theatrical smile, the one that usually left others speechless. But instead of being impressed, she just looked at me with a mix of confusion and... disdain? How dare she?

She walked over to the sink, washed her hooves at her own pace, crumpled up her paper, and—with impeccable aim—tossed it straight into the trash can without even looking. Then, rolling her eyes, she flashed me a triumphant smile before strutting out of the bathroom, as if she’d just won some sort of competition.

I stood there, stunned.

I guess not every pony here is gray.

...

Wait.

What was a filly doing in the colts' bathroom?

This town is weird.

When I left the bathroom, I headed back to our table.

I wore a grimace of annoyance—not because of the disappointing "pizza" waiting for me, but because of what had just happened in the bathroom.

Maud, ever observant, arched an eyebrow slightly. “What’s wrong, Echo?” she asked in her usual calm tone.

I paused, debating how to answer, before sighing and replying, “Nothing, just an awkward encounter. Someone named Flashing, apparently deeply in love with his own reflection.”

Maud nodded slightly, as if this were nothing out of the ordinary. “Flashing... Ah, that must be Flashing Blow. He recently joined my class. His introduction was... interesting, to say the least.”

“Hmm, now that you mention it,” I mused, “my class also has some new ponies, and some of them are just as odd. The fact that I’m the one saying that is concerning.”

I turned my attention to the slice of "pizza" resting in front of me. Picking it up with my hoof, I inspected it as if evaluating a failed experiment and finally took a bite.

“I just hope there are no more surprises today. Honestly, I don’t have the energy to deal with anything else after the last few days.”

Meanwhile, elsewhere.

Inside the majestic royal castle of Canterlot, hurried hoofsteps echoed through the grand halls. Sunlight streamed through tall stained-glass windows, casting brilliant colors onto the polished marble floors.

In the throne room, the massive doors swung open, revealing a beige pony in an impeccably tailored red suit. Perched slightly askew on his snout were a pair of glasses, and his cutie mark—a pocket watch—gleamed with every step. Floating above his back, held aloft by a cyan magical aura, was a teetering mountain of papers that seemed ready to collapse at any moment.

The pony advanced with difficulty, struggling to balance his load while hastily picking up any stray documents that fell to the ground. Finally, upon reaching the foot of the golden throne, he bowed slightly in a gesture of respect before speaking.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” he said in a breathless tone, still catching his breath from his hurried dash. “Here are the reports you requested.”

Carefully, he set the pile of papers to the side and, using his magic, unfurled a scroll perched atop the heap. The scroll rolled down to the floor, revealing an extensive list of tasks marked with crossed-out lines and handwritten notes.

“Thanks to the staff members we dispatched,” he continued, scanning the list with his eyes, “all preparations are complete and in order to begin the trials in the next town, as per your instructions.”

He took a deep breath, still slightly winded, and raised his gaze to the throne.

The grand golden throne stood imposingly at the center of the hall, placed atop a series of perfectly aligned steps. It was a symbol of authority and majesty, yet it also conveyed serenity to all who stood in its presence.

From the shadows that surrounded it, a majestic figure stepped forward into the sunlight.

Revealed was a tall and elegant white mare, her flowing mane shimmering gracefully in an invisible current, displaying the colors of the dawn: blue, green, purple, and pink. Upon her head rested a golden crown embedded with a purple gem, a reflection of her power and position. Her enormous, perfectly extended wings combined with the long, majestic horn on her forehead marked her as an alicorn—the supreme ruler of Equestria.

With a warm and maternal tone that radiated both authority and compassion, she spoke.

“Thank you, my little pony. Send word to distribute the messages, and then take the day to rest, Kibitz.”

The beige pony nodded with a slight bow. “Thank you, Princess Celestia.”

As Kibitz exited the throne room, the doors closed with a soft clang. Princess Celestia walked with steady steps to the nearest window, where the sunlight gently caressed her face.

From there, she gazed at the horizon. Below her, the city of Canterlot stretched out, with its white towers and golden rooftops. Beyond, green fields seemed to blend into the blue sky, painting a picture of calm and prosperity.

“If I am not mistaken,” she murmured to herself, “the next town on the list, and the last, is Rockville.”

Author's Note

Echo has spent his new life surrounded by earth ponies, so when it rains, he always looks to the skies, hoping to spot a pegasus. So far, he hasn’t seen one.

For some reason, the school has been assigning mountains of homework.

Because of the rain, Echo decides to plan a family outing to a restaurant, spending quality time with them while brainstorming ways to upgrade his lemonade stand.

A family visiting Rockville experienced cultural shock when confronted with the town’s traditional food: rocks.

Flashing Blow, one of the many ponies who arrived in Rockville out of nowhere, had an awkward encounter with Echo in the restroom.

Celestia made an appearance alongside her assistant, discussing preparations for upcoming trials to be held in Rockville.

Fun Facts:

• Kibitz, Celestia’s assistant, is originally from the comics. Since this story takes place earlier in the timeline, Raven Inkwell has not yet joined her service.
• This chapter, like the previous one, was also scrapped but later recycled, edited, and lightened for inclusion.
• For Flashing and Echo’s first encounter, I drafted three versions. In two of them, Flashing would bump into Marble on the way to the restroom, one resolving through their parents and the other without them. Ultimately, I chose a more casual, humorous, and direct meeting with Echo.
• Flashing Blow is an original character. I considered adding a well-known character, but for what I have planned for Flashing, no established character fit the role or would act as he does.
• Initially, I hesitated to include these two chapters because the lemonade stand storyline was meant to happen much later. However, they worked well as a bridge for the next arc.

Notes:
The next chapter will begin a new story arc.

Thank you for reading!