Applied Mathemagics

I wake up the next morning feeling… surprisingly well-rested. No aches from running myself into the dirt during the race, no immediate life-threatening hunger pangs, and—most notably—no Twilight Sparkle standing over me with a checklist, ready to force-feed me responsibility.

All in all, a good start.

I stretch lazily before rolling out of bed and trudging downstairs. The house is eerily quiet, the glowing orbs floating lazily overhead as if they, too, were still waking up. My hooves click against the polished floors as I make my way to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Then I see it.

The kitchen. Stocked. Filled with food.

A deep, primal sense of dread settles in my gut.

Right. Twilight made me buy groceries. Which means I… technically have to cook something.

I stare at the neatly arranged shelves of oats, grains, and—most terrifyingly—hay. I grab a bundle of hay and inspect it like it’s some sort of cursed artifact. It’s just… dry strands. Fibrous, tough, and completely unappetizing in its raw form.

How do ponies cook hay?

Do they steam it? Fry it? Do I need seasoning? Twilight had given me the whole speech about nutrition, but I’d been tuning most of it out.

I put the hay back down as if it personally offended me. “Nope,” I say to the empty room. “Not doing this.”

There’s a perfectly good food place nearby, and unlike me, they actually know what they’re doing.

The streets of Ponyville are already bustling by the time I make my way into town. Vendors are setting up their stalls, foals are playing, and the air is thick with the scent of fresh-baked bread and morning meals. My stomach rumbles approvingly.

I head to a small café on the main road, the kind of place that smells like warm coffee and good life choices. A few ponies glance my way as I step inside, but most are too occupied with their meals to care.

Sliding into a seat, I glance at the menu. I should probably get something with hay in it, if only to keep Twilight off my back.

When the waitress trots up with a bright smile, I sigh and make my choice. “I’ll have… whatever the breakfast special is. As long as it has hay in it.”

She nods. “That’d be the Hay & Oat Pancakes with a side of fresh fruit. Sound good?”

I resist the urge to ask if they could just… not put hay in it. Instead, I force a smile and nod. “Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”

The waitress trots off, and I lean back, rubbing my temples.

Twilight would be so proud.

I’m halfway through my first cup of coffee, quietly congratulating myself for dodging the whole cooking hay fiasco, when I spot a familiar purple shape in my peripheral vision.

My heart sinks. Oh, no.

Sure enough, Twilight Sparkle is trotting by outside the café window, her saddlebag slung over her back. My stomach lurches, and I immediately slouch behind the menu, peaking out and desperately hoping she doesn’t notice me.

No such luck. Her gaze sweeps across the inside of the café, and our eyes lock. Her eyes widen in disbelief, and I can practically see her blood pressure spike. Fantastic. She gives me a look that screams Really? Really?! before stomping over.

I sigh, trying to casually lower my head further behind the menu as if that might hide me. It doesn’t. In mere seconds, Twilight is standing at my table, her saddlebag draped over her back, her mane already frizzing with annoyance.

“You,” she says through gritted teeth, “are unbelievable.”

I blink, affecting my best innocent look. “Morning to you too, Twilight.”

She places both forehooves on the edge of the table and leans forward. “You said you knew how to cook, that you didn’t need to eat out all the time!”

“I can cook,” I protest, setting my tea down carefully. “I just—look, I don’t know how to cook hay.”

Twilight’s nostrils flare, and she glances pointedly at the half-eaten hay-laden breakfast in front of me. “So you just let somepony else do it for you?”

I shrug, letting out a small chuckle. “Hey, I’m supporting the local economy. Isn’t that what you wanted? Being a responsible citizen?”

Her left eye twitches. “I wanted you to use the groceries we bought! You know, at your house? Where we spent all those bits so you wouldn’t need to come here!”

“I tried,” I say defensively, raising my hooves. “I stared at that hay for a good five minutes and had no idea what to do with it. I mean, do you boil it? Fry it? Pour sauce on it? I’ve got no clue!”

Twilight throws her head back, groaning loud enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby patrons. “You add it to recipes. You can sauté it with vegetables, mix it into casseroles—there’s a million ways!”

I poke the half-eaten stack of hay-and-oat pancakes. “Never would’ve guessed you could mash hay into pancakes,” I admit, then wave my fork. “But, hey—somepony here figured it out.”

She closes her eyes, clearly doing her best to stay calm. “You are going to learn. Today. You can’t just keep spending bits—” She breaks off, shaking her head. “No, this is fine. This is fine. Because now we know exactly what the lesson is today: Hay Cookery 101.”

I swallow a sudden lump of panic. “You say that like you’re about to chain me to a stove.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Twilight mutters, slumping into the seat across from me with a defeated sigh. “Honestly, Kinetic, you’re one step forward, two steps back.”

“More like half a step forward,” I joke, pushing the remains of my breakfast around with a fork.

“Exactly!” she snaps, her mane frizzing more. “You were this close to being self-sufficient!”

“I’m self-sufficient,” I argue. “I have a house, I have bits, I’m alive. Boom—done.”

She slaps a hoof on the table, rattling the plates. “But you promised to eat at home!”

“Technically,” I say, emphasizing the word with a small smirk, “I only promised to try cooking. Then I realized I don’t know how, so I came here. Not my fault the system failed me.”

Her glare could melt steel. “The system didn’t fail you; you failed you.”

I laugh despite myself. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you teach me. Satisfied?”

She eyes me warily, but her anger seems to diminish a fraction. “No, but I'll take what I can get.”

I gesture to my plate. “Want some pancakes? Might help you calm down.”

Twilight bristles, standing up so quickly her chair scrapes against the floor. “Finish your meal, pay your bill, and meet me at your house in half an hour. We’re cooking breakfast. For real this time.”

I grin, lifting my cup in mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Grumbling under her breath, she trots away, leaving me to savor the last bites of my hay-laden pancakes in relative peace.

After finishing my breakfast (and my tea, because I wasn’t about to let Twilight ruin my morning entirely), I pay my bill and take a leisurely stroll back to my house. No point in rushing—if I’m going to suffer through a cooking lesson, I might as well enjoy my last few minutes of freedom.

As expected, Twilight is already waiting at my front door when I arrive. She taps her hoof impatiently, her saddlebag filled with what I assume are instructional materials like Hay: A User’s Guide.

I smirk. “You’re awfully dedicated to making sure I don’t starve.”

She rolls her eyes. “Dedicated? No. Frustrated beyond reason? Absolutely.”

“Sure, sure,” I say, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “You care, though. Don’t think I don’t see it.”

Twilight groans as she follows me inside. “I care about not letting my friend make terrible life decisions! That’s not the same thing!”

“Sounds pretty close to me,” I say with a grin, strolling into the kitchen.

She huffs, setting her saddlebag on the counter. “Alright, listen up, because this is important. Cooking hay is about balancing flavors. On its own, it’s bland, dry, and grassy.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Wow, so you do admit it tastes bad.”

She glares. “It’s an acquired taste! The trick is pairing it with other ingredients to enhance the flavor. Got it?”

I sigh dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

Twilight levitates a frying pan onto the stove and starts rummaging through the ingredients we bought yesterday. She pulls out some fresh vegetables, oil, and seasoning before turning to me with the authority of a general preparing for battle.

“First, we’ll make a simple sauté. Hay, carrots, peppers, a little onion—easy, quick, and edible.”

I cross my forelegs. “And if it still tastes like hay?”

Twilight glares. “It won’t if you cook it right.”

I smirk. “So what you’re saying is, you care about me eating something I actually like.”

She groans, lighting the stove and shoving a wooden spoon at me. “Stir.”

I chuckle but comply, pushing the hay and vegetables around the pan as the aroma of caramelizing onions and sizzling oil fills the air. I have to admit, it smells… not terrible.

“See?” Twilight says smugly, watching me work. “Cooking isn’t that hard.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “Still feels like a waste of time when I can just go out and buy food.”

She smacks my shoulder with a rolled-up scroll. “We literally just went over this.”

After a few more minutes, the mixture looks reasonably edible. Twilight serves it onto a plate and watches eagerly as I take a bite.

It still tastes like hay.

But the vegetables and seasonings almost make up for it. It’s less like chewing on dried grass and more like… well, seasoned dried grass.

Twilight studies my face carefully. “Well?”

I chew slowly, considering my words. “…It’s better than plain hay.”

Her eye twitches. “Better? That’s it?”

I smirk, setting the fork down. “Hey, that’s high praise coming from me.”

She groans, dragging a hoof down her face. “You’re impossible.”

I lean back in my chair, still smirking. “And yet, here you are, making sure I eat properly.”

Twilight glares but doesn’t argue.

I take another bite.

…It’s still hay. But at least it’s hay with flavor.

“Well,” she says, levitating the dishes into the sink. “At least you ate it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, wiping my mouth. “Congratulations, Twilight, you’ve successfully forced me to eat something vaguely nutritious.”

She smirks. “And don’t you feel so much better now?”

I stretch, considering my response. “I feel… exactly the same.”

Twilight rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.”

We step outside into the bright morning light, the marketplace already alive with ponies milling about. As we walk, Twilight’s expression shifts slightly, and I can feel her working up to something.

“So,” she says casually, “the girls and I are heading to Cloudsdale for the Best Young Flyer Competition.”

I hum noncommittally. “Cool.”

She gives me a look. “And you should come.”

I snort. “I should, huh?”

“Yes.” She tosses her mane and lifts her chin. “Rainbow Dash is competing, and we’re going to cheer her on. You are part of the group now, like it or not. You'll regret not coming.”

I squint at her. “That sounded like a threat.”

She smirks. “It was.”

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Ugh, fine. But how exactly am I supposed to get up there?”

Twilight brightens immediately. “I thought you’d ask! I found a spell that can give temporary wings, but it’s really advanced, and I could only pull it off once.”

“So what I'm hearing is the great and powerful Twilight Sparkle isn't good enough at magic for it?” I tease.

She glares. “I am that good. The spell is just really difficult and impractical for multiple ponies. So we’re using a different spell—one that lets non-pegasi walk on clouds.”

I nod along, pretending to be interested. “Alright, sounds easy enough.”

We make our way toward the launch site, where the others are already gathered. Rarity, as expected, is fluttering about gracefully with a pair of iridescent, shimmering butterfly wings. Applejack, Pinkie, and Twilight all stand near the hot air balloon, which is already prepped for takeoff.

“You sure about this, Twi?” Applejack asks, watching her. “Ain’t exactly normal for us to be trottin’ around on clouds.”

Twilight nods. “I’m positive. The spell is perfectly safe.”

She turns to me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And you should cast it yourself.”

I blink. “What.”

She smirks, the challenge clear in her voice. “Since you’re so impossibly talented at magic, I assume you don’t need me to do it for you.”

I force a smile, my mind racing. Oh. Oh, this is bad. Twilight still doesn’t know that I can’t cast real spells—but I can fake them, and I’m not about to ruin my perfect (inside Ponyville) track record.

“Of course,” I say smoothly, rolling my shoulders. “What kind of Archmage would I be if I couldn’t do a simple cloud-walking spell?”

I close my eyes, humming as if channeling magic.

The trick is simple: I don’t actually walk on clouds.

While Twilight and the others rely on her spell, I stick to my own method—my disk lift technique. Underneath each hoof, I manipulate thin, compacted dirt discs, lifting and adjusting them ever so slightly as I walk. They act as a nearly invisible platform, they'll make it look like I’m stepping on clouds when, in reality, I’m standing on my own personal platforms.

It’s just like wearing makeshift horseshoes—except, you know, mine are secretly levitating pieces of earth.

We get in the hot air balloon and slowly drift up and closer to Cloudsdale.

When we touch down on a soft, pillowy street of clouds, I make sure my first step looks cautious but confident, just like everypony else’s. I let out a slow breath, feeling the dirt disks shift and adjust under me.

Perfect.

Twilight eyes me, watching for any sign of hesitation. “See? Not that hard.”

“Yeah,” I reply smoothly. “Super easy.”

Pinkie bounces excitedly on the clouds, giggling. “This is so floofy! It’s like walking on marshmallows!”

Applejack shifts uncomfortably. “Ah dunno if Ah like this. Feels too much like standin’ on nothin’.”

Rarity, who is far too busy admiring her shimmering, gossamer wings, doesn’t seem to care. “I can’t believe I finally get to experience Cloudsdale in such style!”

Twilight nods, pleased that her spell is holding. “Alright, we should find some seats. Rainbow Dash is probably getting ready by now.”

As we start walking through the floating city, I can’t help but be impressed. Cloudsdale is exactly what you’d expect from a civilization built by and for pegasi—vast, open, and breathtakingly high in the sky. White marble-like structures rise from the clouds, shaped seamlessly into domes, spires, and vast courtyards. Waterfalls of condensed moisture trickle down the edges of buildings, feeding into swirling rivers of mist.

It’s like stepping into a dream.

And it would be a dream—if I weren’t focusing every second on keeping my act together. Every step, every subtle movement has to be perfect.

As the group continues onward, Twilight keeps glancing at me from the corner of her eye, like she’s waiting for me to slip up.

I smirk at her. “You’re staring, Sparkle. Falling for my mysterious rogue charm again?”

She huffs. “No, I’m just making sure you don't do anything stupid.”

“Wow,” I say with mock offense. “You still don’t trust me?”

She rolls her eyes. “I trust your magic, not your life choices.”

Fair.

We reach the stadium soon enough, the grand floating coliseum already filling with pegasi eager to watch the Best Young Flyer Competition. As we settle into the stands, I breathe a little easier.

All I have to do is sit here, watch Rainbow do her thing, and not fall to my death.

Easy.

As we take our seats in the stadium, I glance up toward the VIP booths. And sure enough, there she is—Princess Celestia, seated high above the crowd in a grand, ornate viewing box.

And she’s looking right at me.

Oh no.

Her serene, knowing smile only deepens as she lifts a hoof in a casual wave, clearly expecting me to join her.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

I immediately turn my head, pretending I didn’t just see her. Maybe if I act really interested in the clouds or the stadium architecture, she’ll assume I’m too busy to notice—

Twilight nudges me. “Did Princess Celestia just wave at you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say quickly, keeping my gaze firmly on the competition stage.

Twilight frowns. “Kinetic, she’s right there.”

“Wow, look at that cloud formation,” I say loudly. “Nature’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Twilight’s frown deepens. “She’s still looking at you.”

“Who?” I ask innocently.

Twilight groans, dragging a hoof down her face. “Oh, for the love of—just go!”

Before I can protest, two Royal Guards land beside me, their golden armor gleaming under the sunlight.

“Sir,” one of them says formally, his face completely neutral. “Princess Celestia requests your presence in the royal viewing box.”

I give them my best I’m totally innocent smile. “Oh? That’s weird, I don’t think I got an invitation.”

“The Princess insists,” the second guard says, his tone leaving zero room for argument.

Twilight leans in, smirking. “Looks like you don’t have a choice.”

I sigh dramatically. “Guess not.”

As I stand, Twilight adds, “Try not to embarrass yourself.”

“No promises,” I shoot back, giving her a wink before following the guards toward the royal booth.

Well, I think to myself as we ascend toward Celestia’s private seating. This is probably going to be awkward.

As the guards lead me up toward the VIP booth, I trudge with all the enthusiasm of a stallion walking to his own execution. The stadium below is a swirling mix of colors and cheering ponies, but all I can focus on is the all-knowing smirk Princess Celestia is surely wearing.

And sure enough, as I step into her private viewing box, there it is—the smug, impossibly graceful smile of a pony who has all the cards and knows it.

“Kinetic Flux,” Celestia greets, her voice warm and playful. “How wonderful of you to join me.”

“Yeah, wonderful,” I mutter under my breath, stepping forward. “Great view you’ve got here.”

She chuckles softly, gesturing to the seat beside her with an elegant wave of her hoof. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I hesitate, then take the seat as far from her as politely possible.

Celestia merely smiles, her gaze flicking over the stadium for a moment before settling back on me. “I must admit, I was beginning to wonder,” she says lightly.

I blink. “Wonder about what?”

She tilts her head, her voice casual but unmistakably sharp. “Twilight.”

I freeze, my mind instantly going into oh no mode.

Celestia continues, sipping delicately from a glass of tea. “She hasn’t sent me any letters about your magic.”

I swallow. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Celestia says, as if she hadn’t just dropped that particular bomb. “It’s quite curious, isn’t it? Twilight is thorough. Diligent. She would normally write extensively about the Archmage of Ponyville. His spells. His abilities. His unique style.”

I force a casual chuckle. “Well, she’s busy. Y’know, friendship studies and all that.”

Celestia raises an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Or perhaps… she doesn’t know?”

I exhale sharply, looking away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Kinetic,” Celestia says with a small laugh, setting her tea down. “We both know that’s not true.”

I grip the edge of my seat. “Twilight doesn’t need to know.”

Celestia’s gaze turns softer, but no less piercing. “And why is that?” she asks, her voice kind. “Why haven’t you told her?”

I shift uncomfortably. “Because she doesn’t need to freak out about it.”

“Ah,” Celestia hums knowingly, reclining slightly. “So you do intend to tell her?”

“…eventually.”

Her smile is way too amused. “Of course.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Look, Twilight is obsessed with magic. She gets excited when she finds a new spell, she writes essays about small discoveries—do you have any idea what she’d do if she found out about me?”

Celestia hums. “She would ask questions.”

“She would never stop asking questions,” I groan. “She would analyze everything, test everything, and lose her mind trying to explain it. And I like my life Twilight-drama-free.”

Celestia gives me a knowing look. “And how long do you plan to keep this up?” she asks. “Forever?”

I hesitate.

She leans in slightly. “Because Twilight Sparkle is many things, but oblivious is not one of them. She will find out.”

I sigh, leaning back in my seat. “Yeah, well. That’s a future me problem.”

Celestia smiles, ever infuriatingly patient. “Very well,” she says lightly.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, immensely,” she admits with a small laugh. “It’s quite fascinating to see how long you think you can keep up this charade.”

I groan, dragging a hoof down my face. “Why did you even call me up here? Just to taunt me?”

Celestia’s smile softens. “I simply wanted to check on you,” she says, her voice genuinely warm. “You’ve been quite the interesting addition to Ponyville.”

I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

I exhale, sitting back in my chair as the competition begins to start below. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

Celestia smirks. “No, Kinetic. That is a lesson you must learn on your own.”

I sigh, already regretting everything about today.

The competition drags on as various pegasi take their turns, each performing increasingly impressive aerial maneuvers. Celestia watches with serene amusement while I try my best to ignore her knowing gaze.

I keep my eyes on the sky, waiting for Rainbow Dash’s turn. The crowd cheers for each contestant, and while some are impressive, none have quite the same reckless flair as Ponyville’s 'fastest pegasus'.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the announcer calls her name.

“And now, for our next contestant—representing Ponyville—Rainbow Dash!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, and I spot Twilight, Pinkie, and Applejack in the stands below, waving and hollering as loudly as they can. I smirk. Figures.

Then, before Rainbow even takes off, something unexpected happens.

"And, uh, Rarity!" the announcer calls hesitantly.

Rarity steps onto the launch platform.

I blink. "The hell is she doing up there?"

Celestia hums in amusement. “Ah. I had a feeling she’d do something dramatic.”

I lean forward slightly as Rarity gives an exaggerated bow to the crowd, fluttering her elegant butterfly wings with a flourish. The stadium gasps in awe at the shimmering, translucent magic.

Twilight, down below, has her face in her hooves.

“Oh no,” I mutter. “She’s inserting herself into Rainbow’s act.”

Celestia chuckles. “Confidence can be a powerful thing.”

I watch as Rainbow Dash fidgets on the platform, clearly not thrilled about this new development, but before she can protest, Rarity leaps into the air with a dramatic twirl.

The crowd loves it.

Rainbow clenches her jaw, wings twitching with irritation before she takes off after her.

The performance starts decently enough—Rainbow Dash executes her stunts, weaving through hoops, spinning midair, and pulling off sharp dives that get the audience roaring. Rarity, meanwhile, doesn’t do much more than float gracefully around her, waving at the crowd and striking elegant poses.

I watch with increasing secondhand embarrassment.

“This is so not what Rainbow signed up for,” I mutter.

Celestia hides a chuckle behind her hoof. “She does seem… less than pleased.”

I can almost feel Rainbow Dash’s frustration radiating from up here. She tries to focus, building up speed, but Rarity keeps stealing the spotlight, gesturing dramatically, letting her enchanted wings catch the light.

And then she goes too high.

I see it before she does—the sunlight growing harsher, the faint shimmer of the wing spell flickering at the edges.

“Uh-oh,” I mutter.

Then, as if the universe wants to make a point, Rarity soars toward the sun, striking one final extravagant pose.

And her wings ignite

There’s a Fwuf of magic as they burn away in an instant, vanishing into nothingness.

Rarity hangs in the air for a heartbeat.

Then she plummets.

The collective gasp from the stadium is deafening. Ponies scream as she tumbles through the air, flailing, her voice shrill with panic.

After a brief moment Rainbow Dash sees it.

And suddenly, she’s diving.

As soon as Rarity starts plummeting, the stadium erupts into chaos. Screams and gasps ripple through the crowd, ponies pointing in horror as she tumbles toward certain doom.

Rainbow Dash, to her credit, reacts immediately. She tucks her wings in, dives at breakneck speed, her prismatic trail streaking through the sky like a comet. But Rarity is falling fast, and Cloudsdale is high—too high.

I move.

Without hesitation, I shift my weight, breaking the illusion of walking on clouds. My disk lift spell reacts instantly, dirt moving down as I fall through the clouds like a stone. I'm suddenly moist and cold. The moment I breach the lower layers, the world opens up below me—Rarity is still flailing, her screams echoing in the open sky.

Rainbow Dash is closing in, but I don’t take any chances. My horn ignites as I compress the air near the ground beneath Cloudsdale. A large pocket of thickened air pressure forms right where Rarity is headed—a safety net invisible to the naked eye.

If Rainbow fails, she won’t die.

She’ll bounce... probably.

The wind howls in my ears as I adjust my disks, slowing my own descent. I keep my eyes locked on Rarity, heart pounding in my chest.

Come on, Dash. You’re faster than this.

And then—

BOOM

A sonic explosion of color erupts through the sky.

A Sonic Rainboom.

The force shakes the air itself, sending a shockwave of prismatic energy rippling outward. The crowd above loses their collective minds. I feel the vibration even from below, the sheer force of it rattling my bones.

Rainbow snatches Rarity midair, pulling up in a jaw-dropping arc. I watch as they soar back toward the clouds, the Rainboom still lingering like a celestial afterimage in the sky.

I let out a long breath, dispersing the air pocket I had compressed beneath them. No need for it now.

I was never worried, really. I swear.

I hover beneath the clouds for a moment, letting the cheers from the stadium wash over me. The energy in the air is electrifying—Rainbow Dash just pulled off a Sonic Rainboom for the first time since she was a filly. The Wonderbolts are staring at her like she just ascended to godhood. Rarity is sobbing dramatically into Applejack’s shoulder.

And nopony even knows I was down here.

Good.

I take a deep breath, making sure my heart isn't about to explode from all that excitement. Then, with a flick of my magic, I levitate straight up through the cloud floor and into the Princess’s private viewing box. The wetness doesn't bother me as much as I'd imagined.

I emerge with an effortless glide, as if I had been here the whole time, and 'walk' neatly next to Celestia, shaking off the water clinging to my coat. She turns to me with an amused expression, not at all surprised.

Somehow, dispite not seeing me do it, she knows.

I fold my legs, leaning against the railing as if I hadn’t just casually risen from the underworld. “Enjoy the show?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Celestia’s serene smile doesn’t waver. “Oh, immensely,” she says, her voice warm with amusement. “It’s always a rare pleasure to witness a Sonic Rainboom. And, of course…” She pauses, her eyes twinkling as they meet mine. “I was quite fascinated by the backup plan.”

I pretend to inspect my hoof. “Backup plan? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She chuckles softly. “Of course not.” Then she leans in just slightly, lowering her voice so that only I can hear. “You didn’t have to let Rainbow Dash save her, you know.”

I glance at her, pretending to be indifferent. “Didn’t I?”

She tilts her head, still smiling, but her gaze sharpens. “You had a safety net in place. You could have caught her yourself, made it higher. But you didn’t.”

I shrug. “Didn’t want to steal her moment.”

Celestia hums approvingly. “Indeed. And it was quite the moment.” She turns her gaze back to the stadium, where Rainbow Dash is being lifted into the air by the Wonderbolts, the crowd chanting her name. “Few ponies would have the awareness—or the humility—to make that choice.”

I scoff. “I just didn’t want to deal with the attention.”

Celestia chuckles knowingly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Archmage.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smirk that tugs at my lips. “Well, if I did have a backup plan, purely hypothetical, of course, I’d say it worked out fine.”

Celestia nods. “It did. Though I must say, I find it interesting that you’re so… comfortable working from the shadows.”

I arch a brow. “Are you saying I should be more public with my heroics?”

“Oh, not at all,” she says, smiling. “Just making an observation.”

I shift my weight, watching Rainbow Dash revel in the praise below. For a moment, I wonder what it would have been like if I had caught Rarity instead. Would I be the one standing in the center of the stadium, basking in the cheers?

Probably.

But I have no interest in that. Let Rainbow have her glory. I just want to go home, eat something that isn’t hay, and avoid Twilight’s inevitable meltdown over Rarity’s reckless stunt.

Celestia watches me for a long moment, then, with a graceful motion, gestures toward the exit. “Go on, then. Enjoy the celebration. Or hide from it. Whichever suits you.”

I snort. “Yeah, yeah.” With one last glance at the roaring stadium, I stretch my legs and start making my way out.

I make my way down from Celestia’s private booth, weaving through the cloud-formed stadium with ease. The sound of the roaring crowd still fills the air, but the moment of excitement has passed—now it’s just celebration.

As I approach the rest of the group, I barely get a chance to open my mouth before Rainbow Dash practically crashes into me, grinning ear to ear. “Did you see that?! I just pulled off a Sonic Rainboom!” She hovers midair, practically vibrating with excitement.

I smirk. “Oh yeah, I saw. Hard to miss when you explode the sky.”

Applejack tips her hat with a proud smile. “That was some mighty fine flyin’, sugarcube. Didn’t think we’d ever see another Rainboom, but dang if you didn’t prove us wrong.”

Pinkie Pie is bouncing in place, her energy somehow more than usual. “It was AMAZING! BOOM! WHOOSH! SPARKLE! And then you just caught Rarity like ‘I gotcha!’ and she was all ‘Oh, my hero!’ and—” Pinkie gasps dramatically. “You’re gonna be famous!”

Rarity, who has somehow composed herself after the trauma of falling from the sky, lets out an elegant huff. “Yes, well, I do suppose it was quite the daring rescue. Thank you again, Rainbow Dash. You truly saved my life.” She flips her mane dramatically, as if she planned the entire thing.

Dash puffs up, practically glowing. “Yeah, well, y’know. I am the best.”

I chuckle. “Well, congrats, Dash. Looks like you just got yourself a golden ticket to the Wonderbolts.”

Rainbow grins even wider—if that’s possible—before narrowing her eyes at me. “Wait a sec. Where were you? You disappeared after we got here, and now you just casually show up again?”

Before I can answer, Twilight chimes in with a pointed, unimpressed look. “Oh, I’ll tell you where he was. In Celestia’s personal booth.”

The group goes silent for a moment.

Pinkie gasps. “Ooooooh, fancy.”

Rarity’s eyes widen. “You ditched us for royalty?”

Applejack snorts. “Figures. Kinetic’s too good to sit with us regular ponies.”

I groan. “Oh, come on. It’s not like I chose to go up there. I tried to ignore her, but then she sent guards.”

Twilight crosses her hooves, unimpressed. “Right. And I suppose you had no choice but entertain her too? She only gets that look when she's having fun.”

I smirk. “Hey, don’t blame me if Celestia actually likes my company.”

Twilight grinds her teeth. “You—! Ugh!”

Rainbow shakes her head with a grin. “You’re the weirdest Archmage I’ve ever met.”

Pinkie gasps again, throwing her hooves in the air. “Wait, how many Archmages have you met?”

Rainbow pauses. “...Just him.”

“Exactly,” I say with a smirk.

Twilight groans louder. “Can we please just get back to celebrating Rainbow Dash before I lose my mind?”

I chuckle and raise a hoof in surrender. “Fine, fine. Let’s celebrate the real hero today.”

Rainbow Dash grins, looping a hoof around my neck and pulling me into a side hug. “Now that’s more like it.”

The celebration continues for a while longer, with Rainbow Dash soaking in every bit of praise and admiration she can get. Ponies are practically lining up to congratulate her, and the Wonderbolts are clearly taking notice. Pinkie Pie somehow manages to pull party supplies from somewhere, and before long, there’s an impromptu mini-party happening right there in the stands.

Even Twilight—who had been grumbling about my very important Celestia meeting—loosens up and enjoys herself.

But then, Twilight suddenly stiffens, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh no.”

Applejack glances at her, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, sugarcube?”

Twilight looks at the clouds beneath her hooves. “My spell is starting to wear off! We need to get back to the balloon before anypony starts falling!”

The others immediately react with urgency.

Rarity lets out a dramatic gasp. “Falling?! Twilight, darling, do not say such things so casually!”

Applejack frowns. “Alright, everypony, let’s move before we go right through these here clouds.”

Pinkie just giggles. “Oh, that would be so silly! One second, we’re standing here, and then—” She makes a whistling noise and flails her hooves like she’s plummeting.

“Pinkie!” Twilight shrieks, already ushering everypony toward the balloon.

I, of course, pretend to be in a hurry, but really, I could walk around Cloudsdale all day and be fine. Still, I play along, making a show of carefully stepping over the clouds.

Rarity, whose enchanted wings had burned away during the competition, now had Twilight’s cloud-walking spell cast on her instead. “Twilight, I would appreciate a warning when you place my life in danger with a temporary spell!”

Twilight sighs, ushering everypony faster. “I told you before we came here that it wouldn’t last forever!”

Rarity scoffs. “I assumed you had accounted for that!”

“I did! That’s why we’re leaving now! And I just cast yours. You're fine.”

We hurry through Cloudsdale, and I keep an eye on the others while subtly maintaining my own ‘cloud-walking’.

Rainbow Dash flies ahead, checking the way is clear. “Balloon’s still where we left it! Hurry up!”

The others rush to the hot air balloon, and Twilight double-checks everypony before they climb inside. I step in last, watching her count us with a muttered checklist under her breath.

She exhales in relief once we’re all aboard. “Okay. We made it.”

Rarity lets out a breath of her own. “Finally. I am never trusting experimental wings again.”

Pinkie gasps. “But they were so pretty!”

Rarity pouts, touching her mane. “Yes, but not worth falling to my untimely demise.”

Applejack chuckles, settling into the balloon’s basket. “Well, Ah’d say we had ourselves an adventure.”

Twilight nods, still slightly frazzled. “Yeah. Let’s just get back home before I have to explain why a group of earth ponies and unicorns fell through Cloudsdale.”

Rainbow Dash leans against the basket, wings spread comfortably. “Eh, I coulda caught you guys. Probably.”

Twilight gives her an unimpressed look. “Not helping.”

I smirk. “Well, I dunno, Twilight. I thought today went pretty well.”

She glares at me suspiciously. “You didn’t do anything.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

Twilight narrows her eyes, like she knows I’m hiding something, but before she can press the issue, the balloon gently begins its descent toward Ponyville.

I relax, watching Cloudsdale fade into the sky behind us.

One more ridiculous day survived.

The balloon ride back to Ponyville is, thankfully, uneventful. By the time we touch down, everypony seems eager to return to their usual routines—except for Rainbow Dash, who is still riding the high of her Sonic Rainboom. She’s practically bouncing in the air, already talking about how she’s gonna tell everypony in town, “in detail,” about how she totally saved the day.

Twilight is still side-eyeing me, probably still trying to figure out if I had done anything “suspicious” during the whole Cloudsdale trip. She doesn’t press the issue, though, much to my relief.

After splitting off from the group, I head back to my house—where, for the first time in a while, nothing happens. No royal summons, no magical catastrophes, no Twilight Sparkle breaking into my home for a lecture.

Just… quiet.

I make some tea, sit down, and enjoy a rare moment of peace.

It lasts for about an hour.

Then, a knock at the door.

I sigh. Of course.

When I open it, I find Rarity standing there, looking as elegant as always, a polite smile on her face. “Ah, Kinetic! So glad to see you home.”

I raise an eyebrow, blocking the way in. “Rarity. What brings you to my incredibly normal, not-at-all-mysterious doorstep?”

She waves a hoof. “Oh, just a small matter! I wanted to personally invite you to an event tomorrow evening.”

I lean against the doorframe. “An event?”

“Yes, dear. The Ponyville Schoolhouse is hosting its annual Talent Show for the fillies and colts. Sweetie Belle will be performing, and she would absolutely love for you to attend.”

I blink. “Sweetie Belle’s in a talent show?”

Rarity nods proudly. “Oh, yes! She and her little friends have been working very hard on their act.”

“And you’re inviting me… because?”

Rarity tilts her head. “Why, because you’re her magic teacher, of course.”

I stare at her. “I… what.”

She smiles. “You’ve been such an inspiration to her. Why, she speaks of you all the time! ‘Kinetic this, Kinetic that—did you know that atoms are always moving, even when things look still?’ It’s adorable.”

I blink, suddenly stiffening. “…She remembered that huh?”

I hope Rarity doesn't know what those words mean.

“Indeed!” she says cheerfully. “Which is why I simply must insist that you attend. It would mean the world to her.”

I glance at the sky, thinking. A school talent show? Not exactly my scene. But then again… Sweetie Belle has been genuinely excited about everything I’ve taught her—fake magic or not. I can’t exactly crush a filly’s enthusiasm, especially when it’s aimed at actual learning.

“…Alright,” I say finally, sighing. “I’ll go.”

Rarity beams. “Marvelous! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

I groan. “This isn’t a big thing, right? Like, I don’t have to dress up or anything?”

She gasps, scandalized. “Darling! One should always dress appropriately for an occasion! Today is a wonderful opportunity to spend the day together getting you an outfit.”

I shrug. “Oh, uh, that's fine. I’ll just wear the suit I bought with Twilight.”

For a brief moment, Rarity’s expression freezes, her eyes widening just a fraction before she smooths it over with a well-practiced smile. “Ah. I see.”

I blink. “What?”

She tucks a stray curl behind her ear, her smile still perfectly intact—but there’s something just a little too practiced about it. “Oh, nothing, dear. I just wasn’t aware that you… had already acquired a suit.”

I nod. “Yeah. Twilight insisted I get one during that whole ‘teaching me how to be a real pony’ thing.”

“Twilight insisted,” she repeats, her voice light, but there’s something behind it.

I tilt my head. “Yeah?”

She lets out a perfectly measured hum, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she smiles again. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

I stare at her. “Rarity.”

“Yes, darling?” she says sweetly.

“Are you mad I didn’t ask you for a suit?”

She lets out an exaggerated laugh, waving a hoof dramatically. “Mad? Oh, heavens no! Why ever would I be mad?” She places a hoof over her chest, her voice taking on a faintly dramatic lilt. “It’s not as if making refined, elegant attire is my literal profession! Nor is it as if I take great pride in crafting the finest suits in all of Equestria!”

I open my mouth, but she isn’t done.

“Oh, no no, darling, I understand completely! Why, if I were in your position, I too would obviously seek the fashion expertise of a bookish academic instead of a professional designer! Why settle for perfection when you can have something… practical?”

I sigh. “You are mad.”

She turns her nose up. “I am merely… disappointed.”

I groan, rubbing my forehead. “Rarity, it’s just a suit. It wasn’t a big deal.”

She gasps, placing a hoof to her forehead like she’s about to faint. “Just a suit? Just a suit?!” She dramatically turns away, her voice filled with feigned agony. “Oh, the tragedy!”

I roll my eyes. “Alright, fine. Next time I need fancy clothes, I’ll come to you.”

She flips her mane, suddenly absolutely fine. “See? Was that so hard, darling?”

I sigh again. “Yes. I hate when you guilt trip.”

She giggles. “Oh, I love that I do.”

I shake my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

Rarity smirks, but there’s still something behind it—something else she isn’t saying. I can see it in the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she’s avoiding looking at me too directly. Something’s bugging her.

I debate pushing the topic, but she quickly regains her usual grace, lifting her head with a polite smile. “Well! I shall see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you then.”

She gives a final nod and trots off, her tail flicking just a little too sharply. I watch her go, rubbing the back of my neck.

I sigh, shaking my head as I watch the door click shut behind Rarity.

That was... something.

Whatever. Not my problem right now.

I glance toward the kitchen and grimace. Twilight’s fury still lingers in my mind, and despite every fiber of my being screaming at me to just eat out again, I know that’s not an option. If she catches me skipping a home-cooked meal after everything, she’ll probably set up a magical alarm system in my kitchen just to monitor me.

Grumbling, I drag myself toward the stove, eyeing the cursed sack of hay I bought with a deep sense of regret.

With the precision of a pony on death row preparing his last meal, I toss a portion into the pot, adding just enough seasonings and vegetables to make it not taste like dried grass. I stir it with half-hearted effort, staring blankly at the bubbling pot.

Cooking hay.

This is my life now.

After what feels like an eternity of suffering, I plate my meal and take a bite. It’s… tolerable. Not great, but not awful. I chew slowly, wondering if this is what surrender tastes like.

At least Twilight won’t strangle me in my sleep.

Once I finish, I clean up—begrudgingly, of course—and shuffle off to my room. The events of the day catch up to me all at once, exhaustion settling into my bones.

I flop onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Tomorrow is the talent show.

Sweetie Belle’s excited.

Rarity’s acting odd.

Twilight’s still probably plotting ways to turn me into a responsible pony.

I sigh, closing my eyes. Tomorrow’s going to be another long one.

With that thought, I drift into sleep.