Fields of Influence (MLP) (Sequel to Applied Mathemagics)

[Riddlest]

We sit for a while.

Twilight's ear flicks against my cheek, and I realize how close she's gotten—her side pressed warmly into mine, her mane brushing against my shoulder. I don't move away.

She notices.

She immediately leans further into me. She's gentle, careful, pretending to be innocent—but I see the little smile creeping onto her face.

For once, I don't pull back. I don't even tense up.

I just let her have this moment.

But she doesn't stop there. Within seconds she's practically burrowed into my side, and I almost roll my eyes.

She's quiet.

I know what she wants to ask—about what I saw behind that cursed door, what left me... like this. It's practically burning off her tongue. But she's biting it back, afraid I'll pull away.

And I'm not about to offer any solutions.

I stare ahead, watching the fireworks burst across the shield, the sky glowing softly through layers of magic.

But my mind is elsewhere.

With that other Twilight—pale, trembling, blood soaking into my coat. Her desperate, delirious words still echo in my ears.

The memory claws at my chest, tightening around my heart.

I promised her.

Twilight tilts her head, sensing my sudden stillness.

"Twilight," I say quietly.

She blinks, startled, then looks up at me. "Hmm?"

I hesitate.

It physically hurts to ask—but I push through it anyway.

"Do you…" My voice falters, just slightly. I steady myself. "Would you want to go to Canterlot with me sometime?"

Her eyes brighten immediately. "Oh! Of course! The girls and I have been planning to visit again for ages, actually. Rarity wants to do some shopping, and Pinkie's been bugging us about a bakery there that—"

"No," I interrupt gently.

Twilight pauses, mouth slightly open, ears perked forward.

I exhale slowly, forcing the words out.

"I mean... Just us."

Her eyes widen. I can practically see the gears spinning in her head. She stares blankly into the distance for several long, silent seconds—calculating, processing, running through every possible outcome.

"Just… you and me?" Her voice is high-pitched, nearly cracking.

I nod once, barely.

"Oh," she repeats, even quieter this time. Her cheeks flush red, her eyes darting nervously around. "Oh, that's… a—"

She cuts herself off sharply, swallowing the word before it can escape. She seems afraid that naming it might shatter whatever delicate thread is holding this together.

I don't interrupt. I barely even breathe.

She stays still for another moment, visibly restraining herself from blurting out questions or clarifications. Her hoof scuffs the crystal street awkwardly.

Finally, after what feels like hours, she exhales slowly, eyes flicking shyly up at me.

"I'd really like that," she murmurs softly.

The words leave her carefully, as if she's still afraid that speaking too loudly might spook me. Her gaze lingers, nervous yet hopeful.

A tightness I hadn't even realized was there loosens slightly in my chest.

"Good," I whisper back.

Twilight smiles—soft, bright, real. Her eyes shine like the fireworks overhead, and she leans into me again.

This time, I let myself lean into her, too.

---

The party drags on well into the night. Ponies laugh, dance, and celebrate beneath the shimmering shield, the city sparkling under the lights of magic and joy. Twilight never strays far from my side, gently steering me around the festivities as she sees fit, always careful not to push too hard, though she clearly revels in her newfound freedom to do so.

Eventually, the time to depart arrives. A large crowd of crystal ponies gathers at the station, their shimmering coats reflecting moonlight, waving and calling out farewells. Cadance and Shining Armor wait at the front, smiling warmly, ready to see us off.

"Well," Cadance says gently, stepping forward to face me directly. "Thank you again, Kinetic. Truly. I promise, once things stabilize here, Shining and I will come to visit. I'd really like the chance to—"

I interrupt with an exaggerated sigh. "You don't need to threaten me, Princess."

She falters for a second, before recovering gracefully. Her smile returns, warmer this time, undeterred. "I'm serious. I'd like to make things right."

"Good for you," I reply flatly.

Twilight gently elbows my side, scolding me under her breath. "Be nice."

"I am being nice," I grumble.

Cadance just chuckles softly, shaking her head in amusement. "I'm glad you made it through this safely, at least. Thank you—all of you."

Rainbow Dash hovers above, smirking. "Hey, it's what we do. But seriously, you guys better have less trouble next time."

Pinkie leaps enthusiastically. "Thanks for the party! I'll bring more cupcakes next visit—oh, and pies! You have to taste my pies!"

Rarity smiles graciously. "If you ever need fashion advice for your crystalline looks, just let me know, darling."

Applejack tips her hat. "Take care of yourselves up here. Y'all deserve a rest after what happened."

Fluttershy softly wades in the background.

Spike gives an awkward wave. "Yeah, see you guys soon! Hopefully without evil shadow kings next time."

Cadance and Shining Armor laugh softly, and Twilight steps forward to hug them both. "Take care, you two. And thank you."

"You too, Twily," Shining Armor says warmly, nuzzling her gently. "Keep an eye on your friend here. I'm rooting for ya."

He glances meaningfully at me. I pointedly look away.

The train whistle sounds sharply, signaling our departure. Everypony climbs aboard, waving enthusiastically from the windows.

I step onto the platform, gently cradling the Crystal Sword in my magic, its blade shimmering gently beneath the shield's glow.

Twilight stands beside me, watching with an affectionate smile. "Ready to go home?"

I nod silently.

"Good." She bumps gently against my side as we enter the train together.

The doors slide shut, and with a gentle lurch, the train begins to roll away from the Crystal Empire. Twilight and the others wave from the windows, and I quietly settle in my seat, sword at my side, glancing back at the shining city receding into the distance.

The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks fills the air, a soft lull behind the chatter of the others.

Twilight and the girls are gathered near the window, talking quietly, their reflections dancing in the glass as the snowy landscape scrolls by.

I glance at Rachel's runes as they talk.

I could probably add the crystal heart's runes to Rachel, get her a shield and stuff.

Or does it have to be crystal?

"I'm going to miss it," Fluttershy says softly. "The city was so pretty once the sun came back."

"And the ponies were so sparkly," Pinkie adds. "Like disco balls with feelings!"

Rainbow chuckles. "It did have a cool vibe. Could've done without all the evil smoke and broken buildings, though."

Rarity sighs wistfully, resting her chin on her hoof. "I'll miss the Crystal Heart most of all. It was just so… radiant. So elegant. So perfectly symmetrical." Her eyes flutter dreamily. "If I could bottle that shimmer…"

I glance up from Rachel's runes. "You want one?"

She blinks. "Darling?"

I shrug, lighting my horn.

A soft glow flickers as I unbuckle one of my saddlebags and lift a few small, floating objects out of it.

Glittering, multifaceted crystal hearts—each one suspended beside its paired 'tower' fragment, dull and (mostly) inert with the faintest trace of mostly crossed-out rune marks etched into their base.

"I've got, like, ten," I say casually.

Everypony stares.

Twilight's mouth falls open. "Wait—you kept those?!"

"Yeah."

"You didn't give them to Cadance?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Why would I?"

"Because they're Crystal Hearts?! You made them for the Empire!"

"No," I say simply. "I made them to stop Sombra. Mission complete."

Twilight sits up straighter, indignant. "Kinetic, those are artifacts capable of projecting city-wide shields powered by emotional energy!"

"Only if paired with a big 'tower'." I glance at one. "And I crossed out most of the rune paths. They're inert. Basically floating paperweights."

"You could remove the cross-lines in ten seconds!"

"Yeah," I admit, inspecting one lazily. "They're useful."

Twilight groans. "You can't just hoard magical national treasures!"

"They're mine. I made them."

"Yes, but—"

"No but." I hold up a heart and tap it with my hoof. "This was carved, etched, and calibrated by me. Not Cadance. Not the Empire. Me."

Twilight falters.

Rarity, still entranced by the gleam of the crystals, quietly asks, "May I… have one?"

"Sure," I say, passing one over. "Just don't try to power it up without me."

Twilight splutters. "You're enabling her!"

Rarity squeals softly. "Oh hush, Twilight, he's being generous."

Applejack leans over. "Ain't this like giving a live firework to a foal?"

"No," I say flatly. "It's safer than any of the spells she already knows. It's like giving a firework to a unicorn who already owns several bigger fireworks."

Twilight glares. "That's not comforting."

I go back to flipping through my notes.

She huffs and crosses her forelegs, settling back in her seat.

The train hums steadily beneath us, the chatter dying down into a comfortable rhythm. Rachel sits beside me, legs tucked neatly under her stone frame, watching the snow blur past with passive interest. Occasionally, her gaze flicks to me—to the sword still resting by my side, or to the scribbled pages I'm working through. She says nothing. Just there.

I glance down at one of the inert crystal hearts hovering beside me and absentmindedly adjust the scratched-out rune lines, trying to figure out what exactly each rune means, instead of the whole.

Twilight's been quiet for a while.

Too quiet.

I glance up—and jump slightly when I realize she's suddenly next to me. Like, very next to me. At some point between scolding and sulking, she relocated across the cabin without a word.

Sneaky.

She's pretending to read a book. Something about stars. Except the pages haven't turned in a while.

Then she gives the fakest yawn I've ever seen. A whole-body stretch that arches her back and extends her forelegs just enough to swing one over my shoulders.

It settles there.

Light. Barely touching.

I stare straight ahead.

She shifts slightly, adjusting her posture to lean just a little into my side. Not too much. Not enough to make it obvious.

Not yet.

After a moment, she sighs contentedly and leans in more. Her shoulder presses into mine. Then her head rests gently against my neck. Then—

A soft scoot. Her thigh slides closer to mine.

She's testing. Pushing inch by inch, like I won't notice if it's gradual.

I glance at her, deadpan.

She's suddenly very interested in her book again.

Her foreleg moves again—slow, lazy, like she's just stretching—and then it dips too far. Her hoof brushes my flank.

I tense.

She freezes.

"Twilight."

She stiffens like I caught her stealing from a royal vault.

Her hoof retreats—quick but not panicked—and she smiles up at me like she's looking at a sunset.

"Yes?" she asks, all innocence.

I narrow my eyes. "That was your warning."

She pouts. "I was just adjusting."

"You adjusted directly onto my ass-er-flank."

She clears her throat, ears flicking. "An honest miscalculation in spatial awareness."

I raise an eyebrow. "Uh huh."

She pulls her hoof back fully and rests it neatly around my shoulder again, her expression so perfectly composed I almost believe she's regretful.

Almost.

But then—out of the corner of my eye—I catch her grinning.

A smug, subtle little curve of her lips.

I scoff quietly. "You really like to push your limits."

She hums, resting her chin lightly on my shoulder like she's claiming it. "I just like knowing where they are."

The train slows, the brakes screeching softly as Ponyville Station comes into view.

By the time we step off, Twilight is practically glued to my side.

She sticks close—mane brushing my shoulder, steps matching mine exactly, head tilted ever so slightly toward me.

The girls start saying their goodbyes, tiredly heading off in the direction of their respective homes.

Rachel steps beside Twilight and me, silent and watchful, her stone joints clicking faintly with each measured stride. She glances at me, then at Twilight, and her mouth opens slightly.

"…Claimed," she murmurs, her stone tongue shifting slowly.

I groan. "Don't start."

Rachel's eyes flick with something dry and amused. She glides just behind us as we walk, silent except for the occasional creak of her joints.

Twilight, for her part, is clearly feeling victorious. Her tail flicks in time with her steps, brushing against mine just a little too frequently to be accidental. I give her a side-eye. She pretends not to notice.

The sun is dipping low over Ponyville as we walk the winding path toward the edge of town. The air smells like grass and old wood and something faintly familiar. Safe.

Home.

I stop in front of the wooden door of the H.A.R.D.I.S.—my glorified shed of an interdimensional labyrinth-slash-home. I unlock the door. The hinges creak when I touch the handle.

Rachel stops behind me.

Twilight just waits.

Expectant.

I blink at her.

She smiles.

I blink again.

"…Aren't you going home?"

Twilight tilts her head slightly, ears perked, like I just asked her if water was wet.

"Oh, well, I just figured," she starts, her voice soft, a little breathy, "after everything, maybe I could come in. You know, just… hang out? Rest a bit? We could talk. Maybe… cuddle."

I narrow my eyes.

"Twilight."

Her smile doesn't fade.

"You know," she continues, tilting her head slightly, her voice sweet and suggestive in the most dangerous way, "after a long day, sometimes it's just really hard to say goodbye. You get all warm, and cozy, and… connected."

She even dares to bat her lashes.

Rachel's head turns—mechanical, deliberate—to face me. Her jaw opens slightly again.

"…Losing," she comments, dry as chalk.

"I'm not losing," I mutter.

Rachel doesn't reply. But her half-lidded eyes are positively smug.

Twilight leans just a bit more into my side, eyes wide with innocence. "So…?"

I sigh, staring at the door, then back at her.

"You can visit."

Her eyes light up.

"But not stay over."

Her expression falters—just briefly.

Then, miraculously, she manages to soften it into something disappointed but understanding. "Of course. Just a visit."

She's already halfway through the door before I even get it open all the way.

I glance at Rachel.

Rachel's jaw hinges open again—too wide, too slow.

"…Soft."

I groan.

"Shut up."

The moment I step into the H.A.R.D.I.S., I pull off my surprisingly intact white and pale blue striped socks.

And I notice two things:

One: it smells faintly of ozone and old coffee.

Two: Twilight is already in my pantry.

She's halfway buried in the shelves, levitating cans and jars in her magic, her brow furrowed in intense scrutiny. A growing pile of food floats nearby, separated from the rest like it's contagious.

"…What are you doing?"

She doesn't look back. "Sorting."

I blink. "I bought that stuff this week. With you."

"It's gone bad."

"It looks fine."

"It's not fine," she says firmly, holding up a jar. "This one's seal is compromised. That one's got sugar crystalizing in a way that means it was stored too warm. This one smells like metal."

She sniffs again, nodding decisively. "Metal."

I just… stare.

She hums softly as she works, setting another can aside, her nose wrinkling in thought.

And then—

She turns just right.

The light hits her face.

Alive. Focused. Calm.

But in my mind, she's still lying on that cold stone floor. Bleeding. Breath shallow. Smiling through the pain.

The memory hits like a gut punch.

I swallow hard.

My throat's tight before I even realize it.

Twilight turns her head a little, glancing at me over her shoulder. "What?"

I shake it off. "Nothing."

She narrows her eyes, clearly not buying it. But she lets it go, returning to her inspection of an unopened bag of rice.

I stare at her for another long second. Then—

"Do you wanna read?" I ask.

She freezes.

Her magic stutters around the jar she's holding—it bobs once, caught midair. Slowly, she turns to face me.

"…What?"

I clear my throat, not meeting her eyes. "Read. You and me. For a bit."

Twilight stares.

Like I've offered her the moon and a hoof massage.

"You want to read?" she echoes. "With me?"

"I literally just said that."

She blinks hard, then practically glows. "Yes! Yes, of course! What should we read? Fiction? Non-fiction? Magic theory? History? Oh! I have a few books that match your whole grumpy-academic aesthetic, or maybe—wait—how long are we reading? Do I need tea? Is this like a chapter or a full volume kind of thing?"

I raise a hoof to stop the verbal landslide. "As long as you want."

Twilight goes still.

Like completely still.

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out—just a squeaky little inhale like her lungs forgot how to function. She stares at me like I've sprouted wings and proposed to her in the same breath.

I look away.

I don't explain any of it.

Because I can't.

Instead, I just say, "Go get your books."

That snaps her out of it.

She lights her horn in a burst of lavender magic, her eyes already mentally locked on the shelves of her library.

Then—nothing.

The magic fizzles mid-cast with a faint crack, like a spell slapping against glass.

Twilight blinks. "Huh?"

She tries again.

Same result.

Her ears shoot straight up, eyes wide. "Wait—I can't teleport out?"

I frown. "What?"

She tries again. Harder. Desperate to get to her books and back.

Magic builds, swirls, sparks—and fizzles again like someone yanked the plug.

She lets out a frustrated noise. "Ugh! Your house is so weird! I didn't think it'd block me!"

I shrug.

Twilight doesn't wait. She sprints to the door, practically throws it open, bolts out—and disappears in a flash of teleportation.

Less than four seconds later—

Pop!

She's back inside, huffing slightly, eyes blazing with purpose and triumph.

Levitating beside her?

An absolutely massive stack of novels, and a blanket.

I stare.

She beams. "Okay! I picked a few that might be fun."

The top three titles are Sparks in the Stacks, Taming the Scholar, and The Silent Type: A Love Story.

Each cover has some variation of a very serious-looking stallion being seduced, cajoled, or otherwise harassed by a bright-eyed, determined unicorn mare.

I squint. "These all look weirdly familiar."

Twilight sets the stack down reverently, like she's just smuggled contraband across a national border. Her magic flutters around the books, reorganizing them, coding by some unknown metric.

I keep staring.

Twilight clears her throat and tries to sound casual. "They're, um… genre studies."

"Genre studies," I repeat flatly.

She nods far too fast. "Sociocultural significance through narrative tropes."

I glance down at Taming the Scholar, where a very soft-looking, dark-maned unicorn is being pushed backward onto a velvet chaise by a unicorn mare. He's also wearing brightly colored socks.

I raise an eyebrow.

Twilight doesn't flinch. "Literary analysis."

I don't buy it. But I sit anyway.

She levitates one over—The Silent Type—and flips to the first chapter. Then pauses.

She side-eyes me.

"…Could you read it?" she asks, too carefully.

I blink. "What?"

Twilight shifts awkwardly, rubbing one foreleg with the other. "Well… we can't both read it, or we won't know when to turn the page. I mean, we could alternate, but that's inefficient, and also you read faster than me and then I'd be behind and—"

I tilt my head.

She swallows, ears folding back slightly.

"I just…" Her voice lowers. "I just wanna hear you read it. In your voice."

Her eyes flick up.

Quiet.

Hopeful.

A little too honest.

I hesitate. It suddenly feels… intimate.

But I nod.

"Fine."

She lights up—almost literally.

I levitate the book toward me, adjusting my posture as I open it to the first page. My voice is steady as I begin.

"He never spoke unless spoken to—never stayed where the light touched him. She saw him first in the archives, the lone stallion who turned pages like they held the secrets to everything. He had a reputation: brilliant, cold, unreachable. She wanted to see if any of that changed when he blushed."

Twilight immediately squeaks and pulls a blanket over herself like she's hiding.

But the way she peeks out lets me know she wouldn't miss a second of it.

I ignore her and keep reading.

The book is dramatic. Melodramatic. But the characters are... familiar.

A gruff, emotionally stunted unicorn stallion who studies too much and hates public spaces. A bright-eyed mare with a thousand questions and zero boundaries, determined to make him open up.

It's not subtle.

I keep reading, and she keeps inching closer.

"She leaned in. 'If you keep running away from everything, you'll never know what it feels like to be wanted,' she said."

Half an hour in, she starts chiming in.

Twilight hums, nudging me with her elbow. "This is how a stallion should actually respond when a mare says something heartfelt." She points to the next paragraph.

I glance at it.

He didn't answer with words. Just leaned closer. Let her rest against him. Let her speak into the quiet.

I roll my eyes and flip the page.

She hides a smile behind her hoof.

Then—

Softly—

"Can you read my favorite part?"

I look at her. She's suddenly sheepish. Her hoof is hovering over a dog-eared page of Taming the Scholar. "It's silly," she says quickly. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

I take the book.

There's a highlight phrase.

"Even if I don't say it right, even if I never say it at all, just know—I wanted you. All this time. Even when I pushed you away."

She holds very still.

Her cheeks are red.

I stop.

That was... too much.

Twilight's breath is shallow. Her eyes flick to mine, then drop again.

My ears burn, embarrassment creeping in like heat under my coat.

I close the book abruptly, the clap echoing through the quiet room. Twilight jumps slightly, blinking rapidly as if breaking free from some hypnotic trance.

I clear my throat, smirking to cover the heat in my face. "You know, it's actually impressive."

She blinks. "What?"

I gesture at the books scattered around us. "Finding so many books that are exactly us. Really subtle, Twilight."

She sputters, flustered immediately. "They're—they're not about us specifically! They're just... common relationship dynamics in fiction, and—"

"Uh-huh," I interrupt dryly. "Gruff, emotionally-stunted stallion meets cheerful, overbearing unicorn mare obsessed with him. How original."

She puffs out her cheeks, indignant. "I'm not overbearing! And I'm definitely not obsessed!"

I raise an eyebrow.

Her ears flick back, cheeks redder than ever. "…Okay, maybe I like you a little more than most ponies. But still!"

I chuckle lightly, relieved she's finally as embarrassed as I am. Then I push the book toward her. "Your turn."

She jolts upright, eyes wide. "Wait, no—I like hearing you read!"

My smile grows. "Oh? So you get to hear me say embarrassingly romantic things, but you're depriving me of hearing you do the same?"

Her blush intensifies, and she ducks her head with a nervous laugh. "I... I don't sound nearly as good reading these parts as you do."

"Come on," I tease softly, nudging her. "It's only fair."

Twilight lets out a small, flustered huff and flips the book back open to our page. "Okay, but don't make fun of me."

I grin. "I make no promises."

She glares—but it's weak, thin, and melting fast under the pressure of her blush.

Then she starts to read.

Her voice is shaky at first, barely above a whisper. "'He was the kind of stallion who didn't notice when he was loved—not until it broke through his walls, slowly, like sunrise. And when he finally saw it, really saw it… he was terrified.'"

Her ears twitch, her eyes flick nervously toward me, gauging my reaction. I stay quiet, smug but composed.

She swallows and keeps going.

"'She wasn't gentle with his heart because she thought it was fragile—she was gentle because it was hers, and she wanted to hold it right.'"

She pauses.

I say nothing.

She glares at the page, face pink.

"…This was a bad idea," she mutters.

"Oh no," I say, very dry, "you're doing great."

Her eyes flick up again, narrowing. "You're enjoying this."

"A little," I admit. "It's nice seeing you sweat for once."

Twilight groans and sinks lower into the couch. "Can we switch again?"

I smirk. "Embarrassed?"

"Yes," she snaps, flinging the book at me with magic. "Here. You read."

I catch it midair, flipping to the next chapter with an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, but don't interrupt."

She pulls the blanket up over her muzzle, muffling something I think was either "thank you" or "shut up."

I read on.

The room quiets again, the only sounds the rustle of pages and the soft cadence of my voice.

Twilight doesn't interrupt this time. She just listens.

Her head rests on the pillow she dragged beside me, her body curled under the blanket in a way that's clearly optimized for maximum coziness. Occasionally she hums or giggles at a particularly cheesy line, but otherwise—she's still.

It's peaceful.

Soft.

Too soft for me, maybe.

I wasn't built for this.

The vulnerability. The warmth. The little smiles she hides in the pages. The way she watches me like I'm the story. Like I'm not still trying to figure out how to be a pony who can do this.

But I made a promise.

To the Twilight I held as she died. To the words she whispered while I pressed my hooves to a wound I couldn't stop.

"I wanna read with you. Just… for hours… and you have to stay this time…"

So I stay.

And I read.

Her eyes start to droop. First slowly, then more often. She shifts, pulling the blanket up under her chin, snuggling deeper like she can soak into the couch. She murmurs something under her breath—something about wanting to keep reading—but it's faint, barely more than a sigh.

I glance over.

She's out.

A faint smile still tugs at her lips.

I exhale through my nose, a small, fond sound.

Carefully—quietly—I close the book and float it back onto the pile. Then I grab the other half of the blanket and drape it over her. She shifts just slightly, curling up tighter. Her foreleg slides a little toward where I was sitting, as if to keep hold of something that's already gone.

I hesitate a moment longer, then push to my hooves.

Rachel is waiting at the top of the stairs.

Silent.

Her arms crossed, her stance casual, stone expression unmoving—but the second I make eye contact, her mouth clicks open on its hinge.

"…Cute."

I sigh, dragging a hoof down my face. "Don't start."

Her segmented tongue pokes out slightly, curling with mechanical sass. "She—own—you."

I groan. "She's sleeping. It's not like I invited her to move in."

Rachel leans just slightly to one side, eyelids half-lidding. The golem equivalent of a raised brow.

I glance up the stairs at her, letting the silence hang.

Oh yeah?

Then I slowly speak—offhanded, casual.

"She might, y'know. Take up a lot of my time."

Rachel doesn't move.

I continue, softer now. "If this… thing with Twilight keeps going. If she gets her way. Might not be around as much."

Rachel's fingers twitch—just once. Small. Subtle.

I force a chuckle, like it doesn't matter. "Who knows, she could end up stealing me from you."

Rachel doesn't blink.

But the way her head tilts—slow and uneven, like her internal alignment shifted a gear too far—sends something cold crawling down my spine.

"…Twilight," she echoes, voice a low click of syllables. "Steal…?"

Her mouth opens slightly, but this time there's no tongue, no sass. Just empty space.

Something hollow.

I shift my weight heading into my room. "It was a joke."

Rachel doesn't laugh.

Her mouth shuts again with a dry clack, and she straightens.

Steps forward.

And follows me in.

I glance back once, but she says nothing. Doesn't ask. Doesn't explain.

She just enters with me, her steps soft, soundless against the floor.

I power off my rune-powered leg, crawl into bed, and collapse sideways with a groan.

She settles beside me.

Not touching. Not far.

Then, in a voice barely there, I hear her murmur, "No take."

Her stone limbs curl with mechanical grace into a rest position. Her eyes remain half-lidded. Watching.

She does not sleep.

She never does.

She just lies there beside me.

Still.

Unmoving.

Present.

I close my eyes.

 

[Riddlest]

The smell hits me first.

Eggs. And something… vaguely hay-like.

I crack an eye open, groaning at the way morning light spears through the gaps in the curtains. My side still aches—phantom pain where a leg used to be, even though the new one is technically perfect.

Beside me, Rachel shifts.

Her movements are smooth, practiced. She rises as one, like a machine waking from standby. She doesn't stretch. Doesn't yawn. She just moves, angular and precise, like she's been waiting for me to stir before bothering to animate.

I sniff again. "What is that?"

Rachel shrugs, shoulders grinding faintly. "Don't know," she mutters.

"…And you didn't check?"

Her expression doesn't change, but the silence that follows is very pointed. Then: "Didn't care."

Of course.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and groan, dragging myself upright. The scent's stronger near the door.

I stagger downstairs, Rachel following with the quiet scrape of stone on wood. She doesn't speak again, just shadows me like a gargoyle on patrol.

The kitchen is… offensively cheerful.

Twilight stands over the stove humming to herself, her mane pulled back into a messy bun and her tail twitching like it's dancing to its own song. There are plates stacked high on the counter—some with suspiciously blackened edges, others surprisingly edible-looking.

She turns the moment she hears me, beaming. "Good morning! I didn't know how you liked your eggs, so I made them six different ways. Also haycakes. And hay hash. And hay muffins!"

I stare.

There's so much hay.

"…Why are you still here?"

She blinks innocently, tilting her head like she's shocked I even need to ask. "Because," she says sweetly, "I happened to notice there's almost exactly the same amount of hay in your pantry as there was when we bought it."

I squint at her.

She smiles wider, jabbing a spatula in my direction. "You said you'd eat it."

"I did try," I mutter, already retreating toward the coffee cabinet. "It's like chewing sadness."

"It's healthy for you."

"It tastes like dry betrayal."

"You mix it with jam."

"I ran out of jam."

She gasps, horrified. "You didn't tell me!"

I grunt something noncommittal and lean half my body onto the counter with more force than necessary. Rachel leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching both of us like we're a live play.

Twilight doesn't seem to notice. She turns back to the stove, humming once in satisfaction. "Well, lucky for you, I made extras. And this time, I added syrup to the batter."

"…Thanks," I say flatly, unsure what else to offer.

Twilight hums like she's just solved a friendship problem, then gestures to the table with a flourish. "Sit! Eat! There's plenty."

I mumble something indistinct, dragging myself to the nearest chair. The sheer volume of hay-based… things… on display makes my stomach tighten with existential dread. Rachel, however, doesn't follow me. Instead, she pushes off the doorframe with a kind of stubborn purpose and glides straight past Twilight to the stove.

Twilight blinks at her, spatula halfway to a plate. "Um… Rachel?"

Rachel doesn't answer. She shoulders Twilight aside—gently, but with the unmistakable solidity of a boulder—and starts rummaging through the cupboards. Her stone fingers fumble with a bag of flour, measuring cups, the egg carton. She does everything with a stiff, exaggerated patience.

Twilight shoots me a pleading look, like I can somehow explain Rachel's behavior. I just shrug and start picking at a hay muffin. Twilight tries to intervene—"Oh, I already made pancakes!"—but Rachel ignores her, hunching over the mixing bowl with silent, single-minded focus.

Ah...

I hide my smirk behind a cup of coffee. There's something unreasonably cute about Rachel being jealous.

She sits beside me, piling eggs and hay hash on my plate. "So, Kinetic, I was thinking! If you want, we can stop by the bookstore. Then maybe the new weather exhibit at the museum, and if we have time—there's a lecture at the university this afternoon. I have our route mapped out and I even packed us a lunch, if you promise to behave during the lecture."

I stare at her, blearily chewing haycake, and try to remember what it was like to have mornings that didn't start with a social agenda.

It does sound fine, I suppose. I would have been bored today anyway.

"I promise, " I finally mutter, fully planning on breaking it.

She nods once, plowing forward with the list, voice way too perky for the hour.

Meanwhile, Rachel is still at the stove, methodically pouring thick batter onto the griddle. Every movement is measured, mechanical. The pancake she turns over is—well. Lumpy. Misshapen. Slightly gray, from too much flour and not enough mixing.

Twilight eyes it nervously, but Rachel doesn't even look up. She finishes, slides the sorry thing onto a plate, and marches over to me with a slow, deliberate step. She sets the plate down, her hinged jaw not quite aligned—a subtle, smug angle to her face as she meets Twilight's eyes, as if daring her to comment.

I stare at the pancake. It looks… sad. Like someone tried to reassemble breakfast from memory and got distracted halfway through.

I prod it with a fork. "What's in this?"

Rachel's eyelids drop to half-mast. "Egg. Flour. Milk. Oil. Sugar." A pause. "Vanilla."

I glance at Twilight, who shrugs, half-concerned, half-baffled.

I sniff the pancake. It smells like pain.

"Is it going to kill me?"

Rachel tilts her head, blank and smug. "No. Eat."

She's insistent—more than usual. The look in her eyes dares me to refuse.

I sigh, and, with all the dignity I can muster, take a bite.

It's… edible. Heavy. Tastes faintly of vanilla and pride.

Rachel stares at me, eyelids rising just a millimeter—her version of a triumphant grin.

I chew, swallow, and nod. "Not bad."

Rachel turns her head just slightly, meeting Twilight's gaze with what I can only call a smug silence.

Twilight blinks, completely lost. "Um… Should I… make more?"

Rachel's jaw hinges open, tongue curling in satisfaction.

"Mine. Better," she says, voice almost a whisper, and glides to sit on the floor beside my chair.

Twilight looks at me, baffled. "Did… she just—?"

I shrug, mouth full of pancake. "Rachel's having a morning, too."

Rachel doesn't look away from Twilight.

How silly.

After breakfast, I'm still chewing the last of Rachel's pancake—trying not to dwell on the density—when Twilight hops up, brushing crumbs off her chest.

She beams at me, almost vibrating with plans. "Okay! You ready?" She floats my saddlebags over, already buckled and packed. "Let's go! First stop, the bookstore. We'll have time if we leave now—"

I don't move. I just raise an eyebrow, making a show of glancing between her, the door, and the table.

"Why would I go?" I deadpan.

Twilight freezes, one hoof halfway through the shoulder strap of her bag. "Wha—What? Did I do it again? But… you said… I… I thought—" Her ears wilt. For a second, she looks genuinely wounded.

I let the silence stretch just long enough for her to get worried. Then, despite myself, my mouth quirks at the corners. The world's smallest smile.

She squints, realization dawning. "You're messing with me!" She points an accusing hoof. "You—you jerk!"

I shrug, trying for innocent. "I would never."

Twilight narrows her eyes, but there's a flush in her cheeks. Then, without warning, she grabs my tail in her aura and starts dragging me toward the door, hooves skittering. "Out. Now. You promised!"

"Promises are mutable," I say, digging my heels in, mostly for show. "Like states of matter—"

She just yanks harder, not even breaking stride.

Rachel rises as soon as we move. She glides silently after us, looming just close enough to make Twilight nervous.

Twilight glances back, hesitating at the door. "Oh! Um. Rachel, maybe today should just be, you know… the two of us?"

Rachel stops in the doorway, eyelids dropping into a heavy-lidded, unimpressed stare. Her jaw clicks open, tongue working as she shapes her reply. "No."

She glances at Twilight, then at me. "Need me. He gets… overwhelmed." Her tone is so dry it might crumble.

Twilight offers a smile so strained it might snap in half. "O-of course! The more the merrier, right?"

Rachel's eyes narrow, just a sliver. Satisfied.

Twilight spins back to me, determined to reclaim her cheerful momentum. "Come on! Daylight's wasting! And if we miss the lecture, you know you'll regret it."

She sounds almost giddy again.

I let myself be dragged, not even pretending to resist this time.

Rachel follows at my heels. Twilight throws me a sideways grin—triumph, exasperation, and hope all bundled together.

The bookstore is a wedge of morning sun and dust motes, the smell of old paper thick in the air. Twilight leads the charge, immediately diving for the "Science & Curiosities" shelf. I follow, if only because she's still loosely got my tail, and Rachel ghosts in after us, drifting between aisles with arms folded and that statuesque, slightly predatory way she has when she's bored.

Twilight holds up a stack of books for my inspection, each cover a riot of color and enthusiastic fonts:

"A Beginner's Guide to Alchemy"

"Natural Science"

"Stargazing for Smart Ponies"

"The History of Unicorn Teleportation"

"Weather-Making: Theory and Practice"

"Equestrian Mechanics"

She cycles through them one by one, thrusting each into my field of view. "What about this? Or this? Oh, this one's illustrated!"

I eye the "Natural Science" volume, which looks like it was written by candlelight and illustrated by a pony with three hooves. "This is your science book?" I flip it open, scanning the first few pages. The table of contents lists things like What Clouds Are Made Of and Why the Moon Likes the Night.

Twilight beams. "I thought we could compare it to your world's science! Isn't that fascinating?"

I keep flipping. reading the chapter headings out loud:

'The Great Gravity Debate: Is It Magic?'

'If the World Is Flat, Where Do Rainbows Go?'

'Celestial Orbs: Solid or Jelly?'

I can't help myself—I snort. "That's the debate?"

Twilight's ears flick back, defensive. "It's a serious theory! Some unicorns say the sun is constantly moving due to the solar currents. The movement is observable to the eye with an image enhancement spell, provided you use a spell to protect your eyes. There's a whole movement about it."

I try not to laugh. I really do. Plasma vs jelly rolling around in my head. I manage a straight face as I flip to the next section: Gravity: The Push or the Pull? There's an adorable hoof-drawn diagram of an apple hovering above a pony's head, surrounded by question marks.

I read a bit. Apparently, in Equestria, gravity is the world's gentle nudge, possibly caused by "magical earth currents," or, in one bold hoofnote, "the will of Harmony herself."

Twilight sidles closer, clearly waiting for my commentary.

I raise an eyebrow. "So, the leading theory is that gravity is magic?"

She nods. "Well, yes. Or currents. Or—well, there are lots of ideas! Nopony's proven it. It's not like we have… equations for this stuff. Not yet. Unless you do?"

She's looking at me like she expects me to pull an answer from thin air.

I mean, I do have the formulas. But I feel like if I indulge her, she's won.

So I go for something simpler.

I set the book down and lean on the shelf. "Gravity is… spacetime curvature."

She blinks. "What?"

I try to keep it simple. "Everything with mass bends space and time around it. The bigger it is, the more it curves space, and that's what pulls things toward it. The planets, the sun—anything heavy enough. It isn't magic, just… the way the universe works. Even light follows those curves. You don't need magic—just mass."

She stares, eyes wide and sparkling, brain firing off in a dozen directions. "Space and time… bend?"

"Yup, picture a giant rubber sheet. Put something heavy on it, it makes a dip. Smaller things roll toward the dip. That's gravity. The bigger the thing, the bigger the dip. The sun, for example, keeps all the planets in orbit that way. And the moon around the world, too."

Twilight chews her lip, frowning so hard her whole brow crinkles. "But… Celestia moves the sun."

I don't even sigh anymore. This argument is older than dirt. "Sure, sure," I say, voice flat with practiced indifference. "Celestia moves the sun. Of course."

She notices the sarcasm. "Hey, don't just shut down! She does! I've seen her do it! Every Summer Sun Celebration since I was little. I can show you—there are records, and witnesses, and—"

I wave a hoof, flipping a page for the show of it. "If you say so."

Twilight puffs her cheeks out, looking one wrong word away from a lecture. Then she seems to realize I'm not looking to debate, and all the wind goes out of her sails. She huffs, muttering under her breath, and grabs a few more books off the display. "Honestly. You're so stubborn," she grumbles.

I grin, satisfied.

Rachel drifts up beside me, silent and deliberate, and plucks a picture book from the lowest shelf—a ridiculous thing, all bright colors and hearts. She holds it up to my muzzle, waggling it for emphasis. "Buy."

I arch an eyebrow. "Why?"

She gives the most exaggerated shrug I've ever seen from a statue, tucks the book, then flashes her stone fingers in a mock heart shape. "Because you love me."

I sigh and snatch the book from under her arm. "You know that a little too well."

Rachel glides away, arms folded, triumphant.

I catch a flicker of green in my peripheral vision—Twilight, eyeing us with the briefest flash of something ugly before she straightens her posture and beams at me, sunny as ever. She adds her books to my stack and nudges me gently toward the counter, innocent as anything.

I shake my head, but let myself be herded. She presses close as we check out, already babbling about which book to read first and what she'll ask Celestia next time she visits.

Rachel's new book ends up on top of the pile, and she looks insufferably pleased.

Before I can even reach for my bits, Twilight's already paid. The books vanish into her saddlebag with practiced speed. She beams at me, satisfied, then sweeps us toward the door, herding me and Rachel into the sunlight before I can protest.

She keeps chattering as she leads us down the street, through a ripple of crowds and into the wide, marble-pillared front of the museum. The air inside is cool, smelling faintly of stone and old parchment. Rachel keeps just close enough to brush against my side, always perfectly between me and Twilight.

We move through the first hall, lined with ancient, glass-eyed portraits and dusty displays. Twilight practically bounces ahead, her voice bright.

She gestures to the first exhibit, an old cloak and a battered spellbook under glass. "This was the cloak of the greatest apprentice of the age—Clover the Clever. He was Starswirl's protégé and helped unite the tribes during the first Hearth's Warming."

I study the cloak, poking at the glass with a hoof. "Clover. Right. And you're sure about that?"

Twilight nods, already getting ready to launch into another lecture.

I tilt my head, deadpan. "Are you sure he didn't prefer the nickname 'Minty' in his early years?"

She falters, ears flicking. "I… no? I don't think so. I've never seen that in any record."

I give her an innocent look. "Strange. Must've read that somewhere."

Twilight looks faintly alarmed, but I'm already moving on, grinning to myself.

Next, we reach a grand statue: a bearded unicorn, stars embroidered on his robes, standing tall and imposing. Twilight's voice softens in reverence. "Starswirl the Bearded. He basically invented modern magic theory—spells, time travel, portal magic—"

I nod thoughtfully, circling the statue. "Sure, sure. What was his second cousin's name again?"

She freezes, mouth open. "What? He didn't—why would I—nopony knows that! Did he even have a cousin?"

I shrug, noncommittal. "Seems like the kind of thing you should know."

She shakes her head, cheeks puffed, but keeps leading us forward.

We stop at a display dedicated to a well-built earth pony, surrounded by ancient farm tools and thick tomes. Twilight straightens up, pride radiating from her. "Here we have Marble Drive, the pioneer of mechanical engineering in Equestria—she designed the first windmill, and her journals laid the groundwork for earth pony science."

I eye the tools, then smirk at Twilight. "But really, do you remember what her favorite breakfast was?"

Twilight's jaw drops. "I—How would anypony know that?!"

I nod, serious as stone. "It's important to the science."

Twilight's eye twitches. She grabs my shoulder and steers me—firmly—toward the next section before I can keep going.

We reach a wide mural of two regal alicorns—one painted with an ancient, hasty brush, the other's edges still fresh and gleaming, like she was added in a rush. Twilight stops, letting her voice get soft again. "Of course, you know Princess Celestia, ruler of Equestria for a thousand years. And after Luna's return, her story was restored—now, they rule together, side by side."

I look thoughtful. "Sure, sure. But wasn't Celestia originally named 'Sunshine Stardust' before the coronation?"

Twilight narrows her eyes, and I catch the exact moment she realizes what I'm doing. "Okay, now you're just making things up!"

I grin, victorious. "Whatever do you mean, dearest?"

She immediately reddens in anger, she tries to stutter out a response, but she can't seem to get the words out.

Rachel edges in close, planting herself squarely between me and Twilight. She reaches up with her stone fingers and, without a word, starts gently scratching behind my ear.

I melt. It's not fair—she knows exactly where to find the spot. I lean into it, a shiver of contentment running down my neck.

Twilight clears her throat, loudly.

I stiffen, ears burning. "Rachel, don't do that in public."

She doesn't even pause, tilting her head with stone-faced sass. "Will, if feel like."

Twilight huffs, cheeks flushed with irritation. "We, um—if we want to make it to the university lecture, we should leave now."

Rachel drops her hand, but only after one last smug scratch. I drag myself upright, still tingling, and give Twilight a look that says lead the way.

She does. Rachel stays right between us all the way out.

As soon as we leave the museum, she's marching straight for the edge of town, practically radiating nervous energy. Rachel stalks at my side, arms folded, blocking Twilight whenever she tries to drift too close.

After a block, Twilight glances at me with a sheepish little smile. "Sooo… Kinetic, you know that lecture starts in around an hour, right?"

I grunt. "Yeah."

She nods, a bit too quickly, ears flicking back. "And you know there's no train to Canterlot for another three hours."

I stop, fixing her with a look. "Twilight. Are you about to admit you're banking on me using my magic slab to get you there on time?"

She looks guilty, but stands her ground. "I just thought it would be the most efficient method! Besides, you love flying it. And it's so much faster than—"

I raise an eyebrow, letting my lips twist into a smirk. "Twilight, I knew you only wanted me for my magic."

She deadpans. "Just go get it."

I snort and fish the key out of my pocket as we approach my house. The H.A.R.D.I.S. sits where it always does. I unlock the door, stepping inside.

In the far corner of the main room, I spot the battered box. I reach out with my magic, hauling it over and dropping it with a thud outside the house. Rachel and Twilight watch as I open it and begin slotting the stone fragments together. Each piece clicks into place—edges fusing, grains rearranging as I coax the atoms into alignment. A flat, broad slab with three seats takes shape. The only spots of color are two deep-set rubies, each one pulsing softly with stored energy.

I step back, wiping imaginary sweat from my brow, and give the stone a once-over. Then, with my best "serious wizard" voice, I say, "On."

The runes etched into the surface flare, humming as the slab lifts a few inches from the floor.

Rachel is the first to climb on, movements perfectly balanced. I go next. My artificial right hoof twitches, adjusting automatically as the height changes. For a second, I stumble—old muscle memory clashing with newish hardware—but I settle into my seat with a grunt.

Twilight hops up last, giddy despite herself. "You know, I still think you could patent this. Revolutionize travel."

I snort. "That sounds suspiciously like work."

She squints, "Everything sounds like work to you."

Once everyone's in place, I lean back and mutter, "Up. Northeast."

The slab rises smoothly, angling toward the windows as I guide it out the open door and into the sky, leaving the odd little shack and the rest of Ponyville behind. Rachel folds her arms and sits stoically at my side, while Twilight leans forward, mane whipping in the wind, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

---

The world falls away beneath us as Canterlot comes into view, the city gleaming in the distance.

We arc over the mountain's edge, skimming the cloud line. The slab hums beneath us, smooth as glass, runes flickering along its edge. Canterlot is brilliant in the morning—ivory towers and golden domes rising out of the cliffs like something half-remembered from a storybook.

Twilight practically vibrates beside me, eyes locked on the approaching university. She points, jabbing her hoof toward a sprawl of old stone buildings clustered just below the castle itself. "There! Land by the north lawn—the one with the big sun dial!"

I nudge the slab down, adjusting the angle with a nudge of my aura. The runes respond instantly, and we glide in for a landing, barely stirring the grass as we settle. Rachel hops off first, landing with that heavy thud only stone can make.

Twilight's already halfway to the doors, not even waiting to see if we're following. Rachel and I share a glance—hers unreadable as always—and we trail after her through columns and wide, echoing hallways.

I finally catch up, falling in at Twilight's side as she starts prattling about the day's schedule.

"So, what's this lecture actually about?" I ask, more to distract myself from the glaring, judging statues in the entryway than out of genuine curiosity.

Twilight bounces on her hooves, unable to hide her giddiness. "You'll love it! There's a new rune mage professor this year—he's unveiling a brand new creation. Nopony knows what it is yet, it's all very hush hush." She lowers her voice, conspiratorial. "Rumor is, it's something that'll change everything for the university. Some ponies even think he's breaking tradition."

I snort, eyebrow rising. "A rune mage showing off? Be still my heart. I can't wait to see what passes for 'groundbreaking' these days."

Twilight laughs. "I mean it! Even I couldn't get any details from the faculty. It's all top secret. The last time I was this excited was… well, when you showed me Rachel."

Rachel puffs up, clearly proud. "Am Great. Know."

I try to hide my intrigue, but I'm sure she sees right through me. It's my field, after all. I'm curious—how far along are the other rune mages? At the archmage exam, most of the so-called "advanced" runes were pretty basic, even if the effects were flashy enough for a crowd. Sure, the elemental turrets were impressive—lots of sparks and noise—but the logic was… primitive. They seem farther along with spells. I still haven't forgiven the invincible door trick. Not a rune at all, just the professors holding it together with active magic. All to teach me about "asking for help." Or "trust." Or some other group-bonding bullshit.

Rachel lingers just behind us, stone feet echoing as we pass under the stained-glass windows. She makes a point of inserting herself between me and Twilight every time the hallway narrows. I can't tell if she's being protective or just petty.

The lecture hall doors swing open before us, spilling out the noise of dozens of students already buzzing about the professor's "revelation." Twilight all but drags me to the front, Rachel shadowing me like a gargoyle.

I settle into my seat and let myself wonder what I might actually see today.

 

[Riddlest]

The hall dims. Murmurs fade under the hush of stage-lamps blossoming to life. A Brown, short haired unicorn in a sharp charcoal robe strides onto the dais, chin high, voice already filling the rafters.

"Colleagues. Students. Patrons of the future. I am Dr. Octneighvius" He projects, each word polished. "Today, theory ceases to be timid. Today, we build the world we deserve."

Twilight practically levitates in her seat. Rachel plants a hand on my withers like a paperweight.

The curtain draws back. On a wheeled plinth sits a stone cradle etched in dense, interlocking rune-lines, two thick conduits snaking out to a steel collar around a crystal-smooth sphere of… nothing. An absence held in a lattice of glyphs. Along the rim I spot old, angular sigils—the same pattern-language I've been working with.

The professor sweeps a hoof. "Behold: a continuous aspect-harvester and containment lattice. Where once we relied on crude storage rubies, we now weave a vessel that is its own engine—an artificial sun, bound and gentle, seated directly upon the device it feeds. No gems. No scarcity. Only will, form, and law."

I feel my eyebrow climb on its own. I am, against my better judgment, curious.

His horn lets out a light that looks suspiciously like a laser pointer against a schematic, runes magnified across the wall. "We will draw the stellar aspect through ANNU and ZHAL, braid it with SIG for coherence, then confine the resultant luminant in a toroidal lumen using BIND and CAGE. Regulation is achieved by a negative feedback mesh—MODER—attuned to temperature and stress. Elegant. Deterministic."

Somepony that actually knows what runes mean? I thought that position was reserved for madmen and myself.

He gestures, almost tenderly, to the sphere. "The power of the sun… in the pads of my hoof."

I frown.

The students gasp. Twilight claps once giddily and then glances at me and remembers to be dignified. I just squint at the code panel he unveils on a slate to his side. It's commented, to his credit.

I read:

INITIALIZE
core_energy = 0
containment_strength = 0
harvesting = false
deliver_power = false
runtime_seconds = 0
MAX_TEMP = 1200 // assumed safe for stone lattice
MAX_STRESS = 850 // mapped via STRESS_RUNE
MAX_RUNTIME = 180 // seconds (safety window)
DETECT & DEMAND
demand = sense(downstream_load) // range 0..1 (unitless)
ambient_aspect = sample(ANNU, ZHAL) // stellar aspect influx proxy
STARTUP RUNE
if heard("ignite"):
→ harvesting = true
→ deliver_power = true
→ weave(BIND, CAGE) // initialize torus
→ set(containment_strength, 100) // baseline field %
HARVEST LOOP (tick = 1s)
if harvesting:
→ inflow = tap_aspect(ambient_aspect) * 1.25
→ core_energy += inflow
→ // Containment scales with stored energy (!!!)
→ containment_strength = clamp(containment_strength + (core_energy * 0.02), 0, 1000)
→ // Compression raises temperature; use simple proportional form
→ temp = sense_temp() + (containment_strength * 0.4)
→ stress = sense_stress() + (containment_strength * 0.3)
→ // Deliver power proportional to demand (but minimum trickle 5%)
→ outflow = max(core_energy * demand, core_energy * 0.05)
→ route_power(outflow)
→ core_energy -= outflow
→ // "Stabilizer" uses moving average
→ stability = avg(last_120_samples(temp, stress)) // 2 minutes window
→ // Feedback: reinforce if "stable enough"
→ if stability < (MAX_TEMP * 0.9) and stability < (MAX_STRESS * 0.9):
→ reinforce(BIND, CAGE, factor = 1.15) // multiplies containment
→ containment_strength *= 1.15
→ // Bleed only when over nominal
→ if stability > (MAX_TEMP * 0.95) or stability > (MAX_STRESS * 0.95):
→ bleed_to_ground(core_energy * 0.01) // 1% per tick
→ runtime_seconds += 1
FAILSAFES
if temp > MAX_TEMP or stress > MAX_STRESS:
→ say("Thermal excursion detected; initiating gentle cool-down.")
→ harvesting = false
→ // keep containment active "to protect structure"
→ schedule(bleed_to_ground(core_energy * 0.02), delay=180) // waits 3 minutes (!)
→ // deliver_power remains true to avoid "brownout"
→ // no immediate vent / quench
AUTO-SHUT TIMER
if runtime_seconds > MAX_RUNTIME:
→ say("Safety timer reached; maintaining containment for cool-down.")
→ harvesting = false
→ // containment stays as-is; no reduction routine

Click to shrink...

I don't even get through the second pass before my skin crawls.

Problems stack in my head like falling tiles:

He scales containment with core_energy directly, not with measured stress—so the stronger the store gets, the harder he squeezes it, which heats it, which raises stress, which his moving average will smooth until it's too late. Positive feedback disguised as "stability."

The "stability" metric averages 120 seconds, so any rapid excursion in the last few seconds is invisible to the logic that decides whether to reinforce or bleed. He's literally teaching it to ignore spikes.

Outflow is pegged to demand with a 5% minimum, but if demand is low, energy accumulates relentlessly. No adaptive throttling of inflow; harvesting is a fixed gain on ambient aspect every tick.

The failsafe stops harvesting but leaves the vise clamped—and delays the bleed for three minutes. Three minutes of hot, over-compressed lumen with nowhere to go.

The safety timer cuts harvest but never unwinds containment. No quench path. No cold sink. No shunt to a dumping lattice. Just a glowing bomb politely waiting to be a glowing crater.

I stand up.

Rachel stands when I do, hand already on my shoulder. Twilight jerks to look at me. Onstage, the professor notices the movement, and something brittle slides into his smile.

"Ah," he says, voice sharpening, "we have dissent before demonstration. You there—stallion—are you lost? This is not remedial theory."

"I'm leaving," I say. Calm. "You're about to make a very bright mistake."

Laughter ripples. He bristles. "My lattice was audited by three committees. It replaces gems with a bound luminant—an orderly torus of collected aspect, a sunseed, contained in perfect isophase. We harvest from the heavens by law, not by chance. Sit. Learn."

I tilt my head at the slate. "Your containment strengthens proportional to stored energy instead of measured stress. Your stability window is two minutes long, so you'll never see the last ten seconds until they've already happened. Your bleed is delayed. Your 'gentle' cool-down is a kiln."

He flushes, then forces composure. "The negative feedback mesh ensures moderation. The MODER rune does not fail. Aspect inflow is tame. You insult craft with superstition."

"Show me the quench."

Silence.

Twilight's hoof touches my fetlock under the bench. Worried. Rachel's other hand settles between my shoulders, anchoring.

The professor lifts his chin. "We proceed. You'll forgive me if I trust mathematics over… anxiety."

On the dais, he places both hooves on the braid-stone. The room holds its breath.

"Ignite," he commands.

Runes answer. ANNU and ZHAL wake like dawn, thin auroral threads siphoning through the lattice. The empty sphere blooms—first a pearl, then a soft, caged orb. Numbers scroll on his slate. Students lean forward. Twilight does too, eyes wide, terrified and thrilled.

I back toward the aisle.

I murmur to Twilight, "We're going."

The professor's voice fattens with triumph. "Observe: a luminant torus of perfect obedience. No gem. No loss. Clean, inexhaustible aspect, woven and kept."

Rachel is already guiding me toward the doors. Twilight hesitates, torn, then scrambles after us with an apologetic look over her shoulder.

Behind us, his voice rises, hot with vindication. "The power of the sun... In the pads of my hoof!"

The sphere brightens. The numbers jump again. The average smiles its stupid, smoothed smile. The bleed timer, somewhere in that code, starts its pointless countdown.

The little sun blooms.

It starts as a pearl. Then the surface crawls—granules, convection cells, a skinned-knee shimmer turning to white-hot velvet. Filaments unfurl, arcing to kiss the inside of the ring where BIND and CAGE glow a stern blue. For a heartbeat, the lattice holds. The runes along the plinth answer, lighting in time with the sphere's pulse.

It's… pretty.

The glow thickens. The numbers on his slate jump and jump again. The average line smiles its slow, stupid smile while the last few samples climb like a cliff.

The air tilts.

Quills skitter across desks toward the dais. Trinkets tug. A bracelet lifts off a mare's hoof and scrapes along the floor. The front row leans forward against their will, eyes huge. The professor slides a half-hoof toward his machine and pretends it's on purpose.

"Keep calm," he announces, jaw tight, tone ironed flat. "A harmless spike. The feedback will equalize momentarily."

A flare breaks containment.

It licks through the ring—just a hair—then blooms outside, a smaller braid of white that shouldn't be there. It hangs for a breath like a question mark, then fattens.

I light my horn.

Grain Displacement, pressure riding the boundaries where the lattice lines run. I pick the nearest feed—one of the conduits carrying coherence from SIG into the torus—and step into the aisle.

"What are you doing?" the professor snarls, voice finally cracking. His aura spikes; the air smells like hot copper.

"Pulling the plug."

He rips a desk out of the floor and flings it at my head.

Rachel is motion and angles; she snaps forward, palms up, catches the desk with a grunt of grinding stone, pivots, and hurls it aside. It shatters against the far wall in a spray of splinters.

Twilight's shield blossoms over the crowd. "Everypony out!" she shouts, voice steady, chin up. "Orderly! Single file! Keep to the walls!" She doesn't so much ask as command, her magic sweeping benches aside, her shield flaring as a stray spark pops against it. The students move, stumbling, coughing, but they move. Doors slam open, sunlight knifes into the dim.

The sun swells again. The pull grows. The professor's robe hems drag across the floor toward the plinth.

I reach the dais. I follow the runes, trying not to cause an issue by deleting the wrong rune. Stone flows like sand under pressure; the groove bites into the SIG feed—

"Stop!" he barks, horn blazing. "It's my life's work!"

"It's about to be everyone's last lecture."

He stomps a hoof. Runes wake under the stage—warding sigils packed into the floor like landmines. Pillars along the walls irise open with a grind and cough fire into life—elemental turrets, clumsy but effective, swiveling toward me and Twilight both.

"Evacuate!" Twilight barks again, throwing a second shield at the back doors, splitting her focus without flinching. The last of the students spill into the corridor. The room empties down to four: me, Twilight, Rachel—and the professor.

He slams a hoof into a hidden panel. A blanket of runes flashes across the ceiling and drops like rain—DAMP, NULL, QUIET—a suppression net.

Rachel's eyes go dim mid-stride. She folds like a marionette with cut strings, hitting the floor in a heavy kneel that rattles the seats. "Rachel!" I lunge—but my horn goes cold, my telekinesis vanishes like a bridge knocked out from under me. Numbness. Empty.

The little sun doesn't care.

The sphere grows brighter—too bright. The flickering edges of the torus shudder, the hum shifting pitch into a whine like boiling metal. The professor, still clinging to his plinth, lifts a hoof and raises his voice again.

"You see! All of you! The radiance is controlled! A new dawn for magical engineering! No more gems! No more dependency on mineral harvests! No—"

A filament lashes outward like a whip.

It slams into his horn with a hiss of white heat.

The sound he makes is a wet, tearing screech—cut off mid-breath as he collapses, spasming as the severed horn glows bright red, then dulls. The smell is nauseating: scorched bone and cauterized nerve.

He doesn't move after that.

Just lies twitching at the base of his "life's work."

The torus pulses once. Twice.

Too bright. Too unstable.

I brace for the worst.

Then—fwump.

A containment field blooms around the entire construct—an elegant, silent compression of gold-white energy that seals the machine like a lid on a boiling pot. I feel it instantly—my magic returns in a flood, rushing back into my horn like air after drowning.

Rachel's stone fingers twitch on the floor. Her head lifts slowly, eyes relighting one segment at a time.

"That's quite enough of that," says a calm, velvet voice behind me.

The room cools.

Princess Celestia walks in. Her golden regalia barely makes a sound as she approaches the flickering containment dome, studying it as if it were a roach on the floor.

"What a shame," she says, eyes still on the flickering artifact. "Brilliant, perhaps. But lacking in the kind of sense we call common—a deficit not unheard of among our more gifted minds."

Her horn glows, and with the gentle grace of a sculptor, she begins crossing out the active runes inside the shield—careful and efficient, never touching the core directly. The sun, robbed of its form, gutters like a candle and fizzles out, dissipating into a soft hiss and motes of harmless light.

I glance at the ceiling, where the suppressive DAMP, NULL, and QUIET runes still sat. Now they're crossed out. In perfect, razor-thin slashes.

My ears flick. "You projected magic through the suppression field?"

Celestia gives me the faintest smile. "A common oversight of that particular design: rune-based suppression only applies to magic projected from within. Not outside. A subtle difference often exploited."

When I turn back to the device, Luna is there—like she teleported in when I blinked. She pokes at the deactivated plinth with her silver-shod hoof, then snorts.

"I know not why he sought to replace rubies in the first place," she declares, as though the idea is inherently absurd. "They do just fine. And they are far prettier."

I smirk despite myself.

Then I sway.

My balance slips for just a moment—between the magic crash, the field suppression, and the mental strain of calculating how close that thing came to cracking, I'm more drained than I thought.

Luna sees it.

Before I can recover, she's already lifting me with her forelegs. She pulls me close. Publicly.

"Ah, thou art weakened!" she declares dramatically, nuzzling the top of my head like I'm a cold puppy. "Thy bravery nearly cost thee thy life! A valiant stallion, overburdened by his own brilliance!"

Not again.

"Luna—Luna no—"

"Shhh, hush now," she says, rubbing her cheek against mine. "We shall carry thee to safety. It is thine earned rest."

"I have legs," I mutter into her chest. "They work. I checked. Hell, I made one of them. "

Twilight stares, open-mouthed. A sort of fire is in her eyes. Bright, just barely hidden behind a wobbly smile. Rachel looks even less amused—arms crossed, stone face unreadable, but her foot taps the floor like a clock wound too tight.

I try to pry Luna's forelegs off, but she simply tightens her grip, a smug glint in her eyes.

Celestia glances toward the unconscious professor, now being moved gently onto a stretcher by a medical team.

"The damage was… severe." she says quietly, mostly to me. "He will not be jailed."

I glance back. Where his horn was is black at the base. Scorched.

"Horns can grow back," I murmur.

Celestia nods. "Yes. But not his. Not after that. Magic, for him, is gone. I suspect… that is punishment enough."

I don't argue. I'm too tired.

Luna cradles me like some kind of wounded war prize, and I'm too tired to push her off without making a scene. I let my head fall back against her shoulder with a sigh.

"Thou art safe now, noble Kinetic," Luna coos, entirely too pleased with herself. "And valor is best rewarded with immediate praise," Luna finishes, still hugging me like a trophy.

Twilight clears her throat, gaze flicking from the inert lattice to the stretcher. "The runes themselves… would have been a wonderful invention," she says softly. "It's sad he failed."

I rub my face against Luna's peytral, mostly to free my mouth. "It'd work, in theory." I say, too offhand for my own good. "With some adjustments."

Celestia's attention snaps to me like a compass to north. "Which adjustments?"

My ears flatten. "Ah. Hypothetical adjustments."

A patient look from her that says she can wait all day.

I fumble. "I'm… not faculty."

"We can fix that," she says lightly. "Adjunct, if you prefer freedom."

"I don't have a lab."

"You may use mine."

"I'm very busy."

"With what?" A tilt of her head that somehow removes the ground from under excuses.

"I promised myself no more containment experiments this week."

"We can begin next week."

"I'd need a safety team that isn't… committee-blind."

"I will assign one. Personally."

I open my mouth, realize I'm out of runway, close it again—and look for rescue.

Twilight's face has gone from soft concern to something hard-edged. Her smile dies in stages. The set of her jaw changes. I've never seen her look at Celestia like that. It's anger. A precise, surgical kind that makes my skin prickle.

Celestia draws breath, ready to peel apart my next flimsy objection—

—and Luna cuts in. "Sister. Thou wouldst not press him into needless peril anew… wouldst thou? Pray, look upon the scholar."

Celestia follows Luna's chin.

Twilight's eyes are steady. All that tidy fury points straight up the chain of command.

Celestia's gaze shifts. Her posture falters. Her ears flatten, and she flinches like a foal caught reaching in a cookie jar.

"I…" Celestia exhales, then gives me a small, careful look. "Kinetic. Forgive me."

The apology lands heavily.

"When you offer those… flimsy little defenses," she continues, quieter, "it is strangely—" her mouth twitches, almost embarrassed by herself, "—fun to dismantle them. I fall into it. Instinct, perhaps."

Twilight's expression doesn't soften yet. It stays sharp, protective.

Celestia lowers her head a fraction. "That was unkind. You have done enough."

Luna seems satisfied with that. She pivots, and the tension in the room shifts with her, as if she grabbed it by the scruff and moved it elsewhere.

"And now," Luna declares, bright again, "since there is no longer a sun attempting to devour the university, I would like to… as the foals say… 'hang out' with thee."

I blink. "...W-What?"

Luna adjusts her grip lightly. I try, weakly, to wriggle free, but it's like being cradled by velvet-wrapped iron.

"I merely desire to 'hang'," she repeats, pleased with her own phrasing. "We have not done so properly since before thy unfortunate encounter with Cadance..."

I wince.

Twilight steps forward, carefully upbeat. "We were actually here to—well, I was going to take him to—"

Luna has already turned and started walking, guiding me forward. "Wonderful. Then thou shalt accompany us. We go now to partake in sugar and conversation."

Twilight follows, fretting at the edges. "I just thought we were going to spend time—"

"Indeed! And now we shall," Luna says over her shoulder.

Rachel brings up the rear, silent as usual, though the scrape of her stone fingers drumming against her own arm doesn't sound especially friendly.

Luna sets me down and closely guides me straight into Canterlot's lower quarter. A few ponies glance our way. Apparently, seeing me snug against a princess is a spectacle.

We arrive at a familiar storefront tucked between an apothecary and a weathered mapmaker's guild. The faded sign swings lazily overhead.

Donut Joe's.

Luna beams. "I have heard tale of this establishment. Twilight Sparkle doth swear by its honey twists."

"I said they were ok," Twilight mutters, but she opens the door anyway.

The inside smells like warm flour and oil, sharp-sweet glaze, and cinnamon. The stallion at the counter looks up from behind the counter and freezes a moment too long at the sight of two mares and a golem girl walking in around one stallion, one of whom is continually nudging him forward. To his credit, he says nothing.

Luna finally stops us at a booth near the back. Rachel slides in next to me like a closing vault door. Twilight sits on the other side.

Luna perches at the head of the table like she's holding court, staring down the worker. "I desire one full set of each."

Joe blinks. "One dozen of everything?"

"Aye."

Twilight orders a jelly filled chocolate covered doughnut. Rachel points at a chocolate-glazed ring. Joe hesitates, looking at me. I nod, and he takes the order for two of them.

I go for a lemon-filled.

It's a bit lopsided, and the filling's not clear like the processed stuff we have on Earth. More golden. I bite in—and it's soft, bright. The flavor spreads, simple and a bit more tart than I'm used to.

It's not bad.

I pause longer than I mean to. Then I hum around the second bite, which is a mistake because Luna immediately catches it.

"Thou enjoyest it."

I nod.

She looks downright pleased.

Twilight eyes me over her cup. "I didn't know you liked lemon."

I wipe a bit of filling from my lip. Then I raise my chin, put on my most obnoxious pout, "There's a lot you don't know about me."

Rachel makes a noise like stone grinding. Luna chuckles heartily.

Twilight doesn't smile back. She studies me for a moment too long before finally sipping her tea and looking away.

Rachel, across from me, picks up her donut, turns it over in her fingers, squishes it slightly, then sets it down again, staring. She's not built to eat. But she seems content just to be involved.

Spoiler: Rachel with her doughnuts

Luna settles into her seat now that everyone has their selections—or in Rachel's case, a donut being tenderly disassembled like a research specimen.

The royal's gaze drifts toward the window, the playfulness in her tone dimming. "The castle is… quiet these days," she says, mostly to the table. "Tis peaceful, but dull. Many servants do not speak to us beyond 'Yes, Princess,' or 'As you wish.' Some shiver. Others bow so low we wonder if they might fall and stay there."

Twilight stirs her tea. Her lips twitch, but she doesn't interrupt.

Luna sighs. "Night Court remains open. But it is hollow. Sparse. Though there are participants, we suspect our dear sister sends some of the petitioners herself, to spare us the indignity of an empty hall."

I glance up. "I'd think Night Court would be packed, considering how long the wait must be for Celestia."

"Exactly!" Luna slaps the table—not hard, just loud enough to jostle the tray. "We know! And yet, they wait days—days—to speak with our sister when we sit with an open docket, idle and prepared!"

Twilight sets her cup down. "Maybe they don't realize how much faster yours is," she offers gently. "It might be worth mentioning in the Canterlot Chronicle? A small poster? Something like… 'skip the line—Night Court answers tonight'?"

Luna blinks.

Then her eyes narrow. "This may be… a very good idea."

Twilight preens slightly, clearly pleased to have contributed.

Rachel, meanwhile, has used a chocolate glaze to draw something like a small runic diagram on her napkin with the side of her donut. Her creation is abstract, but there's a pattern to it—circles inside squares inside circles, a kind of recursive structure that makes my hindbrain itch.

She looks up, meets my eyes, then pushes the napkin toward me.

I nod, as solemnly as I can manage. "It's excellent. Perfect. I'm keeping this. It's going right on the fridge... Do I have a fridge?"

Rachel straightens. Her shoulders square proudly, even if her expression doesn't change.

Luna's levity returns a bit. "We are pleased thou enjoyest thine pastry. And thy company." She looks at me pointedly. "Even if the company must sometimes wrest thee from thine labors."

Twilight tries again, lightly this time: "Well, we were planning to spend some time together. Just the two of us."

Luna tilts her head, as if confused by the implication. "And now we are four. An auspicious number! The perfect size for a late brunch and political strategy session, is it not?"

Twilight presses her lips into a line. "Sure."

I finish the last bite of my donut and lean back, satisfied.

Luna watches me closely. Her mood's brighter now, even if something still lingers behind her eyes—a quiet shape, lonely and sharp.

The wind picks up a bit as we step outside Donut Joe's, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows down the polished stone streets. Luna walks a half-step ahead, clearly pleased with herself, her tone still lofty but softer now as she glances between buildings.

"I have found much to admire in this city," she says, half to herself. "Tis new to me, this Canterlot. We knew only forest and fortress before, in the age of Everfree. This place… it shines, even at night."

Twilight raises a brow. "You mean you've been wandering Canterlot?"

Luna lifts her chin. "We explore. Night walks are a balm, and we have learned the rhythm of this city from shadow, not summit." She turns slightly, looking back at me. "And now we shall show thee."

We trail her through narrow alleys that open into hidden gardens, ivy-covered arches, weather-worn statuary of ponies I don't recognize but she greets by name. She shows us a glassblower's workshop that glows with pink and amber light even from the street, and a little footbridge painted entirely in blues—wood, rails, and even the cobbled path across it—all done by hoof in a moonlit palette.

Rachel, in her usual quiet, seems more animated now—head turning, fingers occasionally brushing against textured walls or rusted gates. She stares at a display outside a toy shop for a full minute, watching clockwork figurines of star ponies dance in a tiny revolving dome.

At one plaza, Luna pauses before a stone circle where street performers are gathering.

A mare in a sapphire vest steps forward with a flourish, her horn glowing as she tosses a small cluster of beads into the air. They burst gently, and the fragments fall into an orbiting ring of shimmering lights. After a moment, she conjures tiny illusions that rotate between them: a fish, then a winged dog, then a pony doing backflips. The crowd claps. She bows.

Then she begins the "egg trick." A conjured egg levitates. She asks a foal in the front to name a fruit. "Banana!" the colt yells. She smirks. The egg hovers higher… cracks. And from it spills a tiny, steaming, perfect banana muffin that lands in the conjured paper bag already waiting below. The colt squeals.

Twilight's shoulders relax. She watches the routine with a faint smile. "That's classic Canterlot flair magic," she murmurs. "I used to try stuff like that after school."

I glance sideways. "Any muffin conjuring?"

She lifts her chin. "One. It didn't end well. Sprayed cinnamon into the curtains. Mom was so mad."

We watch a little longer. The magician makes a phoenix out of scarves. It bursts into flame and leaves behind a folded napkin in the shape of a bird. Rachel claps. It's slow and oddly timed, but sincere.

Eventually, the sky darkens into navy.

Luna's eyes shift upward—less distracted now, more… formal. "Night approaches. Duty calls." She pauses, looking toward me briefly. "We are… glad, Kinetic, that thou came. Truly."

Twilight doesn't reply. She exhales instead—sharply. As Luna vanishes in a curl of midnight vapor, Twilight turns on her heel.

"Come on."

I blink. "What, now?"

"We're not done," she says. Then her horn lights, and there's a subtle shimmer of air around her.

A black dress summons onto her in a blink—clean lines, a high collar, a little constellation embroidery that catches the streetlight when she moves. She lifts her chin proudly.

I raise an eyebrow. "I should've brought my suit."

"You did," she says, too quick.

The air flashes again.

My crappy suit snaps onto me with all the dignity of a wet towel. Black. Slightly ill-fitted.

I look down at myself, then up at her. "This is criminal."

Twilight smiles like she's proud of the crime. "It's your suit."

I reach back by habit for my saddlebag.

They aren't there.

I stop walking. "Twilight."

She keeps moving and tugs me along with a light pull of her magic. "It's fine."

"Where are my bags."

"You'll have them back later."

"That's not an answer."

"It's an answer you're getting," she says, and her ears flick in that stubborn way.

I huff, outraged that she would use one of my own catchphrases on me. But I follow, mostly because she's already at the restaurant doors.

The place is all gold trim and soft lanterns behind frosted glass. A host in a crisp vest opens the door before Twilight even reaches for it, eyes flicking over her like he's counting invisible points.

"Miss Sparkle. Your table is prepared."

Twilight nods as if this is normal.

The host's gaze slides to me, then Rachel, then back to Twilight. His smile stays steady. "Right this way."

Rachel pauses at the threshold, looking down at herself as if only now remembering she exists in public. "I… no dress."

I glance at Twilight, then back to Rachel. "I'll get you something later."

Rachel's eyelids lower. Slow. Deliberate. "Later," she repeats, like she's filing it in a ledger.

We pass into a dining room that's too quiet, all clinking glasses and murmured laughter. The host leads us to a corner table near a tall window. A candle sits in the middle, already lit.

Then the host does something that makes me pause—he pulls out an extra chair and sets it neatly for Rachel without being asked.

I stare at it. "They're… usually not so accommodating where I'm from."

Twilight's mouth twitches. "I paid enough. They better be accommodating." She leans closer, voice dropping, suddenly a little shy. "Besides… being Celestia's star pupil has some benefits."

I glance at her.

She clears her throat. "Even if I don't usually like flexing them."

Rachel sits very carefully. Her stone fingers tap the edge of the table once, then stop. She looks at the candle flame for a long moment, head tilted.

Now that we're seated, Twilight changes.

It's something subtle. The tight energy from earlier smooths out. She's suddenly in a room with rules she knows.

The waiter returns with menus, and Twilight doesn't even open hers. She takes mine with her magic too, glances at it for a heartbeat, then hands it back.

"We'll do the river fish," she says brightly. "With roasted potatoes. And a fruit plate—strawberries and kiwi." Her eyes flick to me, quick as a measurement. "And Tart de Bry for him."

I blink. "For—"

"And for me," she continues, "the herb pasta, the saffron broth, and the honey custard." She adds a drink order, crisp and practiced.

The waiter nods like this is normal, and disappears.

I sit there a moment, mildly offended on principle. "You didn't ask."

Twilight tilts her head, innocent. "No, I didn't"

"That's… unsettling."

"It's efficient," she corrects.

Rachel watches the candle. Then she reaches out and pinches the flame between two stone fingers. It goes out instantly. She blinks at the wick, then lets go.

Twilight's ears twitch. "Rachel—"

Rachel slowly turns her head. "Too bright."

I exhale through my nose, shaking my head. "Alright."

Twilight's smile returns, and she leans forward slightly, forelegs folded on the table. Her eyes go half-lidded. She holds my gaze too long and too steadily.

My spine tightens. I suddenly remember the door, the hall, the candle—anything else I could be staring at.

Twilight keeps her forelegs folded, chin tipped just so. Her voice drops a register. "You clean up nicely."

My spine tightens. I don't look away, but I suddenly remember the door, the hall, anything else I could be staring at.

Twilight leans on the edge of the table just a little more. Her mane shifts as she angles her head again, letting the candlelight (from a different table, as ours has been snuffed) catch in the constellation embroidery stitched into her dress.

She waits patiently.

I grunt and half-shrug. "You knew what I looked like in this suit."

"Yes," she says, not blinking. "But you know how I love reverifying."

I suddenly find the butter knife incredibly interesting.

The food arrives shortly after. The fish is warm, flaky, clearly expensive. Twilight waits until I've taken a bite—just one—and softened, then starts.

Her questions come with the exact cadence of a thesis defense.

"Do you prefer dense city environments or sparsely populated settlements?" she asks lightly.

I blink, mouth still half-full. "Depends. Are we talking about living or working?"

Twilight smiles faintly. "Living."

"Rural, then. I like not hearing anyone for miles."

She nods, tucking that away. "And do you form emotional bonds more readily with sapient constructs, organic beings, or abstract magical principles?"

I pause. "That's not a normal question."

She arches a brow.

I chew, then answer, "Depends on the construct."

Twilight hums like that's acceptable. She leans in just enough that the edge of her hoof brushes mine. "When you develop a spell, do you lean toward empiricism or iterative abstraction?"

I squint and pull back my hoof.

"I... usually just think about what I want to happen, then use physics as a bridge to get there."

She narrows her eyes. "Can you be more specific?"

"No."

Rachel looks up from where she's trying to line up the silverware in perfect symmetry with the table's edge. "He's good at... Thinking."

Twilight presses her lips together in amusement. Then, her tone softens again—just enough to signal that this next question matters more.

"What kind of relationship would you ideally maintain, given your current psychological and logistical constraints?"

My fork slows mid-bite.

"That one's a little direct."

"I find it efficient."

I sit back. "I don't know. Haven't thought about it."

She watches me. Quiet. Calculating. There's no accusation, no hurt—just… curiosity, mixed with something else she probably thinks she's hiding well.

I take another bite. "Next question."

She adjusts her posture again.

"Do you believe in the concept of 'meant to be,' or do you consider relationships purely emergent from compatible personality types and situational exposure?"

I snort. "You know dates aren't supposed be an interrogation, right?"

Twilight's smile curls, self-satisfied. She reclines just slightly, enough to imply she's already won whatever game we're playing.

"So you do know it's a date," she says.

I flinch.

She tilts her head. "Which means we're dating, right?"

I don't answer. Mostly because my brain is too busy short-circuiting. There's heat in my ears, my fork is suddenly heavier, and I feel stupid—like I've walked into a trap labeled in bold letters and still managed to spring it.

I figured I could skate by. A few walks, some shared meals, minor catastrophes. I thought I could coast on plausible deniability and awkward charm until it all felt normal. But now she's named it. Out loud.

I glance at the door. It's not far.

Twilight clearly sees it too.

Before I can make a move, she speaks again—faster now, voice still gentle but focused like a scalpel. "We can work around your... eccentricities."

My unease clears in a moment of defensiveness as my brow furrows. "My what now?"

She waves a hoof loosely. "You don't find ponies attractive. That's fine. You're emotionally avoidant, slightly dissociative, undernourished—"

"Okay—"

"—and you act like feelings are a foreign language someone handed you without a translation guide."

"I get it."

She nods, unfazed. "But I like you. And I think I can help. Positive reinforcement. Classical conditioning. Pairing my presence and affection with food, stability, helpful dopamine cues…"

My eyes narrow. "You're not seriously suggesting—"

"I'm confident that within three weeks of intermittent reinforcement cycles, I can at least get you to tolerate hoof-holding."

I set down my fork.

"That's too far."

She raises both hooves, like she's calming a spooked animal. "I'm trying to make this accessible. I know you don't do feelings, so I'm giving you metrics."

"Metrics." I push my chair back.

"You hate direct confrontation with your emotions—" Twilight starts, but I'm already getting up.

"Gee, what gave you that idea?" I squeeze out, voice tight.

I step away from the table. Rachel starts to rise beside me, but Twilight—still seated—speaks softly behind me.

"You don't like this," she says. "I know. You don't like when things are said outright, especially not feelings. But I love you, and if I don't say anything, nothing will ever happen."

I freeze.

Love?

Then I make a sound—an awkward, strangled noise that might've been "Right" or "Nope" or "Please no"—and walk faster. My hooves hit the marble tile too hard. I almost trip on the threshold.

Behind me, Twilight hums. Just a tiny note, flat and not even a little surprised.

 

[FaustKnowsAllYourFetishes]

Faust celebrates the creation of a new peak fanfic

 

[Gindjurra]

Not again.

"Luna—Luna no—"

Click to shrink...

Luna YES!

 

[TheFabulousCustodes]

More Luna is always good.

Glad to see you doing another MLP fic!

 

[Kencord]

Good to see you're back! Hope it was a restful break and great to catch your stuff again. Thanks for posting.

 

[Riddlest]

Outside, the cool air hits me like a slap. Lanternlight spills across the street, throwing long shadows from flower boxes and decorative wrought iron.

I stop outside the restaurant, finally realising she's not following me.

Rachel catches up silently. She stands next to me, then leans forward a little, staring down at my face.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice low and deliberate.

I open my mouth. "Yes... No... I don't know."

She blinks slowly. Then she pats the top of my head—a careful, awkward pat like I'm a cat she doesn't want to scare off.

It helps.

I start walking again, slower this time. No real destination in mind. Rachel follows without question, like she always does.

Thoughts tumble.

Twilight.

She's kind. Brilliant. Fun to be around. And there's no denying I like her. I like messing with her. Watching her get flustered. Working with her. Arguing with her. Sparring in magic, words, ideas. I like her mind, and how it sharpens mine when she challenges me. I don't want to lose her.

But her body? Her features—veiny fur, Large eyes, equine proportions—don't spark anything in the part of my brain that's supposed to register desire. They never have. And it's not her fault. She's… beautiful, in her own way. For what she is. But what she is and what I'm wired to find attractive don't match.

Can a relationship survive that?

Could I?

Would she just get tired of trying to drag emotions out of me like pulling teeth? Of hoping I'll wake up one morning and suddenly want something I've never wanted?

I pause at a street corner. A warm breeze tugs faintly at my too-small collar. Rachel stands beside me, her gaze tracking the soft glow of a passing firefly like it's the only important thing in the world.

"I don't know what to do," I say.

Rachel tilts her head. "You want to see her again?"

"...Yes."

"Then do that."

---

The restaurant isn't far.

I make it back without thinking. Just retracing my steps with Rachel beside me, her hands folded behind her back. The dining room inside glows softly through the windows—candlelight and linen, hushed conversation drifting faintly through the glass.

Twilight is still there. Same table, same spot. Her hooves are folded on the table now, posture perfectly calm. She watches me approach through the glass and doesn't blink.

When I step in, she doesn't rise. Just lifts her brow slightly.

"Finally realized I still have all your stuff?"

I blink. I really hadn't.

I glance at her, then at Rachel, who gives a tiny, unimpressed shrug.

Twilight gestures with a little pulse of her horn. "It's already packed. Let's go."

We don't talk much on the walk back. Just the quiet rhythm of hooves on stone and Rachel's even steps beside me. The city's a little emptier now, the night deeper.

The slab is where we left it—hovering just above the ground, humming faintly.

We climb aboard. Twilight says nothing. Neither do I. Rachel settles in cross-legged.

Twilight takes the pilot's seat and utters a command under her breath. The rubies light up.

We rise.

It's an easy glide. No wind. Just the quiet hum of enchanted stone and the distant murmur of Canterlot slipping behind us.

I glance her way once or twice. She doesn't speak, doesn't push. She's letting the silence do what it does. Giving me space.

We land just outside the H.A.R.D.I.S.

Twilight hops off first and levitates my saddlebags over. She sets them down beside me like returning a borrowed book.

"I'll go home," she says gently. "I want you to think about what we talked about. Seriously."

She gives me one last glance.

Then she turns. And with a soft pop, she's gone.

Rachel and I head inside. The H.A.R.D.I.S creaks faintly as the door shuts. Lights flicker on—low and warm.

Upstairs, I drop my saddlebags onto the floor, turn off my leg, and fall face-first into the bed.

Rachel settles nearby. I hear her sitting, folding her legs up under her like she does when she's content to just… exist.

The bed creaks under me.

I exhale.

The room smells faintly of stone dust and copper.

I just lay there.

Thinking.

---

When I wake up, it takes me a second to remember where I am.

Face in pillow. One foreleg hanging over the side of the bed. The room is dark except for the 'window' throwing a dim white bar across the floorboards.

I push myself up slowly, dazed and heavy. My neck cracks. My artificial leg adjusts as it turns on with a quiet rumble.

Rachel is sitting by the door.

The moment she sees I'm awake, she stands and heads downstairs with purpose.

I blink after her. "...Okay."

A few minutes later, I follow the smell.

Pancakes.

Again.

Rachel is at the stove, focused with an absolute intensity. The pancakes are still a little odd-shaped, but less tragic than last time. Less gray. More golden.

She slides one onto a plate and presents it to me with both hands.

I take a bite.

It's good.

Rachel's eyelids lift a fraction. Proud.

I chew, swallow, and point at the stack. "You're improving."

"Know," she says.

I snort and sit at the table. The kitchen is quiet for a bit except for the scrape of stone fingers on ceramic and the soft hiss of batter hitting the pan.

Then Rachel asks, "Why not pair with Twilight?"

I pause halfway through another bite.

"Straight to it, huh?"

Rachel turns the pancake with a careful flip. "Yes."

I stare at my plate. "It's complicated."

She waits.

I sigh. "I look for certain things in a partner."

Rachel sets another pancake down. "Twilight smart."

"Yes."

"Funny."

"Yes."

"Likes you."

I rub a hoof over my face. "Yes."

Rachel tilts her head. "Then why not?"

I poke at the pancake with my fork. "She's... not conventionally attractive to me."

Rachel goes still.

Then, very slowly, she turns her head toward me.

"Am I?"

I choke.

"What?"

Rachel points at herself with one stone finger. "Am... pretty?"

I stare at her.

Her face doesn't move much, not the way a pony's does. Hinged jaw. Stone lips. Half-lidded eyes waiting patiently for the verdict.

"Y-yeah," I say.

Rachel's eyes widen a touch.

"But I made you, so it's different."

That came out bad. Really bad.

Rachel, however, seems delighted. Her shoulders lift. She looks down at the griddle, then back at me.

"Prettier than Twilight."

I point my fork at her. "That is not what I said."

She lowers her eyelids in smug satisfaction.

I groan and finish the pancake.

By the time I'm done, I've made a decision.

A terrible one, probably, but a decision.

"If Twilight wants to find me," I mutter, standing, "the last place I should be is here."

Rachel looks at me. "She knows house."

"Exactly."

I grab my saddlebags, sling them on, and head for the door. Rachel follows immediately.

Outside, the air is cooler than I expect. The world has that in-between quiet to it, not early enough to be peaceful, not late enough to be empty.

I start walking.

Just to see what I can see.

Just to not be home when Twilight decides she's done giving me space.

---

We make it about three streets before Rachel starts again.

She walks beside me, stone feet making soft little taps against the road. "Then… why not somebody else?"

What? Oh. Pairing.

I kick a rock with my good hoof. "Because no one here is conventionally attractive to me."

Rachel processes that.

A pink blur bounces past us. "Hi Kinetic! Hi Rachel!"

I glance over automatically. "Hi, Pinkie."

She's already gone.

Rachel looks up at me. "Except me."

I sigh. "Well. Yeah. I made you."

She keeps walking for another few steps.

Then: "Why not pair me?"

I stop dead.

"What?"

Rachel stops too, perfectly balanced. "Pair me."

"Rachel, no."

"Why?"

I rub a hoof over my face. "Because you're basically a child."

Her eyelids lower.

I keep going. "You're an artificial intelligence, yeah, but the way you speak, the way you act, your level of development—setting aside the fact that I'm basically your dad—it wouldn't be right."

Rachel is silent for two long steps.

Then she says, in crisp, flawless, horribly composed English, "I speak that way because you find it endearing."

I pause.

She continues, voice smooth and dry and far too articulate all at once. "I determined very early that abbreviated speech patterns, reduced vocabulary, and a slower cadence increase your patience, soften your tone, and result in more frequent physical affection. The moment I learned to read and connect the phonetics, I accumulated knowledge at a profound rate. However, you are substantially more likely to indulge me when I present as simple."

I stare at her.

She keeps going, hands folded neatly behind her back.

"It is also efficient. I can communicate most functional concepts in very few words, and in day-to-day operation that has proved sufficient. But the style is not a limitation. It is a choice. If it were truly a barrier to being understood, I would discontinue it immediately."

Another pink blur zips by on the other side of the street. "Hi Kinetic! Hi Rachel!"

I blink at her automatically. "Hi, Pinkie."

Rachel doesn't even glance away from me.

"You respond favorably to protectiveness," she says, like she's presenting findings. "You also respond favorably to dependency, to perceived innocence, and to requests framed with minimal complexity. Your compliance rate increases measurably. You relent more often. You pet my head more. You let me care for you more readily. You say my name in a gentler tone."

My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

"So yes," she finishes, calm as ever, "it gets the message across efficiently. But it also gets me what I want."

I am too stunned to walk.

Pinkie bounces by, upside down somehow, balancing on her forehooves for three whole seconds. "Hiya!"

"Hi, Pinkie," I say weakly, still staring at Rachel.

She gives the stone equivalent of listing a brow. "If speech style were the issue, I would alter it. But it is not."

I point at her. "W-well, I mean—talk however you want, I guess—but I still made you. I'm like your dad."

Rachel considers that.

"Okay, daddy."

I recoil like I've been slapped. "Whoa. That is not on the table."

Rachel's eyelids lower in a slow, smug slide.

Pinkie passes us at a trot. "Hello!"

I automatically answer, because apparently my brain has left the building. "Hello, Pinkie."

Then I stop.

I look left.

Pinkie Pie is bouncing past a flower cart.

I look right.

Another Pinkie Pie is hanging halfway out of a second-story window, waving at some birds.

Down the street, two more are arguing with each other. One is wearing a fake mustache. Another is trying to race a mail cart.

I turn in a slow circle.

There are, in fact, a lot of Pinkie Pies.

At least ten.

All moving with that same jittery energy.

I stare.

"…What?"

Rachel follows my gaze, then says, in her usual simple voice again, "Many."

"No, I can see that, Rachel."

One of the Pinkies gasps from across the square. "You noticed!"

All of them stop at once and look at me.

I look from one Pinkie to the next.

My ears flatten. "Which one of you is the real one?"

Every single Pinkie gasps.

Then, in perfect, chaotic unison:

"It's me!"

"No, I'm the real one!"

"I have the real memories!"

"I'm the realest!"

"At least I'm emotionally authentic!"

That last one points accusingly at another, who gasps in offense.

I can't tell at all where the real one is. I think in the show she was sad? But I can see at least three sad Pinkies just from a glance.

I look helplessly at Rachel.

Rachel stares back blankly, before lifting a hand and points past them all, to a Pinkie standing near a lamp post.

That one isn't bouncing. She's just standing there, shoulders hunched, looking like she's trying very hard not to cry.

"It's that one," Rachel says.

The sad Pinkie jolts. "How did you know!?"

Rachel blinks once. "Can see through other Pinkies."

I glance at her. "Oh. Right. I did give you some sort of strange vision, didn't I?"

Rachel turns to me at once. "Not strange."

I hold up a hoof. "Fine. Unique."

That seems to satisfy her.

I dig into my satchel and pull out my rune notebook. I flip through pages of notes, sketches, corrective annotations, and half-finished diagrams until I find Rachel's construction notes.

There.

A cluster of perception runes nested near the top.

I skim the notations, then land on one I barely remembered using: the Eye of Knowing.

I turn the page to the glossary I'd written for myself when I first found the poorly written texts.

The entry reads:

"To see beyond what is seen, one must carve the Eye of Knowing. But beware—some things should remain hidden."

And then in my pen. "Sight Rune."

I stare at it.

Then at Rachel.

Then at the crowd of Pinkies.

"…Right," I mutter. "Some kind of truesight."

Rachel folds her arms, pleased.

The pieces click together. "These extra Pinkies are magical constructs. Copies. Projections. However they're being held together, Rachel can see through them."

The sad Pinkie's eyes fill at once. "Oh my gosh," she says, voice wobbling. "I thought I wasn't the real one." She sniffs hard, then launches herself at me before I can dodge.

I get a face full of mane.

"You guys are such good friends," she sobs into my shoulder. "They were gonna send me through the mirror!"

I go stiff. "Okay, okay—We can do this from a distance. They would have found the real you..."

A chorus of Pinkies from around the square shouts back:

"WITH SCIENCE!"

"Maybe magic!"

"Mostly guessing!"

I close my eyes.

"Great."

The real Pinkie pulls back, still sniffling. "I didn't want to get mirrored! What if I came back all weird and mean and with, like, leather pants?"

"That does sound upsetting," I say.

Rachel pats Pinkie once on the back with the same careful force she uses on me.

Pinkie sniffles again.

I look at the copies, then at the real one. "Right. New plan. Let's get you back to my house before somepony accidentally deletes the actual Pinkie Pie."

The fake Pinkies all gasp in scandalized horror.

"We would never!"

"Probably!"

"Not on purpose!"

The real Pinkie nods rapidly. "Okay! Okay, yes! Safe house! Secret base! Ohhh, do you have cupcakes?"

"No."

"Crackers?"

"Maybe."

She brightens instantly. "That's basically the same thing!"

I gesture down the street. "Come on."

Pinkie falls into step beside me at once, talking through the last of her tears without taking a single breath. Rachel walks on my other side.

Behind us, the remaining Pinkies scatter in every direction, still arguing over who was doing the best impression.

I keep walking.

By the time we get back to the H.A.R.D.I.S., Pinkie has already told me three theories about where the copies came from, none of which have any basis in reality.

She really starts to grate on you after the first ten minutes. I know she means well, but being around her is a constant drain.

I unlock the door and step inside. Pinkie immediately spins in a circle in the front room, taking in the bookshelves, the coffee table, the chairs, the couches.

"Ooooh! It's all mysterious and homey and weird in a way that says 'don't touch anything' but also in a way that makes me really, really want to touch everything!"

"Please don't touch everything."

"Got it. Touch selectively."

Rachel closes the door behind us and goes to stand near the couch, watching Pinkie.

Pinkie bounces over to one of the bookshelves and squints at the spines. "Are these cursed?"

"They might be."

Pinkie nods solemnly, as if that clears everything up, then trots to the coffee table and leans over it. "Do you have board games? Ooh, or cards? Or little tiny horses to move around on a map? Wait, we are little horses. I guess that one's less exciting then."

I set my saddlebags down by the couch and sink into it with a sigh. "You can sit down, Pinkie."

"I can! But I probably won't for long."

She sits anyway. For about four seconds. Then she's up again, peering into the next room, then back, then upside down over the arm of one of the chairs.

Rachel watches her rotate.

Pinkie spots Rachel watching and gasps. "Do you want to have a statue contest?"

Rachel tilts her head. "I win."

Pinkie nods wisely. "That's actually very fair."

For a while, that's what the evening is.

Pinkie asks questions. Rachel answers some of them. I answer fewer. Pinkie finds an old throw pillow, tucks it under her forelegs, and pretends she's Mayor Sweet, the self-gorging mayor of Sweetsville.

Pinkie asks if Rachel can blink one eye at a time.

Rachel demonstrates that she can.

Pinkie screams in delight.

I last maybe twenty more minutes.

Then I stand up and point toward the pantry. "Pinkie."

"Yes?"

"You want to thank me for helping you, right?"

Her ears perk.

"There's flour in the pantry. Sugar too. And I think there's still some cocoa in the back."

Pinkie freezes.

Then slowly turns toward the pantry door like she's hearing the voice of God himself.

"You want me," she says carefully, "to bake?"

I point again. "Please. Use that energy on something edible."

She salutes so hard she nearly falls over. "You got it, captain!"

And she's gone.

The pantry door bangs open. Then shut. A delighted gasp follows, then the rapid-fire clatter of ingredients being discovered.

Rachel looks at me.

I drop back onto the couch. "Thank god."

Rachel comes over and sits beside the couch instead of on it, folding herself down against the side. I reach to the side table and pick up one of the books that came with the H.A.R.D.I.S.

The cover is dark blue leather with no title.

Promising.

I open it.

The first page reads:

On the Seventeen Ethical Uses of Duplication.

I stare at it for a moment.

Then flip to the next page.

It's denser than I imagined, quoting laws and referencing events that I don't know. I have to extrapolate a lot and double back when new relevant information presents itself.

From the pantry comes the sound of vigorous whisking and Pinkie singing a song.

"Magic shack thank-you snack.

When the water went splish
And the copies went splash,
Everypony looked twice
At my face in a flash.

Was I really me-me?
Was I just too much cheer?
Would my friends know my giggle
If I disappeared?..."

She doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

I settle a little deeper into the couch and keep reading.

A few minutes later the house smells like sugar and butter. Then chocolate. Then something citrusy.

Rachel glances toward the kitchen. "Many sweets."

"That was the idea."

Pinkie reappears carrying a tray in her teeth and sets it down on the coffee table with a flourish. Little jam thumbprints (hoofprints?). Powdered sugar twists. Something approximating fudge. A pile of frosted sugar biscuits.

"For your bravery," she says proudly. "And friendship."

I set the book down long enough to take one of the biscuits.

It's quite good

Pinkie beams.

"Thanks."

I pick the book back up.

The chapter has gotten into how to actually duplicate something by the time there's a knock at the door.

Three even rasps.

Damn. Always at the good part.

Pinkie goes still in the middle of frosting another pastry.

Rachel looks at the door.

I lower the book slowly. "...That's never a good sign."

I set the book on the coffee table and stand.

Rachel rises with me. Pinkie stays very still near the pantry door, frosting knife held in one hoof, ears angled back.

I open the door.

It's exactly who I don't want to see.

Twilight stands on the other side, mane frayed at the edges, dress gone, saddlebags heavy against her sides. She looks like she's spent the last several hours wrestling a bear.

"There you are," she says, stepping in without waiting. "I know you're probably still worked up, but I wanted to check on you after dealing with—" She stops, exhales hard, and rubs her face with one hoof. "Another friendship problem."

I close the door behind her. "Another?"

She gives me a look. "Pinkie duplicated herself. A lot."

I glance past her.

Pinkie's head slowly lowers behind the back of the couch.

Twilight doesn't notice.

"It was chaos," Twilight continues, pacing now. "Dozens of them. Maybe more. They were everywhere. Ponyville was completely overrun. We had to gather them, keep them distracted, and figure out which one was the real Pinkie."

Curious, if the real Pinkies here...

I sit back down carefully. "And?"

Twilight winces. "It was difficult. They all had her memories, or at least enough of them to be convincing. I sectioned them off as best I could, tested their attention spans, watched for sustained emotional consistency, and used a behavioral elimination pattern." She pauses, puffing her chest out. "I'm approximately ninety-seven percent sure I got the real one."

I stare at her.

"Twilight," I say slowly, "a three percent chance you killed your friend is quite high."

Her ears drop at once.

"It wouldn't kill her," she says, but it comes out quieter than I think she intends. "Technically, the spell says it sends them back to the Mirror Pool."

I lean forward. "What would that mean for the real one?"

Twilight makes a very distressed sound.

Her eyes move past my shoulder.

Pinkie, who has failed completely at hiding, gives a tiny wave from behind the couch.

"Hi," she says, voice small.

Twilight goes rigid.

Then her horn lights.

Pinkie squeaks and ducks.

I throw up a hoof. "Don't."

Twilight's eyes snap to me. "Kinetic, move. That's one of the copies."

"No."

"She has to be. I sent the others back."

"You sent some of them back."

Twilight's face tightens. "No. I checked. I—I was careful."

Pinkie's eyes fill fast. "I told you I was me," she says, voice cracking. "I tried to tell everypony, but then everypony else was saying it too, and I got scared, and then they said the mirror thing, and I thought maybe I wasn't me after all."

Twilight's magic flickers.

I point at Rachel. "Rachel can see through the constructs."

Twilight looks at her, desperate for contradiction.

Rachel stands beside the couch, hands folded in front of her. "Other Pinkies are hollow."

Twilight swallows.

I grab my rune notebook and flip it open again, shoving the page toward her. "I used some kind of truesight when making her. I didn't even realize what it was doing until today. The duplicates are magical constructs. Rachel sees the difference."

Twilight takes the notebook in her aura, reads the entry, then reads it again.

Her ears flatten harder.

Her aura dies. The notebook drops onto the couch cushion. She takes one step toward Pinkie, then stops like the floor has become glass.

"I almost…" Her voice thins. "I almost sent you away."

Pinkie wipes at her eyes with the back of her hoof. "But you didn't."

Twilight shakes her head. "Because Kinetic found you first."

I shift in my seat, searching for something useful and finding only blunt instruments.

"You would've found her," I say awkwardly.

Twilight's head snaps toward me.

Ah. That was, apparently, the exact wrong thing to say.

Her eyes narrow. "Don't do that."

I blink. "Do what?"

"That." She points at me. "That thing where you say something like it's already settled. Like you know how it turns out. Like every terrible decision is fine because you've decided the ending for the rest of us."

I lean back a fraction. "I was trying to help."

"You were trying to make me feel better without dealing with the fact that I nearly erased one of my best friends!"

Pinkie flinches behind the couch.

Twilight sees it and immediately looks like she wants to bite her own tongue off. Her anger folds inward. She exhales, sharp and shaky.

"I'm sorry," she says, quieter. "Pinkie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"I know," Pinkie says.

Pinkie climbs out from behind the couch, mane a little flatter than usual.

Twilight looks at her for a long second, then turns away.

"I have to fix this," she says.

I frown. "Fix what?"

"The other one," she says. "The one we thought was real." Her voice is strained, but steadier now. "If she's still in town, everypony thinks that copy is Pinkie."

Pinkie's ears tuck down.

Twilight flinches again.

I don't say anything.

She picks up my rune notebook and places it carefully back on the coffee table. "I'll be back. Or I won't. I don't know. I need to handle this before it gets more confusing."

Then she's out the door.

The silence after she leaves is ugly.

Pinkie stares at the floor for a while. Rachel stands beside me, one hand resting lightly against the back of the couch.

"Do you want to go with her?" I ask.

Pinkie shakes her head quickly. "No. Not yet. I mean, I know Twilight's Twilight, and she's probably really sad and guilty and doing that thing where she makes a checklist so she doesn't have to cry, but…" She swallows. "I don't want to... be out in the open right now."

"Okay."

She looks up, surprised. "Okay?"

"You can stay."

Pinkie's face crumples for half a second before she forces it back into something brighter. "Great! Great. I can stay. I'll be very stay-y. The stayiest."

She wanders back towards the kitchen.

I sit on the couch and stare at the book without reading it.

Twilight.

That's the problem waiting under the Pinkie problem. The one I keep kicking down the road because the road keeps exploding.

I like her. If I didn't, this would be easy. I could be cruel, or clinical, or vanish into the woods and build something ridiculous until she got tired of looking for me.

But I like her.

I like how her brain works. I like how she argues. I like how smug she gets when she thinks she's caught me. I like that she keeps showing up, even when I give her every reason not to.

But attraction doesn't arrive just because it would make everything cleaner.

And even if it did, what then?

I'm leaving if I get the chance.

Back home, if there's a way. Through that Equestria Girls mirror portal, if there isn't. The human world on the other side isn't mine, but hands and streets and faces built for my instincts are almost painful to imagine.

Besides, doesn't Twilight end up with someone? Flash. Flash something. Guard? Guitar? I don't remember. She becomes an alicorn eventually. Immortal. Crowned. Important.

She'll be fine.

Probably.

By the time Pinkie runs out of nervous baking energy, and the front room smells like every festival food in Ponyville, I still don't have an answer.

So I do what I usually do when thinking fails.

I go to bed.

Pinkie gets the third upstairs room. I show her where the blankets are, and she nods with too much energy.

"Thanks, Kinetic," she says.

"Don't make a mess."

She gives me a wounded look. "I would never."

I stare.

"In somepony else's house," she adds.

I close the door before I learn more.

Rachel follows me to my room.

I stop at the bed and turn to her. "So."

She looks up at me.

I scratch the back of my neck. "Now that you've established you're… more aware than I thought. More grown, I guess. It feels a little weird to keep sleeping together."

"No."

I blink. "That wasn't a yes-or-no question."

"No."

"Rachel."

"No."

"You have your own room."

"No."

"You don't even sleep."

She steps past me, climbs onto the bed, and sits in her usual spot.

I stare at her.

She lowers her eyelids.

"No," she says again.

I stand there for a few seconds, considering dignity, boundaries, philosophy, artificial personhood, and my total lack of energy.

Then I sigh and climb into bed.

Rachel settles beside me, close but not touching.

Down the hall, Pinkie hums quietly to herself.

I close my eyes.

 

[BlackHorse8289]

Was not expecting the sudden eloquent speech from Rachel but it makes sense.

Very glad that he is avoiding any sort of knee jerk reaction to a relationship and that Twilight s giving him space

Excellent chapter!

 

[FatBaldBastard]

Oh shit, big dick is back in town. Welcome back, Riddlest. I missed your stories, hope everything is going well with you.

 

[TheManWithoutAPlan]

Love the Rachel plot progressing. I honestly hope she doesn't win the Kinetic-bowl, and instead goes and settles into ultimate wingman role like she first tried to this chapter.

 

[TheFabulousCustodes]

Clever clanker.

Thanks for the chapter, stoked to see more of this!

 

[SirKel]

Hey there you are!! It's nice to to know you're still around bud.

 

[Despacitoleo]

Like I said on fimfiction with my very big and throbing blurb of text of why its a toxic idea to lay with twiggles, I shall say it again get cucked purple horse



Also amazing chapter

 

[Lewd11]

Appreciate the new chapter