Applied Mathemagics

I wake up feeling like I barely slept at all.

For a long moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts sluggish and unfocused. The weight of last night's conversation still lingers, pressing against my chest like something heavy and unavoidable.

Twilight said she’d tell them.

That thought alone makes my stomach twist.

I groan, rolling onto my side, reluctant to start the day. I don’t want to start the day. I don’t want to deal with whatever awkward mess Twilight has undoubtedly created.

But lying here isn’t going to change anything.

With a long sigh, I force myself up. My hooves hit the cold floor, and I shiver slightly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I move through the motions, slow and mechanical, heading toward the kitchen.

Pancakes. I can at least make pancakes.

I grab the flour, the milk, the eggs. I don’t really think about what I’m doing—I just let my hooves go through the familiar steps. Batter. Hay. Stove. Sizzle. Flip.

It’s slow.

Calm.

Quiet.

By the time I finish, I stare at the plate like I’m not really sure how it got there.

My house is too quiet.

I glance at the windows. They glow, as always—bright, soft white, the illusion of daylight stretching across them. I never really thought about it much before, but today it feels… fake.

Just like everything else.

I take my time eating, chewing slowly, staring at nothing.

Nobody knocks on my door.

Nobody calls my name.

For a moment, I wonder if Twilight actually didn’t tell them. If she changed her mind. If she decided I wasn’t worth the effort after all.

I don’t know if that thought makes me relieved or disappointed.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Eventually, I get up. Rinse the plate. Dry it.

Then, because I have to do something, I leave.

I step outside into the crisp morning air, blinking against the light. Ponyville is waking up around me—ponies chatting, stands setting up, life moving forward as if nothing had ever happened.

I exhale slowly, my breath curling in the cool air.

Alright.

Let's get this over with.

I make my way to Town Hall, hooves dragging slightly, not because I’m tired, but because I already know what’s waiting for me.

Paperwork.

Lots of it.

I haven’t checked in for over a week, and bureaucracy is like a fungus—it thrives in neglect.

When I push open the door to my office, I’m not disappointed. Stacks of parchment are piled high on my desk, an unholy monument to unfinished responsibilities.

I let out a low whistle. "Wow. That is... impressively bad."

With a tired sigh, I step inside, only to pause as my eyes land on the far wall.

The brickwork there is just slightly off, forming an unmistakable imprint of a pony-shaped hole.

I chuckle to myself.

Right. That.

A bit over a week ago, I had the brilliant idea to phase through the wall instead of using the perfectly functional door. I ended up destabilizing the intergranular bonds in the brick, walking through like it was sand, and then hastily re-solidifying it behind me. The result? A perfect outline of my body mid-step, immortalized in stone.

I still haven’t fixed it.

Chuckling under my breath, I shake my head and turn to the real problem.

I approach the desk, scanning the piles of parchment, looking for something simple. My job as Town Mage is about as loosely defined as it gets. Some days, I’m handling magical pest infestations. Occasionally, I’m asked to fix things—things being a broad category that ranges from structural integrity issues to local superstitions.

Let’s see…

I start flipping through the papers.

REQUEST: BARN TEMPERATURE CONTROL ISSUE
From: Sweet Apple Acres
Issue: The Apple family’s storage barn’s been coolin’ down all wonky overnight, makin’ us mighty worried ‘bout our stored produce.
Proposed Solution: Reckon we oughta check fer any magical funny business messin’ with the temperature.

I hum, considering. That one’s an easy fix. Probably just poor insulation combined with radiative cooling. But with how Aplejack is probably going to act, I'll save that for last.

REQUEST: WELL WATER TASTES ‘HAUNTED’
From: Lucky Star
Issue: The old well's water haunted and is filled with the curses of the past.
Proposed Solution: Town Mage to investigate supernatural activity.

I rub my temple. Tastes haunted? What does that even mean? It’s probably just mineral content affecting the taste. Maybe iron, maybe sulfur.

REQUEST: SUSPICIOUS ROCK FORMATION
From: Mayor Mare
Issue: A group of ponies believes a cluster of rocks outside town is a dormant golem.
Proposed Solution: Town Mage to assess and dispel if necessary.

I sigh, setting the rest of the papers down. Alright, let’s start with the well. Simple problem, simple solution.

Strapping on my saddlebags, I make my way out of the office and toward the old well near the southern edge of Ponyville. It’s a decently old structure—stone-built, a little weathered, with a wooden frame holding up the bucket pulley system. A small crowd of ponies lingers nearby, eyeing the well with suspicion.

One of them, an older mare, spots me approaching and gasps. “Oh, thank the stars! Archmage Flux, you’ve come!”

I fight the urge to sigh. “Yep. That’s me. Your esteemed Town Mage.” I glance at the well. “So. Haunted water, huh?”

The gathered ponies nod fervently. Another stallion pipes up, “It tastes wrong. Like something’s in it.” His ears flick back. “I felt strange after drinking it the other day. Like something watched me.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Right. Obviously the well is haunted.” I step closer, inspecting the stonework. "But, you see, a standard dispelling won't work if the spirits have latched onto the source of the water."

They all nod, eating up my nonsense.

Stepping to the well, I glance inside. The water at the bottom is murky. Not horrible, but not clear either. I lean forward, inhaling slightly.

Sulfur.

Figures.

I pull the bucket up and examine the water inside. A faint, off smell. Not too strong, but definitely noticeable. Could be mineral contamination—iron, sulfur, even bacteria. I need a way to filter this.

Alright. What can I actually use?

I run through what’s available in Ponyville. Limestone, charcoal, and sand. Perfect. That’s all I need for a simple filtration system.

I turn to the gathered ponies, putting on my best serious mage expression. “This well is tainted,” I declare, voice grave.

Gasps. Murmurs. I swear I hear somepony whisper I knew it under their breath.

“Dark energies have seeped into the water,” I continue, waving a hoof in an arcane-looking gesture. “These spirits—restless, ancient—must be purified before they do further harm.”

The murmurs turn to frightened nods. “What do we do?” the older mare asks.

I make a show of considering. “I will craft an arcane purifying medium to cleanse the spirits and restore harmony to this water.”

In reality, I’m about to MacGyver a medieval filtration system.

I head to the apothecary and purchase limestone, charcoal, and sand. The limestone will help neutralize acidity, the charcoal will absorb impurities, and the sand will act as a mechanical filter.

Returning to the well, I have some of the ponies gather some wooden barrels and a few clean cloths.

I layer the barrels as follows:

1. Top layer: Cloth, to catch large debris.
2. Second layer: Crushed charcoal, to absorb organic impurities and remove foul odors.
3. Third layer: Sand, to filter out smaller particles.
4. Bottom layer: Crushed limestone, to balance pH levels and remove some heavy metals.

This isn’t perfect, but for medieval Equestria, it’s a solid short-term solution.

I wave my hooves over the well, muttering complete gibberish under my breath. “Ostias vehmra, solvit impuritatis!”

I sprinkle some powdered limestone into the well—"a sacred reagent to drive out malevolent forces."

More nods. Some ponies actually bow.

Finally, I set up the filtration barrels and instruct them to pour the well water through them before use. “The spirits will be purified as the water passes through the blessed layers.”

They completely buy it.

I explain to them that this solution will help, but it’s not perfect or permanent. They need to first Pour water back and forth between buckets or through a cascading wooden trough to allow the spirits to pass between worlds. Alternatively, they can dig a secondary settling pond near the well, allowing water to stand before filtering. Over time, the well could accumulate more contaminants, and without proper maintenance, the filter layers will clog or become less effective. Ideally, they’d need to replace the charcoal and clean out sediment buildup every few weeks. I could also introduce boiling as a "further purification ritual," but one step at a time.

For now, though, the town believes I’ve banished the haunted taste.

One of the stallions dips a cup into the filtered water, sipping cautiously. His eyes widen. “It tastes… normal!”

The ponies cheer.

I force a smile, adjusting my saddlebags. “All in a day’s work.”

As they praise my incredible magic, and hoof over 50 bits. I step back, sighing inwardly. One problem down. Now, let’s go deal with that supposed golem.

I make my way to the so-called suspicious rock formation, still mentally rolling my eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of the request.

Honestly. Ponies and their superstitions.

The path winds just outside Ponyville, leading to an old clearing near the Whitetail Woods. It’s quiet—too quiet, even for the middle of the day. No ponies waiting for me, no concerned citizens pointing at the dormant golem in question.

Just me. And some rocks.

Big, jagged slabs of stone are stacked in a haphazard pile, some of them partially buried, others sticking out at odd angles. I circle the formation, unimpressed.

"Yep. Rocks," I mutter to myself. "Truly, the work of dark forces. Clearly, this is an ancient evil—the Forbidden Pebbles of Eternal Doom—and I, Kinetic Flux, Archmage Extraordinaire, am the only one who can stop them." I wave a hoof dramatically. "Begone, foul masonry!"

Nothing happens.

Because, obviously, it’s a pile of rocks.

I sigh, shaking my head. "Ponies, man. A few weirdly shaped boulders, and suddenly it’s a national emergency. What’s next? A haunted fence post? An ominous tree stump?" I scoff, tapping one of the stones with my hoof. "They probably saw some weird shadows and—"

A deep, guttural rumble rolls through the air.

I freeze.

The ground shifts beneath me, a faint vibration crawling up my legs.

Another rumble—louder this time. The sound of stone grinding against stone.

Slowly, the pile of rocks begins to move.

I take a step back, heart hammering, as massive slabs shift and slide into place, dust and dirt spilling from their surfaces.

A shape emerges—taller, broader, heavier. Limbs of ancient stone unfold from the earth, jagged and uneven, shifting with the deep groan of ages.

Two immense, hollow sockets—empty, yet somehow aware—lock onto me.

It stands.

Towering.

Colossal.

A golem.

I stare.

It stares back.

The wind howls between us.

“…Oh.”

I blink up at the towering mass of living stone, its hollow sockets locked onto me with an intensity that does not feel friendly.

"Okay," I say, clearing my throat. "I’ll admit when I’m wrong."

The golem responds by swinging a boulder-sized fist directly at my face.

"Okay, okay, that’s fair!" I shout, leaping back as the ground shatters where I was standing a second ago. Dust and debris explode outward, the sheer force of the impact sending a tremor through my legs.

Welp. Talking is out.

Time for tactics.

I channel my telekinesis into the earth beneath me, cutting four circular disks from the ground—one for each hoof. They break free with a snap, and before the golem can take another swing, I lift off, balancing on the makeshift platforms with practiced ease.

The ground shrinks beneath me as I hover upward, narrowly dodging another wild strike. The wind rushes past my ears as I weave through the air, adjusting the disks beneath my hooves with pinpoint precision.

Now for the real test.

I shift my focus, honing in on one of the larger boulders making up the golem’s upper body. It’s big, probably load-bearing. If I can weaken the right spots, I might be able to destabilize it.

Reaching out with my magic, I probe the stone’s structure, feeling for the tiny weaknesses between the grains—the intergranular bonds holding it together.

Then, with a calculated push, I begin tearing them apart.

A deep crack splits through the air as the massive rock fractures cleanly in half.

But it doesn’t fall.

Both halves remain suspended, still locked into place as part of the golem’s form, still floating as if nothing had happened.

I stare.

It stares back.

"Alright," I mutter under my breath. "That’s… mildly concerning."

I hover just above the golem’s range, scanning its shifting mass of stone, looking for something—anything—that might give me an edge.

Below me, the construct shifts, tracking my movements with eerie precision. Then, without hesitation, it hurls a massive chunk of itself straight at me.

I barely have time to swerve.

"Fuck!"

The boulder whistles past my head, close enough that I feel the displaced air drag at my mane before it smashes into the hillside behind me, exploding into shards.

Before I can even process that, the golem’s remaining arm plunges into the dirt. The ground rumbles. I watch as it pulls itself back upright, its missing limb regenerating from the earth itself, reshaping into a fresh stone fist.

I let out a slow breath. "Yeah. Okay. That’s a problem."

It’s fast, too fast for something so big. Every time it loses a piece, it just rebuilds itself with whatever material is nearby. And worse, it’s learning—adjusting its tactics every time I move.

But something's off.

It never turns its left leg away from me. Not once.

I narrow my eyes, circling wide, testing my theory. No matter how I move, it keeps that leg facing me. Almost like it’s shielding something.

I shift, angling myself to get a better look at its back.

And then I see them.

Runes.

Deeply carved. Complex. Intricate.

I don’t know what they say, but I don’t have to. I already know what I’m looking at.

A control array.

I grin.

"Found you."

With a burst of telekinesis, I force the intergranular bonds apart, carving a perfect hole into the marked section of the golem’s leg.

The effect is instant.

The glow in its hollow sockets flickers. The runes, still glowing faintly, suddenly dim. And then, like a puppet with cut strings—

It collapses.

The massive form breaks apart, not violently, not dramatically—just… falls. Like an old stone wall crumbling under its own weight.

One moment, it was a towering monster.

The next, it’s just a pile of rocks.

I float down cautiously, landing lightly on one of my hovering disks before stepping off onto solid ground. The air is still—not the oppressive silence of an active threat, but the peaceful quiet of a problem solved.

I approach the pile, shifting through the debris until I find what I’m looking for.

The rune-marked stone. The core of the control system.

I lift it with my telekinesis, turning it over, studying the carvings.

Even without knowing the exact spellwork, I can tell this was deliberate—somepony put real effort into this. It wasn’t just a collection of floating rocks that happened to animate. This was designed.

Which means it can be recreated.

I roll the stone over in my magic, running a hoof over the worn carvings. There’s an undeniable itch at the back of my mind, an idea forming even as I slide the rune-marked stone into my saddlebags.

I should make my own.

The thought isn’t even serious at first. Just an idle musing, something cool to try. But the longer I let it sit, the more it takes root. I don’t know how long this thing was out here, or who made it, but the concept works. That’s the part that matters.

A construct that can repair itself? One that adapts?

That’s useful.

My hooves crunch over shattered bits of rock as I leave the wreckage behind, my mind already running through potential applications. It doesn’t have to be a huge, lumbering beast. I could build something smaller, more focused. Something that moves fluidly, that works with a purpose instead of mindless aggression.

Yeah. That could be useful.

By the time I reach the H.A.R.D.I.S, I’m still half-distracted by the idea. The moment I step inside, I place the rune stone on my workbench and stare at it, running through everything I know about magical automation.

Which, admittedly, isn’t much.

Most magic in Equestria requires a constant input. Even enchanted objects—while semi-autonomous—work off pre-set instructions. Something built like this? Something that thinks? That responds dynamically?

That’s something else entirely.

I shake my head. Later.

I have other problems to deal with.

My gaze drifts to the job requests I’d taken earlier, and my stomach sinks slightly when I see Applejack’s barn repair request staring right back at me.

Right.

Twilight definitely told her.

Which means I’m going to have to deal with her.

I groan, rubbing a hoof down my face. It’s not like I can just ignore it—I’ve been slacking on my town duties enough already. And knowing Applejack, she’s not the type to dance around issues.

If I show up at Sweet Apple Acres, I’m getting cornered.

I sigh heavily, shifting my saddlebags over my back. "Might as well get it over with."

I step outside, bracing myself.

Sweet Apple Acres comes into view, the rolling orchards stretching out under the afternoon sun, and I already regret coming here.

The moment I step onto the farm, I see Applejack near the barn, hauling a few barrels of apples onto a cart. She hasn’t noticed me yet, which gives me exactly three seconds of peace before she does.

And when she does, she perks up immediately.

"Well, howdy there, friend!" Applejack calls out, waving way too enthusiastically as she trots over. "Didn’t expect ya so soon, but it sure is good to see ya, friend!"

I stop dead in my tracks.

Oh. Oh, no.

I knew she was gonna say something about what Twilight told her, but this? This over-the-top, aggressively friendly, almost saccharine behavior?

This is worse.

So much worse.

I stare at her. She keeps grinning.

"Uh-huh," I say slowly. "Right. The barn?"

Applejack beams. "O’ course, friend! Why don’t I just walk ya right over there, nice and friendly-like?"

I blink at her. "You’re doing a thing."

Her smile doesn’t budge. "What thing, friend?"

I squint. "The excessive ‘friend’-ing."

She waves a hoof dismissively. "Pfft, what? I ain’t doin’ nothin’ special, friend. Just happy to see ya! Mighty nice havin’ you here, doin’ your town mage friend duties, helpin’ out your good, close friends!"

I hate this.

She’s overcompensating. Hard. I don’t even need to guess why. She feels guilty. Because she and the others left me behind in the Everfree, and now that she knows that, she’s trying to fix it.

With friendship.

I feel my eye twitch.

"Applejack," I say, deadpan. "Just show me the barn."

She hesitates for half a second before chuckling, rubbing the back of her neck. "Heh, yeah, alright. This way, fri—uh… Kinetic."

Finally.

I follow her toward the barn, pretending I don’t hear her muttering to herself about "bein’ too obvious."

I step into the barn, the scent of apples and fresh hay filling the air. It’s dim inside, the late afternoon light filtering through the wooden slats, casting long shadows across the ground. Applejack stands beside me, still grinning like she’s trying to win an award for most aggressively friendly pony of the year.

I do my best to ignore it.

Instead, I focus on the problem.

I take a slow look around, scanning the wooden structure, the beams, the loft above. The temperature problem could be a few things—bad insulation, improper ventilation, maybe even moisture buildup affecting the airflow.

I walk over to the vents near the roof, narrowing my eyes.

That’s when I notice it.

Hay. Stuffed directly into the vents.

I stare at it.

I look down at the floor. More hay, bunched up near the walls, packed into crevices where air should be circulating.

I exhale sharply through my nose.

"Applejack."

She straightens up immediately. "Y-yeah, friend?"

I don’t turn around. "You stuffed the vents with hay."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Well, now, I wouldn’t say I stuffed ‘em, per se," she says, voice suddenly way too casual. "Maybe just… temporarily adjusted the ventilation."

I turn my head just enough to look at her. She is not making eye contact.

I squint. "Why."

She kicks at the floorboards. "Uh."

I raise a brow. "Applejack."

She sighs loudly, removing her hat and holding it against her chest. "Alright, fine," she mutters. "I might have… encouraged the barn to get too warm so ya’d come on out here."

I blink. "You sabotaged your own barn to get me to show up?"

She clears her throat, shifting under my stare. "Ah wouldn’t say sabotage—"

"You tampered with the ventilation," I deadpan. "On purpose."

She rubs the back of her neck, chuckling awkwardly. "Well, ya weren’t exactly comin’ round on your own, now were ya?"

I groan, dragging a hoof down my face. "Applejack."

"Now, hold on, it ain’t like Ah broke the whole dang thing!" she protests. "Ah just… helped it along a little."

I turn fully to face her, exasperation clear on my face. "And you thought that was the best way to get me to talk?"

She shrugs, grinning sheepishly. "Well… ya are here, ain’t ya?"

I stare at her.

She stares back.

She is completely unrepentant.

I groan again, louder this time. "I'm charging you for this."

She laughs. "C’mon now, friend, no need to get all fussy."

I pull another wad of hay out of the vent and toss it onto the pile behind me, resisting the urge to chuck it at Applejack’s smug face.

"Sabotaging your own farm just to get me here," I mutter. "Y’know, normal ponies just send a letter."

She snickers. "Ain’t never claimed to be normal."

I huff. "Clearly."

For a moment, there’s only the sound of shifting hay as I continue pulling the mess apart. I’m already thinking about how to fix the airflow properly—maybe some insulation along the outer walls, something to keep the temperature steady overnight.

Then Applejack clears her throat.

"So," she says, a little too casual. "What’d ya tell Twilight?"

I freeze.

My hooves pause mid-motion, gripping a bundle of hay just a little too tight.

I inhale slowly. Exhale.

Then, carefully, I resume working. "Nothing important."

Applejack isn’t buying it. "Twilight don’t exactly make a fuss over ‘nothin’ important.’"

I grit my teeth. "That's not true and you know it."

She doesn’t respond right away, but I can feel her eyes on me, watching. Thinking.

Then, softly, "Y’know we just wanna help, right?"

I snort. "Yeah, sure. Real helpful. Like the whole pretending I didn’t exist thing. That was a fantastic move."

She flinches. I hear it, even if I don’t see it.

"...That weren’t fair," she mutters.

I turn to her, expression flat. "Wasn’t it?"

Her ears flick back. "We didn’t do it t’ hurt ya."

"Yeah?" I let out a bitter chuckle, stepping down from a ladder. "Then what was it supposed to do, exactly? Because it sure felt like you were proving Discord right."

Applejack’s jaw tightens. "That ain't what we were doin’. We—" She hesitates. "We were tryin’ t’ get you t’ see how much it hurt, pushin’ us away like that."

I blink. Stare at her. Then I laugh. Hard.

Applejack frowns. "What’s so funny?"

I wipe at my eye, still grinning, but there’s nothing warm about it. "So your plan to show me that I wasn’t alone was to... leave me alone? Genius."

She shifts her weight, uncomfortable. "When ya say it like that—"

I scoff, stepping past her. "No, seriously. That’s brilliant. Grade-A logic. Maybe next time somepony’s drowning, you can throw ‘em an anchor."

Applejack exhales sharply, closing her eyes for a second like she’s trying to keep her cool. "We messed up, alright?"

I don’t answer.

Because of course they messed up. And I know, I know they didn’t mean it that way, that they weren’t trying to prove Discord right.

But for a day, they did.

For a day, I didn’t exist.

And no matter how much I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that they were just trying to make a point—

It does.

Applejack sighs. "...Look. Ah know we went about it wrong. But Ah meant what Ah said. We wanna make it right."

I don’t respond right away. Just breathe.

Finally, I shake my head. "Just show me the rest of the barn, AJ."

She watches me for a second longer. Then, slowly, she nods.

"...Alright, sugarcube."

And for now, we move on.

Fixing the ventilation doesn't take long once I actually focus. I clear out the vents, adjust the airflow, and make a few minor tweaks to help regulate the temperature better. Simple. Practical. Something I can actually fix.

Unlike… everything else.

Applejack stays nearby the whole time, quieter than usual. She doesn't try to push me anymore—not directly—but I can feel it in the way she lingers, in the way she glances at me like she wants to say something but keeps deciding against it.

She feels bad. I know that.

And maybe she should.

But I don’t hold it against her. Not really.

I get it.

They didn’t mean to leave me behind. It wasn’t some malicious choice. It wasn’t even a choice at all—it was instinct. And that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s their nature. They’re heroes. Main characters. They move together, pull each other up, and when push comes to shove, they save each other.

And I?

I just exist around them.

A reoccurring guest star in their grand adventure.

I don’t say that to Applejack, though. Because saying it wouldn’t change anything. It would just make her feel worse, and I don’t have the energy to deal with that.

Instead, when the job is done and the barn’s temperature is stable, I pack up my saddlebags, adjust the strap, and step outside.

Applejack follows. "Kinetic—"

I hold up a hoof. "Don’t."

She closes her mouth, frowning.

I sigh, rolling my shoulders. "Barn’s fixed. Shouldn’t give you trouble anymore."

She hesitates, like she wants to argue, like she wants to say something real, but instead, she just nods. "Alright. Thanks."

I nod back, turn, and start walking.

The late afternoon sun hangs low, painting the fields in shades of gold and amber. The smell of apples drifts through the air, crisp and sweet. It’s peaceful. A good place.

Just not my place.

When I step through the door of my home the familiar weight of the place settles around me. The cool, white glow from the false windows, the smooth stone floor beneath my hooves, the impossibly vast space stretching beyond what the exterior should allow.

It’s comfortable. It’s mine.

And yet, as I set my saddlebags down and let out a slow breath, a thought I’ve been pushing down for days forces its way back up.

I could move.

It wouldn’t be hard. I have bits saved up. My job isn’t exactly specialized—any town in Equestria would benefit from an Archmage, even a fake one. And let’s be honest, it’s not like I’d struggle to impress a new mayor with a bit of carefully applied “magic.”

The thought twists in my gut.

I don’t hate Ponyville. I don’t hate my job. If anything, it’s easy—simple problems, simple solutions, so long as I frame them the right way. Superstitious medieval ponies are nothing if not eager to accept a magic explanation over anything grounded in real-world science.

And it’s not like I dislike the girls.

They’re good ponies.

They mean well.

I just wish they’d treat me like they did before I spilled my guts.

Before Twilight made me say all of that.

Before Applejack looked at me like she owed me something.

Before Pinkie nearly vibrated out of her own skin trying to pretend I wasn’t there.

Before Sweetie Belle—Sweetie Belle—had to be told not to talk to me.

They used to treat me like me. Like Kinetic Flux, the smug, ridiculous town mage who definitely knew what he was doing, thank you very much.

Now?

Now I feel like I’m walking around in a different skin.

A different role.

Like I’ve become a problem to solve.

I hate that.

I don’t need to be fixed. I just want things to go back to how they were.

But I know they won’t.

Not completely.

Not ever.

I rub my face, groaning. “Ugh. Stupid. This is stupid.”

Moving isn’t the answer. I like my home. I like my job. Leaving won’t fix this—it’ll just start it all over somewhere else.

I sigh and flop down onto the couch, staring up at the blank ceiling.

I’ll figure this out. I have to.

Maybe I just need time.

Maybe they do.

I close my eyes.

Either way…

I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight.

I wake up to the sound of distant chatter and movement outside. Ponyville's already waking up, ponies out and about, setting up decorations and stalls. I drag myself out of bed, stretching with a tired groan. As I rub the sleep from my eyes, I glance toward my window.

It’s glowing white, like it always does. My H.A.R.D.I.S. may be a house, but its windows don’t actually lead outside. Just a quirk of its magic. I have to step out the front door to see what’s going on.

And when I do…

Ponies. Everywhere.

I blink blearily at the scene before me. Banners, tables, food stands, games—costumed ponies darting between them, setting up for something.

I rub my chin. "What the…?"

I see foals running past, wearing fake bat wings and fangs, some dressed as ghosts or skeletons. Ponies are hanging up fake spider webs and placing enchanted candles in carved pumpkins.

I squint.

Right. Nightmare Night.

And, once again, I’m the last one to know about it.

I sigh, rubbing my face. I should’ve expected this. I really should’ve. I swear, this town just assumes I’ll figure things out eventually, like I’ve absorbed Ponyville’s entire event calendar by sheer osmosis.

But fine. Whatever. It’s a holiday. I can roll with that.

First things first—I need a costume.

Something simple. Something cheap. Something easy.

I glance toward the Everfree Forest, my mind already working.

A short walk later, I find myself near the tree line, scanning the ground for decent-sized stones. I lift a few with my magic, testing their weight, before settling on some that aren’t too heavy.

I start arranging them around myself with careful levitation. Nothing fancy—just layering the stones in a way that gives me a roughly golem-like silhouette. I place a few over my back, letting them rest gently against my shoulders with precise telekinesis. A few more form rough “gauntlets” over my hooves, making them look heavier than they actually are.

To anypony else, it’ll just seem like I'm just stones moving by magic. Which, technically, they are.

I glance at my reflection in a nearby puddle.

A lumpy, jagged rock pony stares back.

Perfect.

It’s not elegant, but it gets the job done. It’s cheap, easy, and best of all—nopony will recognize me in this.

With a satisfied nod, I turn and start heading toward town, already looking forward to blending into the crowd for once.

I wander through the town square, blending into the crowd in a way I haven’t been able to for a while.

And it’s glorious.

No pitying glances. No forced smiles. No awkward ‘we’re trying to make it up to you’ nonsense. Just ponies enjoying the festival, laughing, chatting, buying and selling.

And me?

Just another face in the crowd.

Okay, technically, I’m more of an animated pile of rocks in the crowd, but still.

I get to exist without ponies treating me a certain way. Without Twilight’s careful watching, without Applejack’s forced friendliness.

I can breathe.

I stop at a food stall, trading a few bits for a caramel apple, my voice deliberately rough and gruff to sell the disguise. The vendor doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t do a double-take—just nods, takes my bits, and moves on to the next customer.

No weird looks.

No pity.

Just… normal interaction.

It’s so much better than earlier.

I meander through the square, stopping at different stalls, bartering for trinkets, sampling festival treats. It’s nice. A little lonely, sure, but I’ll take lonely over being some sort of social project any day.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel comfortable.

Then, I hear an excited voice

chirping behind me. "Whoa! Look at that golem costume!"

I turn slightly, seeing a small unicorn colt dressed as a pirate, complete with an bandana hat and an eye patch that keeps slipping down his face. He’s surrounded by two other foals—one in a werewolf outfit, the other as a very ambitious-looking dragon with tiny cardboard wings.

The pirate colt beams up at me. “That’s so cool! How’d you do it? Are the rocks real?”

I let out a low, gravelly chuckle, making sure to keep my tone gruff and grinding. “Oh, these aren’t just a costume, little guy,” I say, shifting the stones slightly for dramatic effect. “This is a curse.”

The foals’ eyes widen, but then the dragon one narrows. The foals’ eyes widen, but then the dragon one narrows his. "Nuh-uh. You’re just using magic.”

I tilt my head, letting the stones grind together with a deep rumbling sound. “That’s what I said to the last pony who was cursed.”

The pirate colt gasps, immediately stepping back. “W-what do you mean?”

I lean down, lowering my voice. “Long ago, I made a deal—one I didn’t fully understand. I thought I was getting immortal life… but then, when I woke up, I was this.” I let the stones shift again, hollowing out my eye sockets for added effect. “I tried to remove the rocks, but they wouldn’t budge. They’ve become me.”

The werewolf filly frowns. “That doesn’t make sense.”

I let out a long, slow sigh. “That’s what I thought too. I struggled and spit and cursed, but nothing worked, nothing could free me. Until I realized the only way to be free…” I pause, drawing it out, letting them lean in.

“…is to pass it on.”

Dead silence.

Then, all at once, the foals let out a chorus of terrified shrieks and bolt, scampering off into the crowd. The pirate colt loses his hat in his panic, but doesn’t even slow down to retrieve it.

I chuckle, levitating the hat up and setting it on a nearby barrel. “Happy Nightmare Night,” I say to no one in particular, popping the last of my caramel apple into my mouth.

As I turn to wander further into the festivities, something feels… off.

The atmosphere has changed.

Ponies are no longer chatting, laughing, or darting between stalls. Instead, they’re huddled together, frozen in place, their gazes locked on something in the town square.

A deep, booming voice shakes the air.

“WE DEMAND ANSWERS, TWILIGHT SPARKLE! WHY DOST THOU CONTINUE TO EVADE THE QUESTION?”

I wince. Oh. That’s why.

The Royal Canterlot Voice is rattling windows, sending decorations tumbling, and reducing at least two carnival game stands to splinters. And standing right at the center of it all, wings flared, towering over the terrified crowd, is none other than Princess Luna herself.

Twilight Sparkle stands next to her, ears flat against her skull, her tail twitching with barely-contained stress. Even from here, I can see the way her eye twitches—like she’s just barely holding back a very public meltdown.

I really should just turn around and walk the other way.

But, of course, Luna’s eyes sweep the crowd, and the moment she spots me, they narrow.

“AH! THERE THOU ART, ARCHMAGE KINETIC FLUX!” she bellows, making sure everypony hears it.

I sigh, rubbing a hoof—I mean, a rock—against my face. Well. So much for a quiet night.

Ponies glance at me in confusion, murmuring amongst themselves. I can already hear the questions forming.

Who? Kinetic Flux? Where?

I cough and step forward, trying to move as naturally as possible in my floating rock disguise. “Oh hey, Luna,” I say casually, rolling my shoulders. “Didn’t see you there. You know, over all the shouting.”

She stomps a hoof, rattling the ground. “IT IS NIGHTMARE NIGHT! WE MUST HONOR TRADITION BY SPEAKING AS THE ROYALS OF OLD!”

I squint up at her. “Luna. You live in a castle with Celestia. Do you talk to her like this?”

She blinks. “OF COURSE NOT.”

“Do you talk to your guards like this?”

“NAY.”

“What about your assistants?”

She snorts. “OBVIOUSLY NOT.”

“So you choose to scream at just me and Twilight?” I ask, arching a brow—or at least shifting a rock where my brow would be.

Luna opens her mouth—then pauses.

She shifts on her hooves. “IT IS DIFFERENT.”

“Uh-huh.” I smirk. “Right. Totally different.”

Luna’s wings twitch. “WE SIMPLY WISHED TO—” she catches herself, clears her throat, and—shockingly—drops her voice to normal volume. “We simply wished to make our presence known. Properly.”

Twilight lets out a strangled noise. “You knocked over an entire candy stand.”

“Twas poorly built,” Luna sniffs.

“You collapsed half of the festival tents.”

“The stakes were weak.”

“You scared away half the foals!” Twilight’s eye twitches again.

Luna waves a hoof. “They shall recover.”

Twilight groans, rubbing her temples. “Why am I even arguing—You know what? Fine. I give up. Kinetic, please talk some sense into her.”

I blink, taking a step back. “Oh no. Absolutely not. I’m just here for the candy and the trauma-inducing pranks. This is your friendship lesson, Sparkle.”

Twilight groans again, muttering something exceptionally rude under her breath.

Luna smirks. “Twilight Sparkle doth not appreciate our festive spirit.”

I snort. “Yeah, she’s always been a little boring when it comes to—”

Twilight’s head snaps toward me so fast I swear I hear a crack.

I raise my hooves—er, floating rocks. “Okay, okay! I take it back. I take it back.”

Twilight glares for a moment longer before exhaling sharply. “I swear you and Luna share the same brand of maddening.” She glances between us, eyes narrowing.

Luna and I exchange a look.

Then simultaneously smile.

“Nonsense,” I say.

“Preposterous,” Luna agrees.

Twilight looks about two seconds away from setting something on fire.

I grin. Maybe tonight won’t be so bad.

Luna’s smirk fades slightly as she glances around at the scattering foals, some still peeking nervously from behind stalls and lampposts. Her ears dip, her posture shifting ever so slightly. “We… may have overdone it,” she admits, voice much softer now. “T’would seem the little ones truly fear us.”

I blink. Huh. Didn’t expect her to actually say it.

I let out a small sigh and shrug. “Yeah, they probably do. But, y’know, it’s kind of a game, Luna. The whole Nightmare Night thing? The kids want to be scared. Just not… y’know, actually terrified.” I gesture to the pirate colt from earlier, who’s still warily peeking from behind a food stand. “They run, they scream, but five minutes later they’re right back to stuffing their faces with candy and playing carnival games.”

Luna frowns, following my gaze. “We know this holiday is meant for jests and merriment, yet…” She exhales, wings shifting as she gazes out at the festival. “It doth sting more than we expected.”

I fold my forelegs—er, rocks. “Yeah, well. You did kinda try to take over the world two weeks ago. Not exactly ancient history.”

She glares at me.

I smirk. “I mean, hey, I’m just saying, you might wanna give it more than a fortnight before expecting ponies to start throwing you parties.”

She scoffs. “We do not expect such things! We merely…” She trails off, hesitating.

I tilt my head. “What?”

Luna looks away for a moment, then, voice barely above a whisper, mutters, “We wish to take this night back.”

I blink.

“…Huh.”

She looks at me again, eyes filled with something I can’t quite place. “Nightmare Night—‘tis built upon the legend of us. The boogeymare in the shadows. The great, dark villain to be feared.” Her expression darkens. “We… we are not her anymore. And we do not wish to be remembered only as a monster.”

I stare at her for a moment.

Then, sighing, I rub the back of my head. “Alright, look.” I gesture around us. “Ponies love their traditions. You can’t just show up after a thousand years and expect them to change overnight.”

Luna huffs. “We are aware.”

“But,” I continue, “that doesn’t mean you can’t change things. It just means you have to work for it.” I gesture to Twilight, who’s been silent, watching the exchange with a wary sort of curiosity. “Case in point: Sparky over there. She’s good at making ponies listen.”

Twilight blinks. “Uh, excuse me?”

I wave her off. “Point is, if you wanna convince everypony you’re more than just some scary story, you’re gonna have to show them. She can help. You can’t just make a big royal entrance and expect them to suddenly throw roses at your hooves.”

Luna gives me a flat look. “That was not our expectation.”

I raise a brow.

She exhales sharply. “Fine. Mayhaps it was a little our expectation.”

I smirk. “Admitting you have a problem is the first step in recovery.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “And dost thou believe this… attempt of ours shall fail?”

“Oh, absolutely.” I grin. “But I still wanna see you try.”

Her glare is fiery.

Twilight groans. “This is the worst team-up in history.”

“Yeah, probably,” I admit, cracking my floating rock neck. “But hey. It’s Nightmare Night. Let’s make it interesting.”

Luna’s attempt to reclaim her night is, to put it bluntly, an absolute disaster.

Every time she takes a step toward a group of foals, they scream and scatter like frightened birds. Every time she tries to greet a pony, they shriek and bolt for cover. Even Pinkie Pie, of all ponies, lets out an exaggerated gasp, flails her hooves, and vanishes in a blur of cotton candy-colored terror the moment Luna so much as glances in her direction.

Luna watches all of this unfold with increasing frustration.

I, meanwhile, am doing everything in my power not to laugh myself into a coma.

I mean, come on. She’s got the most aggressively disappointed look I’ve ever seen. Like she’s a parent watching their kid run face-first into the same door for the fifth time in a row.

Luna huffs, her wings flaring as she rounds on me. “THOU FINDETH THIS AMUSING, DO YE?”

I hold up a floating stone hoof, wheezing. “Luna, I am begging you. Please, please don’t stop. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in months.”

She glares. “WE ARE SUFFERING, KINETIC.”

“I know!” I wipe at an imaginary tear. “It’s great!”

Twilight groans next to me. “You could be a little more supportive, you know.”

I glance at her. “Hey, I’m very supportive.”

Twilight raises a brow.

“I’m supporting her attempts,” I clarify, grinning. “I’m just also supporting my right to find this absolutely hysterical.”

Luna mutters something that sounds suspiciously like an ancient curse under her breath.

Twilight sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. I notice, once again, the way she keeps sneaking quick glances at me—like she’s checking to make sure I’m still in one piece.

Still treating me like I might shatter at any second.

I exhale, tilting my head toward her. “You do know you don’t have to handle me like I’m some fragile artifact, right?”

Twilight stiffens. “I—That’s not—” She stops, face twitching through at least three emotions before settling on a very uncomfortable frown. “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I give her the flattest look imaginable. “Uh-huh. Right. Totally.”

She shifts, avoiding my eyes. “I just—we just—” She hesitates, then finally says, “You did kind of have a breakdown, Kinetic.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Twilight frowns deeper. “It was bad.”

I shrug. “And?”

“And we—I—” She exhales sharply. “I don’t know how to treat you anymore.”

That actually catches me off guard.

I blink, the humor draining from my face just a little. “Twilight—”

“EVERYCREATURE CEASE THY WHISPERING!”

Luna’s sudden bellow nearly makes me jump out of my disguise.

We both turn to see her looming over Pinkie, who has backed herself against a wall, eyes wide and jittery.

Luna leans down, smiling in what I assume is meant to be a friendly manner but mostly just looks like a cryptid discovering the concept of joy for the first time. “GREETINGS, PINKAMENA DIANE PIE! WE WISH TO PARTAKE IN THY FESTIVE MERRIMENT!”

Pinkie’s pupils shrink to pinpricks. Then she lets out a high-pitched EEEEEEEEE— and rockets off into the night, trailing a dust cloud behind her.

Luna’s eye twitches.

I cough into my hoof. “You may need a different approach.”

She whips around to me. “WE SHALL ACCEPT NO DEFEAT!”

Luna squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and approaches the next group of foals with gritted enthusiasm.

“GREETINGS, SMALL ONES! WE WISH TO ENJOY THIS NIGHT OF FRIGHTS ALONGSIDE THEE!”

Before she can gauge their reaction, a shriek pierces the air. A tiny colt in a pirate outfit—complete with a bandana—topples headfirst into the bobbing-for-apples bucket, his little legs flailing helplessly above the water. Without thinking, Luna lunges forward and snatches him up by the scruff of his neck, hoisting him safely onto the ground.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

Then Pinkie Pie gasps dramatically. “She was gonna gobble him up!”

Luna’s wings flare in alarm. “TIS A LIE! THY BACKSIDES REMAIN WHOLE AND UNGOBBLED!”

But the foals don’t wait for an explanation—they shriek and scatter like a flock of terrified pigeons.

Luna visibly deflates.

I watch as she stares at the empty spot where the foals had been just moments before. Her ears droop. Her wings sag. The light in her eyes dims just a little. The sadness has obviously hit deeper his time.

And for the first time tonight, I don’t find it funny.

Secondhand embarrassment starts creeping up my spine. I shift on my floating stones, suddenly feeling awkward.

This isn’t just frustrating for her anymore—it’s actually starting to hurt.

She wanted to be a part of their fun. She wanted to be more than just a shadow lurking in the background of their legends.

And now?

Now she’s just standing there, watching ponies run from her, like she’s still some villain. Like Nightmare Moon never left.

I rub the back of my head. “Luna…”

She exhales sharply, standing tall again, but I can see the stiffness in her posture. The way she’s forcing herself to act like it doesn’t bother her. “PERHAPS OUR PRESENCE IS NOT REQUIRED.”

I wince.

Okay. Yeah. This has gone far enough.

I’m not the sentimental type, but even I know when a joke has stopped being funny.

I open my mouth to say something—anything to break the tension—when a certain pink menace reappears.

“AH-HA!” Pinkie Pie skids to a stop in front of us, pointing an accusatory hoof at Luna. “YOU’RE GONNA GOBBLE US UP!”

Luna flinches.

Pinkie, oblivious, continues. “I KNEW IT! NIGHTMARE MOON’S STILL IN THERE! YOU’RE JUST WAITING FOR THE RIGHT MOMENT TO—”

“ENOUGH.”

Luna’s voice isn’t booming this time. It’s not shaking the trees or rattling the windows.

But it cuts through the air.

Even Pinkie stops cold, blinking up at her.

Luna inhales deeply, then lets it out in a slow, controlled breath. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter. Not weak. Just… tired.

“We are not Nightmare Moon,” she says, gaze heavy. “We do not wish to bring thee harm.”

Pinkie frowns, clearly thrown off by the shift in tone. “But—”

“We only wish to partake in this night. We only wish to… belong.”

For a moment, no one speaks.

Luna shifts slightly, her eyes flicking downward. “Perhaps that is impossible.”

And suddenly, I am deeply uncomfortable.

Because I know that look. I’ve worn that look.

That’s the look of someone who wants to be a part of something but has convinced themselves they never truly can.

And I hate it.

Twilight, to her credit, steps forward, looking torn between regret and determination. “Luna, wait—”

And then, from the side, a small, trembling voice pipes up.

“Wait.”

Everyone turns.

The little pirate colt from earlier is peeking out from behind a barrel, hesitating.

He looks at Luna. Then back at Pinkie. Then back at Luna again. “S-she hasn’t eaten anypony yet…”

Luna blinks.

Pinkie tilts her head. “Huh.”

The colt steps forward, hesitantly. “M-maybe she really just wants to play?”

Pinkie’s eyes narrow, gears visibly turning in her head. “…But what if she gobbles you up the second you let your guard down?”

The colt looks at Luna again.

“…I dunno,” he says. “She just looks kinda lonely.”

Luna’s eyes widen slightly.

I let out a slow breath.

The shift is small at first. A few foals peeking out from hiding places. A few murmurs. And then, finally, after a long moment, Pinkie gasps dramatically.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Luna blinks. “Say…?”

“If you just wanted to have fun, you gotta do it the Pinkie Pie way!”

Pinkie zips forward, grabbing Luna’s hoof. “C’mon! We’ll show you how to have the best Nightmare Night ever!”

And just like that, it changes.

Luna is dragged into the festivities. The foals are hesitant at first, but soon, they’re showing her the games, laughing at her enthusiasm, and explaining the silly traditions that once painted her as a monster.

I lean back on my floating rocks, watching the chaos unfold.

Well. I didn’t have to step in. That’s a relief.

Not that I wouldn’t have, but, y’know. Feelings. Gross.

Luna’s already having a blast, her initial awkwardness melting away as the foals pull her from game to game. There’s still hesitation, a bit of lingering wariness from some ponies, but she’s in. She’s part of it. And she’s smiling.

Which is good. I’d rather not see her mope again. That was… uncomfortable.

I turn to Twilight, but she’s already watching me with that unreadable expression.

I narrow my eyes. “What.”

She hums thoughtfully. “It’s funny.”

I arch a brow. “I’m not laughing.”

She gives me a too-sweet smile. “If only somepony else let ponies in like that.”

I physically recoil.

“Oh, no. Nope. We’re not doing this.” I shake my head and wave a hoof—er, rock—at her. “Don’t even try to flip this back on me, Sparkle. This is about Luna.”

Twilight shrugs, her smugness barely contained. “Mmm, sure.”

I grit my teeth. “I am not a friendship project, Twilight.”

“Never said you were.” She flicks her tail, voice obnoxiously casual. “Just observing.”

I scowl. “Observe somewhere else.”

Twilight just chuckles as I grumble to myself.

Unbelievable.

Of course she’d turn this into some kind of friendship lesson. She can’t help herself. It’s like a compulsion at this point. Probably gets a magical migraine if she goes too long without shoehorning some kind of moral into a conversation.

I shake my head, sighing. Whatever. Not my problem.

I adjust the floating rocks around me and prepare to slip back into the crowd, but Twilight is still staring at me.

I groan. “What now, Sparkle?”

She gives me that same knowing look. “You should spend more time with us.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“You know,” she gestures vaguely. “The girls. You don’t hang out much. You should.”

I scoff, waving her off. “I work, Twilight. Unlike certain ponies who get to just study friendship for a living, I actually have responsibilities.”

She raises a brow. “Your responsibilities include running your mouth and occasionally pretending to cast spells when ponies need you to fix something.”

I put a hoof to my chest, scandalized. “First of all, how dare you.”

She smirks.

I huff. “Second, I’m busy with other things, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like… research,” I say, nodding to myself. “You think it’s easy mimicking actual magic with telekinesis and physics? It takes work.”

Twilight rolls her eyes. “Kinetic, I research actual magic, and I still find time to go outside.”

I scoff. “Yeah, well, good for you, Sparkle. Not all of us have the privilege of being a government-funded friendship gremlin.”

Her smirk grows. “So what you’re saying is you’re just not as good as me at time management.”

I scowl. “I have important work to do.”

She tilts her head. “Like what?”

I scramble for another excuse. “Like… keeping up appearances! You know how fragile my reputation is? If ponies start seeing me lounging around with you guys all the time, they’ll start questioning my authority.”

She deadpans. “Oh, yes. Because nothing screams mysterious, powerful mage like wandering around Ponyville in a rock costume and scaring foals with fake curses.”

I point at her. “Exactly.”

She points back. “That’s not supporting your case.”

I grit my teeth. “Okay, fine, then what if—” I snap my hoof. “Reading! I read a lot. You know. Gotta stay informed.”

Twilight’s smirk twitches wider. “Oh? What was the last thing you read?”

I immediately regret my words.

I scramble for something, anything, but all that comes to mind is last week’s Ponyville Express, and maybe a sign above some store doors.

“…It was technical,” I say vaguely.

She raises an eyebrow.

I double down. “Advanced theory. Very niche.”

She’s not buying it.

I can feel the skepticism radiating off her like heat from a forge.

Twilight tilts her head, looking far too smug for my liking. “So you do spend time reading?”

I cross my floating rock legs. “Obviously.”

She hums. “Then you do take time for yourself. You do have time for things other than work.”

I pause, and then narrow my eyes. “…That doesn’t count.”

Twilight blinks, then smirks. “Why not?”

I scowl. “Because... shut up.”

She actually laughs. Full-on, head-tilted, shoulders-shaking laughs.

I roll my eyes. “Glad I could amuse you, Sparkle.”

She grins. “I’m just amazed at how bad you are at arguing against your own well-being.”

I groan, rubbing my face with a floating rock. "Twilight, why are you like this?"

"Like what?" she asks, all fake innocence, tilting her head like she hasn’t made it her mission to be the most infuriating pony alive.

I gesture vaguely. "Like some kind of... personal growth tax collector. Just going around, making sure everypony is ‘emotionally well-adjusted’ and ‘has a social life’ or whatever."

She raises a brow. "Wow. That’s a lot of words just to say, ‘I don’t want to admit I need friends.’"

I groan louder, dramatically flopping back onto my floating rock formation. "I have friends, Twilight. I just—" I wave my hooves. "—I just don't need to do the whole... group activities, ‘let’s all hang out and share our feelings’ thing."

Twilight taps her chin. "So what you’re saying is you prefer one-on-one interactions?"

"Yes! Exactly." I nod firmly. "One-on-one interactions are fine. Preferable, even. Much less overwhelming."

She smiles sweetly. "Perfect. You can spend the day at Fluttershy’s, then."

I freeze.

"Wait—"

"Fluttershy is one pony. You did just say one-on-one interactions are preferable."

I narrow my eyes. “You set me up.”

Twilight flicks her tail, smirking. “Maybe.”

I scowl. “Fluttershy doesn’t even like me.”

Twilight’s expression shifts, her smirk softening just a little. “That’s not true.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on, Sparkle. We both know she’s still freaked out by me after the parasprite thing.”

Twilight frowns slightly but doesn’t deny it.

Good. Because I’m right.

Sure, Fluttershy said she understood why I did it. Logically, she knew we couldn’t just let the little abominations eat the town into the dirt. But watching me pop them into bloody smears? That had shaken her.

She had flinched at me.

Tried to hide it, but I saw it.

And that’s not the kind of thing that just goes away.

I huff, crossing my forelegs. “So, again, why exactly would I go over there?”

Twilight exhales, rolling her eyes. "Because that's exactly why you should spend time together."

I blink. "What?"

She gives me that infuriatingly patient look—like she’s explaining basic math to a particularly dense foal. "You think Fluttershy doesn’t like you. But have you actually talked to her about it? Like, at all?"

I hesitate. "That’s not—"

Twilight smirks. "You haven’t."

I scowl. "That’s not the point."

"It kind of is, though," she presses. "If you just assume she doesn’t want anything to do with you, and she assumes you don’t want anything to do with her, then of course nothing’s going to change."

I scowl harder, feeling very done with this conversation. “Maybe nothing needs to change, Twilight. We don’t talk, she doesn’t talk to me, we exist in separate circles, and everything is fine.”

Twilight just hums in that obnoxious way that means she’s already decided I’m wrong. “Uh-huh. And if you actually talked, you might realize that neither of you actually hate each other.”

I scoff. “Didn’t say she hates me.”

“You implied it.”

I grit my teeth. “Twilight—”

“And even if she was nervous around you at first, that was a while ago. She’s not afraid of you now.”

I snort. “Oh yeah? She’s done a fantastic job proving that by never speaking to me since then.”

Twilight exhales through her nose, clearly trying to be patient. “Look, you two just… never had a reason to talk. And that’s exactly why this is a good idea.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re still not making a good case for why I should do this.”

Twilight’s smirk twitches wider. “Well, Rainbow Dash is going to be there too.”

I blink.

Then immediately scowl.

“Hold on. That’s two ponies.”

Twilight shrugs, far too pleased with herself. “Guess you’ll just have to endure.”

I point a hoof at her. “You lied to me.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You said one-on-one interactions.”

“I said they were preferable,” she corrects, looking unbearably smug. “I never said you wouldn’t be dealing with multiple ponies.”

I stare at her, utterly betrayed. “I hope your entire book collection spontaneously combusts.”

Twilight just gives me the most obnoxiously sweet smile imaginable. “Not happening. I have protective wards around my shelves.”

I groan, throwing my hooves up. “Of course you do. You’re insufferable.”

She nods in mock gravity. “So I’ve been told.”

Why is it so hard to say no to her?

“Fine,” I growl, already feeling my defenses crumble under her relentless positivity. “Fine. I’ll… go to Fluttershy’s. And meet with Rainbow Dash too. Great. Fantastic.”

Twilight’s grin widens. “I knew you’d see reason.”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop out. “It’s not reason; it’s me giving up just so you’ll stop bugging me.”

She doesn’t even try to deny it, just lifts her chin in victory. “Well, if it gets you there, I can live with that.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, turning away. “I’m done here, Sparkle. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kinetic,” she calls after me, her tone still far too smug. “See you tomorrow!”

I don’t bother responding. I just march off into the night, the distant sounds of Nightmare Night festivities fading behind me as I head back to the H.A.R.D.I.S.

Once inside, I can’t help but pause in the entryway. The place is as silent and strangely vast as ever. There’s a chill in the air—maybe just from the lingering autumn cold. Or maybe from something else entirely.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck with a hoof. “Great. Another social obligation tomorrow.”

I force a snort. “Hope they at least have decent snacks.”

Grumbling to myself, I head to my room. The bed’s as soft as ever, and it’s mine.

I flop onto the covers with a weary groan, shutting my eyes. My thoughts churn—frustration at Twilight, a flicker of old anxiety about Fluttershy, and a little dread about Rainbow’s inevitable teasing.

But it’s Nightmare Night, and I’m bone tired. Within minutes, I feel the tension in my muscles fade, my grumbling turning to a half-asleep mumble. I drift off to the muffled sounds of distant ponies still celebrating outside, the faint echoes of laughter and music seeping through the H.A.R.D.I.S.’s walls.

Tomorrow can sort itself out. For now, I’m done.