Applied Mathemagics

I sit back on the garden bench, savoring my ill-gotten desserts as the distant sounds of the Gala Aftermath continue inside the castle. It’s peaceful out here. Cool night air, the faint hum of Canterlot city life beyond the palace walls, and the lingering satisfaction of knowing I left the ballroom at exactly the right time.

Eventually, the doors swing open, and the Mane Six stumble out, looking… rough.

Their dresses are torn, their manes are messy, and they all look exhausted. Applejack has what looks like frosting smeared across her hat, Rarity still has cake in her mane, and Fluttershy’s dress is missing half of its fabric.

Celestia walks with them, smiling in that calmly amused but definitely planned this whole thing way she does.

Twilight spots me lounging on the bench, looking far too comfortable for someone who was technically at the same event.

"Where’s your date?" she asks, her voice tinged with something I can’t quite place.

I shrug. "Eh. Easy come, easy go."

She frowns slightly but says nothing, just nods as she takes a seat beside me.

The rest of the girls collapse onto nearby benches, clearly done with the night.

Celestia, ever the composed one, gives me a knowing look before excusing herself. She’s definitely going back inside to survey the wreckage.

After a few minutes, we start heading back to the train station. The group walks together, tired and defeated, but Twilight… Twilight sticks a bit closer to me than usual.

I don’t really think much of it at first—ponies naturally group up, right?

Then I casually move a little to the side, giving myself more space.

Twilight immediately shifts closer again.

I glance at her. She doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking like this is normal.

I squint.

I move again, just a little.

She instantly moves with me, still pretending like nothing’s happening.

Okay.

I move one more time.

This time, she bumps my shoulder—not enough to shove me, but just enough to make a point. I glance over and see her give a withering glare out of the corner of her eyes.

A very silent, very deliberate point.

I get the message loud and clear. Don’t do it again.

I, of course, willfully ignore the implications of this.

She’s probably just tired, right? Yeah. Just tired. She had a long night. It’s not weird.

We keep walking.

Twilight stays right next to me the entire way to the train station.

And I pretend not to notice.

The train ride back to Ponyville is quiet. Everyone’s exhausted, their high expectations for the night thoroughly crushed. Rarity still looks like she wants to murder Blueblood, Applejack grumbles about "fancy folk who wouldn’t know good food if it bit ‘em," and Fluttershy is muttering to herself about "stupid animals who don’t appreciate kindness."

Me? I’m feeling great. This night went exactly as I expected, and I even got free food out of it.

The train pulls out of the station, and everypony settles into their seats. I slide into a nice, comfortable spot by the window, fully prepared to ignore everyone and enjoy the ride back home.

Then Twilight sits right next to me.

There are plenty of other open seats, mind you. The train isn’t packed. She could sit anywhere.

But no.

She sits next to me.

I glance at her. She’s staring out the window, totally silent.

Alright. Fine. She’s tired. Whatever.

I lean back, relaxing, letting the steady rhythm of the train fill the silence.

Then I notice something else.

Twilight is sitting way too close.

Like, not normal close.

Like, pressed right up against my side close.

I glance down. Yep. Her shoulder is touching mine. And she isn’t moving away.

Okay.

I decide to test something.

I shift slightly, just enough to make a little space.

Twilight immediately shifts with me, closing the gap.

I blink.

I move again.

She follows.

Oh. We’re doing this now.

I sigh internally and decide to just accept my fate. If Twilight Sparkle has decided that I am her preferred leaning post, then so be it.

I try to start a conversation. "So, did you at least have fun before everything fell apart?"

No response.

I glance at her. She’s still staring out the window, expression completely neutral, as if I don’t exist.

Huh.

"Twilight?" I try again.

Nothing.

Okay, so she’s ignoring me, but still sitting pressed against me?

What is this? Some kind of passive-aggressive punishment?

I sigh, shaking my head. "Alright. Cool. Guess we’re doing the silent treatment now."

Still nothing.

Fine. Whatever. I lean my head against the window, deciding to just enjoy the ride.

Twilight stays glued to my side the entire trip, ignoring me the whole way.

When we finally pull into Ponyville, everypony shuffles off the train, still half-asleep.

I stretch, rolling my shoulders. "Alright, that was fun. Time to—"

Twilight shoots me a look—a subtle, warning glare, like she knows I’m about to vanish.

I take that as my cue to immediately vanish.

"—head home!" I finish quickly, turning and walking off before she can stop me.

She huffs behind me, but doesn’t follow.

Crisis averted.

As I step onto the path leading to my H.A.R.D.I.S., I shake my head.

Twilight is acting weird.

Probably just tired.

Definitely nothing to think about.

I step into the comforting, magic anomaly that is my house, shutting the door behind me with a satisfied sigh. The H.A.R.D.I.S. is quiet, the glowing orbs floating gently in place, casting a soft, steady light over the marble countertops of my kitchen.

I head straight for the counter, pulling my saddlebags off and setting them down. Then, with the reverence of a scholar handling ancient texts, I carefully extract my ill-gotten desserts and arrange them on a plate.

A tower of pastries. Eclairs, tarts, and fancy little treats that probably cost more than my entire outfit.

Perfect.

I lift the large glass cloche from the counter—one of the few nice things I actually own—place it carefully over my prize, and step back to admire my work.

Beautiful.

A trophy. A testament to my cunning.

Satisfied, I give the plate a final nod of approval and make my way to my room, stretching as I go.

Flopping onto my bed, I stare at the ceiling for a moment.

The Gala was exactly what I expected.

A disaster.

A fun disaster.

I close my eyes, smirking to myself.

Yeah.

Nothing to think about.

With that final thought, I drift off to sleep.

I wake up to the sound of relentless pounding on my door.

For a second, I debate just ignoring it—whoever it is, whatever they want, it’s not my problem. But the knocking doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets louder.

I groan, rolling out of bed. "Alright, alright! Calm down!"

Dragging myself to the door, I yank it open, blinking blearily at the ponies standing outside. It’s Twilight. And she looks stressed. Which, honestly, isn’t unusual.

Behind her, the other Elements stand at varying levels of concerned.

"Alright," I say, rubbing my eyes. "Who died?"

Twilight doesn’t even waste time explaining—she just points to the sky.

I look up.

The clouds are pink.

And raining chocolate milk.

I blink.

Then I close the door.

The pounding starts again immediately.

"Kinetic, open the door!"

"Nope."

"Kinetic!"

"Not my problem!"

"It is your problem!"

I sigh, opening the door just enough to squint at her. "How exactly is this my problem? You’ve got your fancy Elements of Harmony, go fix it."

Twilight glares at me. "We’ve been called to Canterlot. You are coming with us."

I stare at her. "No, I am not."

"Yes, you are."

I cross my hooves. "Twilight, let me explain this very simply—I am not an Element of Harmony. I do not have a rainbow laser of friendship. You do." I gesture vaguely at the group. "So, go use it."

Twilight’s eye twitches. "Princess Celestia personally asked for you."

I pause.

Okay.

That’s a problem.

Because I know what’s happening.

The others don’t—not yet. They just think this is another villain-of-the-week situation. But I know what’s about to wake up. And dread that I might know exactly why Celestia wants me there.

Because of the Seventh Element.

I suppress a groan, running a hoof through my mane.

I rejected it. weeks ago.

When the Elements found their bearers, the Seventh was supposed to have one too. But it never happened. I never told anyone about it, and as far as I could tell, the others worked just fine without it.

It just sat there, a dead stone. Useless.

And I left it there.

I sigh. "Fine. Let me grab my stuff."

Twilight nods, satisfied, as I shut the door behind me.

This is going to suck.

The flight to Canterlot is uneventful, aside from the fact that the sky is still an absolute mess. Pink cotton candy clouds, chocolate milk rain, and, at one point, I swear I see an entire house slowly spinning in midair. The whole thing screams chaos.

Because, well… it is.

Twilight and the others are still mostly focused on their mission. I, meanwhile, am just trying to mentally prepare for what’s coming.

I know Discord is waking up. I know the Elements are our only shot at stopping him. What I don’t know is why Celestia specifically called me.

Unless—

I push that thought way down.

The carriage lands directly in the castle courtyard, and Celestia is already waiting for us. She looks calm, but there’s an unmistakable tension in her posture.

"Thank you all for coming so quickly," she says as we step out of the carriage. Her eyes land on me. "Kinetic, I appreciate your presence as well."

I nod, keeping my expression neutral. "Well, you did ask nicely."

Twilight, still wound way too tight, cuts straight to business. "Princess, what’s going on? We saw the sky, but what exactly are we dealing with?"

Celestia gestures for us to follow. "I will explain everything on the way. Come."

We walk through the grand halls of the castle as Celestia speaks.

"Long ago, before my sister’s banishment, Equestria was ruled not just by alicorns, but by another—a being of pure chaos. Discord."

Twilight gasps. "The Spirit of Chaos and Disharmony!"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Celestia nods. "He ruled over the land in a state of disorder and madness. My sister and I, together, used the Elements of Harmony to turn him to stone, ending his reign of chaos."

Rainbow Dash grins. "So we just zap him again with the Elements, right? Easy."

Celestia’s expression darkens. "Yes… but the Elements are kept in a secure vault. I called you all here to retrieve them."

I frown slightly. If it were that simple, why would she call me?

Unless—

That thought bubbles up again. I shove it back down.

We arrive at the massive doors of the vault. They glow with golden magic, reinforced with layers of security enchantments. Celestia steps forward, her horn lighting up as she inserts it into the lock. The doors groan as the mechanisms turn, and slowly, the vault creaks open.

Inside the vault, a stone pedestal stands at the center of the chamber, pristine and untouched. Upon it rests a finely crafted golden box, lined with the sigils of the Sun and Moon—Celestia’s own magic. The room is utterly silent as Celestia steps forward, her horn glowing as she unlatches the lid and opens it.

The box is empty.

A cold weight settles in my gut.

Twilight gasps, stepping forward. "What? But… but that’s impossible! The spells, the wards—"

Celestia’s expression hardens, her jaw tightening. "No. It is not impossible. It is him."

And just like that, the room darkens.

The torches lining the walls flicker and dim. The air shifts, thick with something wrong. I feel it crawling up my spine before I see it—the murals along the walls of the chamber begin to move.

At first, it’s subtle. A ripple in the painted sky. The ponies shift ever so slightly. Then, the image of a great, winding beast, painted in ancient colors, stretches and grins.

A voice, smooth and full of laughter, slithers through the air.

"Did you miss me, Celestia? I missed you."

The mural Discord’s eyes glint with wicked delight as he lounges against the image of a painted cloud.

"It’s quite lonely being encased in stone, but you wouldn’t know that, would you?" The voice hums, thoughtful. "Because I don’t turn ponies into stone."

Celestia steps forward, her wings flaring, her face an unreadable mask. "Discord."

The painted creature grins wider, slithering from one mural to the next, shifting from wall to wall as though he’s never truly still.

"Ah, and these must be your little champions," he muses, his attention now flicking toward the Elements. "Let’s see…"

He studies them.

I don’t like it. His gaze lingers too long.

Discord’s grin widens, his painted form slithering between the walls as if inspecting a collection of prized objects.

"Ah, Applejack," he drawls, his voice laced with amusement. "The most honest liar I’ve ever seen. Always tellin’ the truth—except when it really matters. What would dear ol’ Granny Smith say if she knew how many times you held your tongue just to keep the family together?"

Applejack stiffens. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t speak.

"And Rainbow Dash," he continues, flowing seamlessly across the wall like an ink spill. "Brave, fast, loyal—oh, so loyal. But tell me, what happens when loyalty is tested? When you have to choose between what you want and what’s right? Between one friend and another?" He tsks. "I do wonder."

Rainbow bristles, her wings flaring slightly, but she doesn’t take the bait.

Then Discord shifts again, his gaze settling on Fluttershy. He softens his tone, feigning sympathy. "And sweet little Fluttershy. So kind, so gentle. But kindness has its limits, doesn’t it? How many times have you bit your tongue, swallowed your hurt, let others walk all over you? Will kindness save you, I wonder? Or will it be the thing that breaks you?"

Fluttershy doesn’t move, but I can see her trembling.

"Ah, Pinkie Pie!" he exclaims suddenly, his voice taking on a cheerful lilt. "The funny one. The party pony. The mare who makes everypony laugh—because if she doesn’t…" His voice dips into something mocking now. "How tiring it must be, keeping up the act. Smiles can crack, you know."

Pinkie’s usual grin falters, just for a fraction of a second.

Discord doesn’t pause. He’s relentless.

"And Rarity." His tone turns sickly sweet. "Such generosity! Such grace! But what is generosity when it’s built on the need to be admired? You give, and you give, and yet—how often do you truly receive?"

Rarity’s lip twitches, but she maintains her composure.

Then he shifts his attention to Twilight.

"And you," he purrs. "Celestia’s perfect little student. So bright. So special. But tell me, Twilight, do you really believe in friendship? Or is it just… convenient? A tool. A system. Something to be understood, studied, used." He leans in, his painted form looming over her. "Tell me… if it all fell apart, would you fight to keep them? Or would you accept that you were always meant to be alone?"

Twilight’s ears flatten, and I see her take an instinctive step back.

Then his gaze turns to me.

And he hesitates.

His playful grin falters, just slightly, his eyes narrowing in something too calculated to be amusement.

"Now, you…"

The weight of his attention slams down on me, sharp and assessing.

His eyes flick over me, unreadable.

Then, his head tilts.

"You’re not supposed to be here."

I feel my muscles tense, my mind already calculating. If he fully manifests, I can fight. But if he’s still bound to the murals—

Snap.

The world vanishes.

No build-up. No time to react.

One second, I’m standing in the castle vault, Discord’s painted eyes on me.

The next, I’m somewhere else.

I stumble forward, the ground beneath me rough and uneven. Dirt. Grass. The heavy scent of damp earth.

The air is thick, humid. The trees around me loom like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches twisting into a tangled canopy above. I don’t need to look around to know where I am.

The Everfree.

Right where I first arrived.

My pulse hammers in my ears as I take a slow, steady breath. My body feels wrong, disoriented, like I was yanked out of reality and shoved somewhere else too fast for my senses to catch up. My mind flickers back to those first frantic moments when I had landed here weeks ago, utterly lost and terrified.

The silence is oppressive.

Then, he speaks.

“Oh, dear me, you look concerned.”

Discord’s voice slithers through the trees, but I can’t see him. It’s everywhere and nowhere at once, sinking into the very air.

I grit my teeth and inhale sharply. Alright. First things first—I need to get out of here. I plant my hooves firmly on the ground and prepare to use the disk lift spell.

I summon my magic, reaching out with the familiar mental tug—

There’s a snap of white-hot pain.

I stagger, my breath hitching, and my head feels wrong. Like something's missing. Like a part of me just—isn’t there.

My heart slams against my ribs as I raise a hoof to my forehead.

My horn is gone.

I hear Discord chuckle.

“Oh my,” he purrs. “You rely on that little thing so much, don’t you? What an inconvenience.”

My breaths are coming too fast now. I have to calm down, to think. Focus.

I straighten, gritting my teeth. "What do you want?"

He sighs dramatically. “Oh, I’ve already gotten what I wanted.” His voice hums through the forest, shifting, slinking through the trees. “You, gone.”

I clench my jaw, already moving. I think I remember which way I walked last time. I just have to keep moving.

Then he speaks again.

And I freeze.

“But, you know,” he muses, his tone almost conversational, “I have to admit, you are fascinating.”

I start walking again, forcing myself forward. "Go be fascinated somewhere else."

"But why would I do that? You're the strangest little thing I’ve come across in centuries."

The weight of his presence coils around me, unseen but undeniable. My muscles tighten as I keep moving, keep walking, refusing to engage. I just need to get out of here.

“Oh, don’t be so cold, John.”

I stop.

The forest suddenly feels very small.

"...What did you just say?" My voice comes out quiet. Too quiet.

The air grows heavy, pressing against me, thick with something wrong.

I swallow hard, pushing forward. Don’t stop. Don’t react.

But he doesn’t stop talking.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Discord sighs, his voice curling around me like a snake. “We are friends, aren’t we? No? Well, we could be.” A chuckle. “Not like they’d ever accept you if they really knew you.”

I don’t stop moving.

“Because you know, don’t you?” His voice dips, rich with amusement. “You told dear Celestia and Luna what you are… but not what that means.”

I falter. Just a fraction. But he catches it.

He laughs.

“Ah, there it is,” he purrs. "The real fear. The thing you don’t like thinking about."

His voice lowers, slithering into something almost… fond.

"You talk about ponies like they're so unbearably ugly. You joke, you mock, you push them away. But it's not them, is it?" His voice slithers through my thoughts, saccharine and knowing. "Not their veiny eyes, staring too wide—no, that’s just an excuse, isn’t it?" His voice slithers through my thoughts, saccharine and knowing. "It’s you."

My stomach knots, cold and tight.

"You see it, don’t you?" Discord purrs. "Those oversized, glistening eyes, so round, so trusting. Looking at you like you’re one of them, like you belong. Like you could ever be so soft, so pure." His voice lowers, curling at the edges with something almost gentle, almost cruel. "But you never were, were you? Not even as a child. No wide-eyed innocence, no simple, stupid faith in the world. You were something else—something jagged, something hollow. And yet, when they look at you, they believe in something that never existed."

A pause. A chuckle, rich with amusement.

"I wonder," Discord hums, "what's worse? That they see what you never were... or that, for a moment, you almost wish you could be?"

I force myself forward, my mind running calculations, searching for an exit, anything.

“Let’s see,” Discord continues, thoughtful now. “How much do you think they’d forgive? A little deception? A few lies? Or… everything?” He hums. "Would they still stand beside you, knowing what you really are? Knowing what you're capable of?"

I keep walking. I don’t react.

Because I know he’s right.

And Discord knows that I know.

He laughs, the sound rolling through the trees. “And oh, you have such wonderful plans for me, don’t you?” His voice drops, almost a whisper. “What was it, again? Oh, yes.”

A pause.

Then—

“You’re going to kill me.”

My breath hitches.

I stop.

The forest is silent.

Discord’s voice is an echoing whisper in my ear, amused and terribly pleased with himself.

"You calculated it," he murmurs, his voice coiling around my spine. "Measured the odds, considered the outcomes. You planned to eliminate me before I could become a threat." He chuckles, almost fondly. "Oh, my dear John, you’re not an Archmage."

I swallow hard.

"You’re a predator."

The forest around me seems to hold its breath, as though every branch and leaf and twisted root is leaning in to listen. Discord’s voice caresses the back of my neck, soaking into the damp air. I force myself to move—one hoof in front of the other—clinging to a thread of composure.

My mind reels, trying to piece together an escape route, to think of any advantage left to me—but he took my horn. All I have are my hooves and my wits, and they feel painfully inadequate against this.

“But you know,” Discord says softly, voice curling around me like a serpent, “even if you did manage to fire off a few 'spells', even if you had the perfect plan…” He chuckles. “What would it change?”

I clench my jaw, refusing to answer.

“Let’s be honest here, John.” He practically purrs the word, letting it reverberate in my skull. “Ever since you showed up, have you truly changed anything? The ponies had their adventures, solved their problems, made their friends. With or without you, they’d be just where they are now.”

He’s lying, I tell myself. He’s lying. But a part of me starts digging through my memories, searching for any evidence he’s wrong.

“And let’s see,” Discord continues, unhurried, almost lazy. “Nightmare Moon? The Elements blasted her without your help. The parasprites? Pinkie’s polka took care of that. Even this fiasco with me would have happened exactly the same, except now you’re complicating things with your… otherness.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. I can’t seem to muster any words in my defense.

“Face it,” he whispers, voice distant and close all at once. “You’re a foreign body in a story that was never yours. You’re the out-of-place puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. Every ‘heroic act’ you’ve done, every ‘lesson’ you’ve taught… the timeline marches on, unaffected. You could vanish tomorrow, and nopony would notice. They’d survive—thrive, even—without you.”

I want to shout at him, to demand he stop. I want to say it’s not true. But the words lodge in my throat.

“Look at yourself,” he presses on, his tone icy-sweet. “You claim you’re some brilliant mage, a cunning con artist, a champion of knowledge. But is there one single crisis you truly prevented? One friend you saved that wouldn’t have been saved anyway?”

There’s a roaring in my ears, like a tide rising, threatening to drag me under. My hooves falter; I stagger.

“They are the Elements of Harmony,” Discord croons. “They beat Nightmare Moon, and they will beat me—no matter what you do. So tell me… why are you here?”

He doesn’t expect an answer. He doesn’t need one.

A tremor runs through me. My vision blurs at the edges, and I can’t tell if it’s the forest spinning or my own mind unraveling.

“If you never existed,” Discord murmurs, “everything would still be okay. They’d find their destiny. They’d form their bonds. They’d be the heroes Equestria needs. You? You’re just… background noise.”

I sway on my hooves, a hollow ache radiating through my chest. My heart feels like it’s beating too fast, yet I can’t muster the will to fight. His words burrow into every insecurity I’ve ever had.

“You are an intruder here,” he says, quieter now, more intimate. “Deep down, you know it. You can pretend all you like, but you’ll never belong.”

A small, desperate part of me whispers that he’s manipulating me, that this is how he works. But it’s buried under the weight of his accusations—accusations I can’t refute.

“Come now,” Discord continues, almost pityingly. “Wouldn’t it be easier… if you just left? If you let the real story unfold without your interference? No fuss, no mess—no one else needs to know how much you don’t belong.”

I can hear my own ragged breathing, harsh and broken. My legs shake.

He gives a low, knowing laugh. “Yes… that’s it. Don’t you see how simple it is? Just… stop.”

And something inside me gives.

A numbness crawls through my veins, like ice water replacing my blood. My legs slump. My ears droop. I feel heavy.

I catch a glimpse of my own fur in my peripheral vision. The tan color… fading. Bleeding away into a dull, lifeless grey.

“Oh, there we go,” Discord says, his voice echoing through my skull. “That’s more like it.”

All at once, the last flicker of will drains from me, and I collapse onto my haunches, staring blankly ahead. The forest seems colorless, washed out. My mind is… quiet. Heavy. I don’t care anymore. He’s right. Nothing I’ve done has made a difference. Nothing I could do would matter.

I let out a shuddering breath, my vision blurring. I don’t even register that my body is changing—until I look down.

My forelegs—gone. Instead, there are arms. Pale skin, five-fingered hands, trembling. My chest twists with revulsion, but the emotion is distant, muted. In the reflection of a muddied puddle, I see the shape of my old face—human. Eyes shadowed and hollow.

I drift.

Not out of the forest.

Deeper.

The trees press in, their gnarled limbs like skeletal fingers, clawing at the sky. The world is silent, save for the dull crunch of leaves beneath my feet. I don’t think. I don’t plan. There is no reason, no motivation, no purpose.

Just a cold, hollow anger.

It has no direction, no target, no meaning. It is simply there, simmering beneath my skin, wrapped around my bones like a parasite. I am aware of it, but I do not feel it. Not really.

I keep walking.

The darkness thickens. The air becomes damp, heavy, clinging to my skin like an oil slick. The scent of rot festers in the undergrowth, and I know—something is watching me.

I don’t care.

A noise. A rustling in the distance.

Then, a shift in the shadows.

The thing steps forward.

Its shape is wrong.

Too many joints, too many limbs. Its body is long, emaciated, draped in sagging flesh, its limbs too spindly, too stretched. Its fingers curl unnaturally, the tips stained a sickly black. Its face—if it has a face—is a featureless expanse of bone-white flesh, save for two cavernous sockets where eyes should be. A mouth—too wide, too gaping—splits open, revealing jagged, uneven teeth.

The air grows colder. The thing tilts its head, movements twitchy, erratic.

I meet its empty gaze.

I should run.

I do not.

I stand.

It moves first.

Fast.

A blur of clawed hands, reaching, grasping.

I don’t dodge. I don’t plan. I react.

A scream tears from my throat—not of fear, not of desperation. Just rage.

Pure, unfiltered hatred.

I lunge.

It doesn’t expect that.

My fists collide with its ribs, the sickening crack of impact reverberating through the trees. It staggers—but not far. The thing is fast. Its arm lashes out, a clawed hand raking across my shoulder.

Pain blossoms.

I do not care.

I grab its wrist. Twist. Something snaps.

It screeches. A high, wailing, unnatural sound.

It tries to pull away. I do not let it.

I drive my elbow into its chest. It stumbles. I am already moving. My fist collides with the side of its faceless head, sending it reeling. It does not fall.

I want it to fall.

It lashes out again, claws slicing across my side.

I grab its throat.

I squeeze.

Its body thrashes, limbs flailing, talons digging into my skin. I don’t let go.

My grip tightens. I feel cartilage buckle. The thing spasms, its movements growing erratic, desperate.

I do not stop.

There is no thought, no hesitation.

Just pressure.

Crushing.

Until the thrashing stops.

The thing goes limp.

I drop it.

The body crumples, twitching once before going still.

My breath is ragged, heavy. Blood drips from my arms, staining my hands, soaking into my skin. Mine. The creature’s. I do not care.

The forest is silent again.

My body aches.

But I don’t feel it.

I look down at my hands. The human hands Discord gave me. They are cracked, bruised, bloodied.

I stare.

Then I keep walking.

Deeper.

I wander.

The Everfree stretches, endless, swallowing all light, all warmth. I do not think about direction. I do not think about leaving. I do not think about anything.

I walk. I fight. I bleed.

The next creature comes in the dead hush between heartbeats. A thing with too many eyes, gleaming in the dark, its body slithering unnaturally through the undergrowth. It does not hesitate. Neither do I.

It lunges. I meet it.

Fangs sink into my forearm. I barely register the pain before I drive my knee into its underbelly. It wails—a horrible, ear-splitting thing—but I do not stop. I wrench its head back, ignoring the wet tearing sensation as its teeth drag through my skin.

It writhes, snapping, thrashing, desperate.

I slam it against a tree.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Something crunches. It stops moving.

I drop the body and move on.

My vision blurs at the edges, but I do not stop. The forest breathes around me, watching, waiting.

Something else stirs.

Long-limbed, hunched, with skin stretched too tight over an emaciated frame. It does not walk. It crawls, jittering, clicking, twitching toward me on twisted joints.

I let it come.

Its fingers—long, needle-like—rake across my ribs.

I grab its wrist.

It snaps like dry kindling.

The creature screeches, a wretched, high-pitched cry that sets my skull vibrating. I see the jagged edges of its teeth. It lunges, aiming for my throat.

I shove my fingers into its mouth.

I pull.

There is a wet, awful sound as its jaw separates.

It doesn’t get back up.

The pain should slow me down. I feel the warmth of my own blood, pooling, dripping, leaking. I ignore it.

I wander.

I fight.

The next one is faster, moving like a broken marionette. Its limbs bend where they shouldn’t. It lunges, striking low. Its claws rake my legs. I stagger.

I do not fall.

I grab the back of its skull and drive it into the ground.

The body twitches. I lift its head again.

I slam it down.

And again.

And again.

Something wet splatters. I feel it on my face, on my hands. I do not stop. I do not think. I do not care.

The thing stops moving.

I move on.

I do not know how long this lasts. Time has no meaning here.

My body is torn, my breath ragged. My knuckles are raw, split open, bleeding. The pain is distant, unimportant. My body moves because it must.

The forest watches.

Waiting.

I keep walking.

The forest does not end, but I reach something different.

Ruins.

Broken stone, crumbling towers, the skeletal remains of a castle long abandoned. The Castle of the Two Sisters.

I step through the shattered remains of the entrance, moving without direction. My breath is slow, shallow, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and blood loss, but I move.

My body aches. My wounds scream. But I do not stop.

Something draws me deeper.

I descend broken staircases, moving into the bowels of the ruin. Darkness presses in, thick and unmoving, but I do not care. My feet find the path, following something unseen, something pulling me toward it.

Then I see it.

On the ground, next to a platform, forgotten, sits a single stone sphere, cracked, lifeless.

The Seventh Element.

The one that never awakened. The one that had no bearer.

The one I left behind.

I stare at it, my breath coming slow, my chest hollow and heavy.

Then, I reach out.

My fingers graze its surface—rough, cold, dead.

Nothing happens.

No light. No energy. No warmth.

Just stone.

It should feel meaningless. It shouldn’t matter.

But something inside me twists, ugly and raw.

I pick it up.

It is heavy in my hands, heavier than a dead thing has any right to be.

My grip tightens. My breath shudders. A sick, clawing need coils in my chest, curling around my ribs like a parasite.

Give it to me.

I want it.

I want it to work.

I want it to do something.

I clutch the stone tighter, as if I can force it to awaken, as if I can demand it to give me power, purpose, meaning.

It does not respond.

Nothing changes.

Nothing ever changes.

My fingers dig into the rough edges, the cracks beneath my grip. My body shakes with rage.

I deserve this.

I need this.

But the stone does not care.

Because Discord was right.

I am nothing.

I was never meant to be here.

And nothing I do will ever change that.

Still, I do not let go.

I clutch the useless, lifeless thing, holding it close like a wretched, starving creature hoarding scraps of food.

A thought slithers into my mind.

A sick, wretched, perfect thought.

If I don’t matter…

If I shouldn’t be here…

Then what’s the best way to exit stage left?

I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of the stone in my grasp. Cold. Lifeless. Just like me.

Discord’s words churn in my skull, sinking into the marrow of my bones.

I am an intrusion.

An out-of-place thing in a story that doesn’t need me.

Nothing I have done has mattered.

Nothing I could do will change anything.

But there is something left.

If I am a monster—

Well.

I know ponies who fight monsters.

The thought coils tight, insidious, logical.

I let out a slow, shaking breath. The grip on the Seventh Element tightens until my knuckles ache.

The answer is so simple.

It makes sense.

I have spent so long trying to fit, to belong, but if I can’t—if I was never supposed to—then what else is left?

They will come.

Of course they will.

They always do.

They’ll stop me.

And then, finally, the story can move forward without me in it.

I take one step back.

Then another.

The castle walls loom around me, but I do not feel their weight.

I have a plan.

For the first time since Discord spoke, I feel… something.

A bitter, twisted sense of purpose.

I turn, the Seventh Element clutched in my hands, and walk out into the night.

I trudge through the Everfree, the broken stones of the castle disappearing behind me. My body aches, torn and battered, my mind is numb, but I move. Step after step.

The trees begin to thin. The air grows lighter.

And then, finally, I reach the edge of Ponyville.

And it is normal.

No cotton candy clouds. No chocolate rain. No shifting, chaotic nonsense.

The houses stand as they always have, lights glowing warmly against the night. Ponies move through the streets, chatting, laughing.

They won.

Of course they did.

The story is back on track.

I was never needed.

I tighten my grip on the stone.

No one notices me at first.

Why would they?

I’m not a pony anymore.

I’m nothing they recognize.

A shadow, a shape in the dark.

Then, a filly—one I vaguely remember, a face in the background of a town that was never mine—spots me.

She freezes. Her eyes go wide.

I take a step forward.

She stumbles back, hooves scraping against the cobblestone.

A stallion turns, following her gaze. Then another. Then more.

The hum of conversation fades. A ripple of silence spreads through the streets.

I see their ears pin back, their tails twitch.

Fear.

They don't know what I am.

And I don’t correct them.

I let my shoulders hunch, my posture sag. My fingers twitch at my sides. A ragged breath shudders through me, my chest rising and falling unevenly.

Then I scream.

It is not a word, not a sound of reason or restraint. It is a howl, a raw, jagged explosion of rage and agony tearing from my throat. It echoes through the town, rattling windows, sending ponies scrambling.

They run.

I lurch forward, shambling, limbs unsteady, like some nightmare dragged from the depths of the Everfree. My breath rasps, deep and uneven, every exhale a growl. My body is torn, my skin slick with blood—some mine, some not—and I do not care.

A stallion stumbles over his own hooves, trying to get away. I slam my foot down on the cobblestone, the impact ringing loud, sharp, wrong. My fingers flex at my sides, twitching, curling, hungry.

Let them be afraid.

Let them see me.

A cart overturns as a mare shrieks, yanking her foal away. A stallion calls out for somepony—anypony—to get the guard.

Good.

Panic rolls through the crowd, a tide of gasps and cries and hooves pounding against the ground. A mare trips, scrambling to right herself, her eyes locked on me with wild, white-rimmed terror.

I move.

I lunge—not toward her, not toward anything in particular—just a sudden, violent movement, a snap of motion too quick, too unnatural.

She screams.

They all do.

The streets empty fast, ponies ducking into their homes, slamming doors, locking windows.

I hear somepony ring a bell. An alarm.

The guards will come.

But that’s not who I want.

I want them.

The ones who fight monsters.

The ones who fix things.

The ones who always win.

I throw back my head and roar again, louder, a bellowing challenge that shakes the air. My throat burns, but I do not care.

Come and stop me.

Come and fix this.

Come and end me.

I wait.

I stand in the center of the street, hunched, bloodied, breathing.

Waiting.

For the heroes.

They arrive.

The heroes.

I hear them before I see them, galloping hooves, the clatter of metal, the hum of magic ready to fire. Then, they round the corner, and there they are. The Elements of Harmony, standing tall, looking right at me.

Their eyes widen.

I see the calculations flickering through their minds, the way their stances shift. They see my shape, my bloodied form, the raw, ragged thing that stands in the street, panting like some rabid beast.

They see a monster.

Good.

"Who—what is that?" Rainbow Dash says, wings flaring as she hovers above the others.

"I—I dunno," Applejack mutters, adjusting her stance. "But look at ‘im. He’s covered in blood."

Fluttershy makes a strangled sound. Rarity takes a cautious step back. Pinkie Pie doesn’t bounce, doesn’t smile. She just stares.

And Twilight—Twilight narrows her eyes. "Are you one of Discord’s?"

The accusation rolls over me, meaningless. My breath rattles in my chest.

They don’t know me.

Of course they don’t.

They were never supposed to.

Twilight steps forward, caution in her every movement. "Listen," she says, slow, deliberate, like she’s speaking to a cornered animal. "We can help you. Just—tell us what happened."

I don’t answer.

I don’t think.

I lunge.

Twilight barely has time to teleport back before my fist cracks the ground where she stood.

Rainbow reacts first. "Okay, nope, I knew it was evil!"

The others brace, ready to fight.

Twilight’s horn glows. "If you're discord's... Where is Kinetic Flux?" she demands.

My body locks.

The name slices through me, jagged and cruel.

I tighten my grip on the Seventh Element. My chest heaves. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.

I don’t answer.

I charge.

A burst of magic slams into me—Twilight’s, no doubt—but it barely registers. I barrel forward. The world narrows, sharpening into one singular objective.

Twilight fixes things.

Twilight solves problems.

So why is she letting me exist?

I catch her.

The others shout—Rainbow dives at me, Applejack surges forward—but I grab Twilight first. My fingers lock around her throat, my weight slamming her into the cobblestone.

The wind rushes from her lungs.

"Twilight!" Fluttershy cries.

The others move.

I press down.

Her hooves scramble against me, magic flickering at her horn, but I’m too close.

"Useless," I snarl, voice raw and jagged. "Useless!"

Her eyes widen.

The others are shouting, moving, reacting—Applejack rams into me, Rainbow kicks—but I don’t let go.

I lean in, voice breaking with something beyond rage.

"Twilight!" I roar. "Fix this! Make it stop!"

She struggles, hooves pressing against me. "How do you know my name?!"

Everything stops.

The question crashes over me like a wave, shattering through the haze of fury.

I blink.

Her eyes—those too-wide, too-veiny, too-pony eyes—are looking at me with something new.

Not fear. Not anger.

Recognition trying to form.

As if, for the first time, she’s actually seeing me.

The moment I falter, they take their chance.

A body slams into me—Applejack, her strength raw and unrelenting. I stagger, but then Rainbow Dash is on me too, driving a hoof into my side, forcing me down. My Element falls from my grasp, rolling away .

I roar, thrashing, fighting—but there’s magic, thick and crushing, pressing down. Twilight’s aura wraps around the dirt around me, locking my limbs, pinning me to the cold cobblestone.

I struggle. I twist, wrenching against their grip, but I can’t move. The weight is suffocating.

Twilight gasps for air, clutching at her throat as she regains herself, her horn blazing. She takes a step forward, her expression torn between fury and confusion. "What—who are you?"

I snarl, baring my teeth. "Let me go."

"Not happening," Rainbow spits. "You just tried to kill Twilight!"

"You attacked us first!" Applejack growls, tightening the ropes she’s already wrapped around my arms. "Ah don’t know what you are, but you better start talkin’."

Twilight steps closer, her eyes burning into me. "You know me." She isn’t asking. She’s stating. "You knew my name."

I don’t answer.

Because if I speak it will be the truth.

And the truth is a weight I don’t know if I can bear.

She leans in. "Who are you?"

I breathe heavily, my chest heaving against the ropes, against the magic, against the crushing weight of everything.

I should lie.

Tell them I’m some leftover of Discord, some stray monster from the Everfree.

But the words I want don’t come.

"My name is John."

The words leave me like a dying breath.

Silence.

The pressure in the air shifts. The magic stills.

Twilight stares. "John?" she repeats, like she doesn’t understand the shape of it.

Applejack and Rainbow exchange glances.

Rarity speaks next, hesitant. "That’s… not a pony’s name."

"No," I murmur. "It’s not."

Twilight’s eyes search my face, her mind racing, connecting dots that shouldn’t be there. "You know us. You knew my name. Who—what are you?"

I don’t answer.

Not because I don’t have one.

Because I don’t want to give it.

Because if I say it—if I admit it—then it’s real.

I stare at the ground, my breath heavy, ragged. The ropes bite into my skin, the magic pressing against my ribs, my arms, my throat.

They are waiting.

They want something from me. Something I don’t have.

Something I don’t want to have.

Twilight shifts closer. "John." My name sounds wrong in her mouth. Too careful. Too delicate. She looks at me like she’s trying to see through me, like she’s peeling back my skin to find the truth underneath.

I feel my lip curl.

"What do you want from me?" I growl.

Her ears flick back. "Answers!" she snaps, frustration breaking through. "You showed up in Ponyville looking like some kind of monster! You knew my name, you knew all of us, but I’ve never seen you before in my life!" Her horn pulses, flickering with restrained power. "Who. Are. You?"

I laugh.

It’s not a nice laugh. It’s not anything.

"I told you," I rasp. "John."

"That’s not what I meant!"

I grit my teeth, eyes locking onto hers. "I know what you meant."

The others are tense. Rainbow hovers just above, her muscles wound tight, ready to move. Applejack has the rope in her hooves, knotted and firm. Fluttershy is frozen, wide-eyed, wings half-spread.

Twilight’s jaw tightens. "Where is Kinetic Flux?"

Something inside me snaps.

"Gone!" I snarl, lunging forward against my restraints. The ropes pull, the magic burns, but I don’t care. "He’s gone! He was never real to begin with!"

The words echo in the street, bouncing off stone and glass and wood.

Silence.

I see it sink in.

I see it register.

Twilight’s breath catches. "What… what are you saying?"

I hate this.

I hate how they’re looking at me. Like they’re confused, like they almost understand, like they might reach out and pull at the threads.

I let out a slow, shuddering breath, my head tilting forward, the weight of everything pressing down. The ropes, the magic, the expectation.

"You want the truth?" I murmur, voice low and ragged. "After all this time, Twilight, after all the pushing, the prodding, the suspicion—you finally want the truth?"

She doesn’t move.

None of them do.

They’re waiting. Listening.

I lift my head, my lips curling into something that isn’t a smile, isn’t a snarl—just teeth.

"Kinetic Flux was never real," I say again, slower this time, letting the words sink in. "He was who I needed to be for you. For all of you." My voice cracks, but I don’t stop. "He was the mage you expected, the charlatan who played the part, the puzzle piece forced into a place he was never meant to fit."

Twilight’s jaw tightens. "That—That doesn’t—"

I laugh, sharp and humorless. "Doesn’t make sense?" I finish for her. "Yeah, well, welcome to my life, Sparkle. I spent weeks—months—pretending, performing, just to keep up with your expectations. And for what?" I yank against the restraints, the fibers burning into my skin. "For what, Twilight?"

She flinches.

I lean forward, voice dropping to something sharp, something poisonous.

"You wanted the truth," I whisper, my breath ragged, my vision dark at the edges. "So tell me… does it taste as good as you thought it would?"

Her pupils shrink, her mouth opening slightly—then closing, words dying before they can form.

The others shift uncomfortably. I can feel them trying to process, trying to understand.

I give them nothing.

I just breathe. Heavy. Hollow.

The silence stretches.

Then, Twilight whispers, "Why?"

I let out a slow, bitter breath, my fingers curling into the dirt beneath me, nails biting into the cold stone. My whole body shakes—not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer weight of it all. The truth, finally dragging itself into the light, heavy and cruel.

"Look at me," I rasp, voice raw, broken. "Really look at me, Twilight."

She does. They all do.

I see the horror creeping in at the edges of their expressions, the quiet, uneasy realization that the thing tied before them—the thing—isn't just a monster from the Everfree, isn't some remnant of Discord's chaos.

It's something worse.

Something they knew.

Something that lied.

I laugh, sharp and ragged. Not because it’s funny. Because it’s pathetic.

"Do you get it now?" My voice cracks, but I don’t stop. "Unlovable. Ugly. Shameful." My fingers curl tighter, my nails digging deep into my palms. "How could I exist in your orbit? How could I stand next to you, next to any of you, and pretend I belonged?"

Twilight doesn’t look away. Her face is a storm of emotions—confusion, hurt, understanding. I hate it.

I hate that she looks like she understands.

Because she doesn’t.

None of them do.

I grit my teeth, my body trembling against the restraints, against the pressure in my chest, against the suffocating reality of my own words. "I was never meant to be here. I was never meant to be part of your story, your magic, your perfect little world!" My breath shudders. "I was just a mistake that never got erased!"

Twilight flinches.

But I don’t stop.

"You think I wanted this?" My voice is raw now, fraying at the edges. "You think I wanted to be the freak? The thing that doesn’t fit?" My breath is short, my vision narrowing. "I faked it. Every single day, I faked it, because it was better than this—better than being a ghost in someone else’s life, better than being some… some—thing to be pitied!"

Twilight’s eyes widen. "John—"

I snarl, yanking hard at the ropes, my breath ragged. "Don't say my name like you care!"

She recoils.

The others tense.

I burn.

I am rage. I am frustration. I am a deep, seething hatred at everything, at myself, at the universe for letting me exist like this.

And then she does the one thing I hate more than anything.

She hugs me.

The world tilts.

I freeze.

Her hooves wrap around me, firm, solid, wrong.

I can’t breathe.

I hate this.

I hate that she’s touching me, that she’s holding me like I’m something worth holding.

My body jerks on instinct, trying to wrench away, but the restraints hold me still. I thrash, desperate to escape, but she doesn’t let go.

She just holds on tighter.

"Stop," I rasp, my breath shaking. "Stop pitying me."

"I’m not," Twilight says, and her voice isn’t soft—it’s stubborn, like she’s refusing to let me break apart.

I shake my head, my whole body trembling. "You don’t get to do this, Twilight. You don’t get to act like I’m something that matters."

She presses her forehead against my shoulder. "You do."

I want to scream.

I want to tear free.

I grit my teeth, every fiber of my being screaming against this.

Against her.

Against the warmth pressing into me, the steady weight of her holding on like she can keep me from slipping through the cracks.

I hate it.

I hate that it’s working.

"Let me go," I growl, my voice ragged, but the fight is already bleeding out of me, slow and reluctant.

"No," Twilight says, unwavering.

My breath stutters. "You don’t even know me."

"I do," she insists, gripping me tighter. "I know you hate mornings and you’re awful at organizing. I know you pretend to be irritated when ponies bring you food, but you eat it anyway. I know you complain about magic, but you love showing off with it. I know you—Kinetic—have been frustrating, infuriating, and completely ridiculous since the moment I met you, but you are not nothing!"

My fingers twitch, curling into weak fists against my will.

I shake my head, but the motion feels sluggish, my breath shallow. "I—I was never supposed to be here."

Twilight doesn’t hesitate. "But you are here. And I don’t care if you weren’t ‘meant to be’—that doesn’t mean you don’t belong."

I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

"You don't need me," I mutter, voice thin, fraying at the edges. "You did it all without me. The Elements. Luna. Discord." My fingers twitch against the ropes, my body sagging as the last of my anger bleeds into something else, something hollow. "Nothing I did ever mattered."

Twilight doesn't let go. She doesn't step back, doesn't loosen her hold. She just presses closer, like she can force me to hear her heartbeat, to feel her words.

"But we want you."

My breath hitches.

I go still.

Twilight's grip tightens. "You think it’s about needing you? That if the story could go on without you, it should?" She shakes her head, and I can feel her frustration, her stubbornness seeping into every word. "That's not how this works, Kinetic."

I flinch at the name.

She uses it anyway.

"Kinetic, you think we would have been fine without you? Maybe we would have. Maybe everything would’ve played out the same. Maybe." She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her expression fierce. "But I don’t want to know what that world looks like."

Something cracks in my chest.

I can't breathe.

She searches my face, her expression raw. "You matter because you matter to us," she says, firm and unyielding. "Because you're our Kinetic Flux. Our impossible, infuriating, obnoxious Archmage." Her mouth quirks, small, barely there. "And whether you like it or not, you do belong here."

I stare at her.

My fingers, still clenched into fists, loosen.

I feel something. It’s distant, weak, like the warmth of a sun long forgotten. It curls around my ribs, settles into the hollow spaces Discord left behind.

Something in me… shifts.

The gray in my hands flickers.

Twilight watches, eyes flicking over me, taking in the way the dull, washed-out color of my skin starts to warm. It’s slow—cautious—like the universe itself isn’t sure if it should happen.

I watch, numb, as the color bleeds back into my fingers, up my arms, sinking into my skin like ink spilled into water.

My hands aren't hands anymore.

I flex my hoof. My hoof.

I stare at the tan fur creeping back up my legs, the messy blonde strands of mane falling into my face.

The ropes around me slacken, Twilight's magic dimming as she watches me with something hesitant, something waiting.

I sit there, still reeling, still trying to process everything that just happened—everything I just said.

And then the realization hits me like a brick to the face.

Oh.

Oh no.

I said all that out loud.

In front of everyone.

My ears flatten, my face burning with the full, horrifying weight of what just transpired. The raw confessions, the melodramatic existential crisis, the way I screamed my own name like some tragic protagonist in a bad novel—

Dear Celestia, I’m never going to live this down.

Twilight is still looking at me with those big, earnest, overly sympathetic eyes, like she’s seeing something fragile in me that I really don’t want her to see. They all stare.

They just look… sad.

Like they pity me.

Like I’m broken.

I need to salvage this.

I need to get that look off their faces immediately.

I clear my throat, sitting up straighter, brushing imaginary dust off my very much still bloodstained coat. I flash a very forced, very awkward grin.

"Well. That was dramatic."

Twilight flinches. Just slightly. Not enough for most ponies to notice. But I do.

"...What?" she asks, her voice softer than before.

I wave a hoof lazily. "You know, the whole self-loathing monologue, the color-draining despair arc, the big hug-based redemption moment—classic stuff." I sigh, stretching my limbs like this is all a big joke. "Honestly, I give it a solid eight out of ten. Could’ve used more subtlety, but I am known for my flair for the theatrical."

Rainbow lets out a laugh, but it’s hollow. Like she’s forcing it. "Dude."

Twilight scowls. Not angry—hurt. "Are you serious right now?"

"Absolutely not." I brush my mane back, regaining exactly zero of my dignity. "I am an Archmage, Twilight, I do not have feelings, I have calculated responses to environmental stimuli."

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. "That’s not funny."

"Sure it is." I smirk. "In a darkly ironic sort of way. Which is my entire brand, so, really, you should have seen this coming."

"Why are you like this?" she mutters.

"Because it makes things easier," I reply without thinking.

The silence that follows is heavy.

Applejack looks down, like she’s trying to choose her words carefully. "Sugarcube..."

"Nope," I say, cutting her off before she can do the voice. That slow, gentle, ‘I’m worried about you’ voice. I hate that voice.

Fluttershy is looking at me with so much sadness that I physically recoil. "It’s okay to feel sad," she says softly, like she’s speaking to a wounded animal.

"Pass," I say immediately. "Hard pass. I prefer to keep things bottled up, where they belong, like a perfectly normal, well-adjusted pony."

Pinkie sniffles. "That’s not normal at all!"

"Debatable!" I shoot back.

Rarity frowns, her expression unusually serious. "Darling, you don’t have to—"

"Oh, look at that, we’re out of time!" I stand up abruptly, stretching my legs. "This has been lovely, truly, but I really must be going."

I bolt.

Not a polite exit, not a casual departure—I turn and run.

"Hey—!" Twilight starts, but I’m already gone, hooves pounding against the cobblestone as I book it down the street.

I don’t do feelings.

I don’t do talking about things.

I especially don’t do group interventions on my well-being.

Nope. Absolutely not.

The wind rushes past me, the cool night air biting against my still-dried-blood-covered coat. The town is mostly empty now, ponies having long since retreated indoors after my earlier performance, and thank Celestia for that—if any of them were still outside, they’d see their esteemed Archmage fleeing the Elements of Harmony like a spooked cat.

I turn a corner, my house finally coming into view, and I slam into my door, fumbling with the key before throwing it open.

The moment I’m inside, I shove it shut behind me, locking it and pressing my back against the wood. My chest rises and falls rapidly, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Silence.

I listen.

No hoofsteps. No shouting.

No Twilight bursting through the door demanding I talk about my feelings.

I let out a long, shuddering breath.

Safe.

For now.

I peel myself off the door, rubbing my face with a shaky hoof. My entire body feels wrung out, like I’ve just gone ten rounds in an arena I wasn’t prepared for.

Because, well… I wasn’t.

I groan, dragging myself to the kitchen, where my stolen desserts still sit under the glass cloche. I lift it with my magic, grab a tart, and shove it into my mouth.

Sweets solve everything.

Probably.

I don’t actually taste it. My mind is still racing, replaying everything, every single humiliating second of what just happened.

I was weak. I let myself break. I said things—horrible, personal, painfully honest things.

And Twilight…

She wouldn’t let me take it back.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the weight of her words pressing in again.

"But we want you."

I shake my head sharply. No. No, I can’t let that stick. That way leads to more feelings, more talking, more acknowledging things.

I shove another pastry in my mouth.

Everything is fine.

Everything is back to normal.

I just need to lay low, let this whole thing blow over, and—

Knock knock knock.

I freeze.

The sound echoes through the house, muffled but insistent.

My stomach drops.

I don’t need to open the door to know who it is.

I groan, slamming my head against the counter.

Of course.

Of course she followed me.