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The Steadfast Sky

by TheGreyPotter

Chapter 50: XLVIII : A Winding Canterlot Road

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The Steadfast Sky : A Winding Canterlot Road
The Grey Potter
http://www.fimfiction.net/story/11495/The-Steadfast-Sky
http://cosmicponyfiction.tumblr.com

~Discord~

Sun wasn’t even up yet, but I throw off my covers, bursting and to the brim with energy. I left an experiment overnight, and I still have an image of it in my head. What’s there? What’s still in my room? Is today finally the day I wake up and nothing’s changed?

I grope through the dark, rubbing the gumminess out of my eyes. Hand bats against something solid, something swinging loose. Rope’s still there! I dig my claws into the fibers… Alright, it still has fibers! That’s good! Good start!

With both hands, I yank the rope down, and the structure doesn’t collapse. Still looking ab-so-lutely on target! Pulleys whirr over my head, in ten different styles. One’s set to whizz, another pop, a third squeal... So on so forth. All the pullies, all the ropes, everything works in perfect, complete harmony. And with four distinct, ringing ‘tings!’

Lo and behold, my room is flooded with light. ALL the crystals light come on.

“Yes!”

I kick around my sheets in a small victory dance, Element bouncing on my chest. Maintaining complex illusions while I’m asleep? Check.

And with a snap of the claws, pop, the pulley system vanishes. All illusions gone. Well, not all gone. I leave my room’s color alterations. Been maintaining that for months, part of a completely different experiment.

I turn shades of violet, green, and yellow just crossing the room to grab breakfast… oh, the servants are such sweethearts. I think they cook my meals the night before. Nobody around here wants to wake up at… four? Three in the morning? Anyway, nobody wants to wake up that early to just make breakfast for a hyperactive Draconequus. I lift the silver lid, and the magic exhales across my eyes. Hot, magically warmed eggs await me, slathered in today’s mystery sauce roulette.

Also, some peppermints. I sprinkle a handful of them over the eggs. For good measure I drop a couple into the glass of milk. Plop plop fizz fizz. No morning is complete without a liberal dose of sugar. And mint. Can’t get nearly enough mint. Coat something in enough mint, sugar, whatever, and I’ll probably eat it.

I guess that’s why they’ve taken to coating the ham in a gallon of raspberry jam. They’re trying to trick me into eating slices off a corpse. Oh, why can’t they just leave me alone and let me eat all these unborn chicken babies, like a civilized pony?

Well… I slowly chew on the tough meat, having a moment of silence for the body they probably have stuffed in an icebox somewhere

Think fast! Click my claws and back come the pulleys. Cross my room, platter balanced in hand, turn green, orange, blue, and I give the rope a tug. Listen for the ten different kind of clicks, and after four tones, off go the lights.

Storing and rebuilding a complex pattern at a moment’s notice? Check.

Though… I dig my fingers into the rope. It squishes like putty under my fingers, splitting open with sharp snaps. Details are still a ‘not check.’ Working on it. Also working on a new term for ‘not check’. Every time I say that phrase, it just sounds sillier and sillier.

I fix the details of the illusion, refining every part back to perfection before I click the whole structure away again. And, blue, dark blue, purple, black, I’m over at the window. Turn the eating utensil into an ice scoop. Wolf down the rest of the eggs, guzzle the milk, crunch through the unmelted remnants of the peppermints. Now comes the hard part, and don’t laugh. I heave a wave of magic from my fingertips, trying to carry the plate and glass back in the yellow zone so the maid doesn’t accidentally step on them again.

The platter spins midair, upends, and everything clatters to the floor. The plate and cup spin out, splattering little flecks of jam and milk over everything.

Uhg, screw hovering things. That’s just embarrassing. Should have just walked the half room it would have taken to place an object down. I stare at the dishes for a while, and with a frustrated huff, I walk over to at least put them back on the platter. Only proper, I guess.

Back to the window. Open the window. Breathe the night air. Wait long enough to see the spotty mess of the constellations wipe themselves away, slinking back into their jars from a night illuminated really good and awful.

Open my uneven wings. Still find it strange how tight my shoulders feel these days. I Feel very aware of my muscles, and briefly, I tick off each one’s name. A memory comes to me, twinging at my brain. “Useless information.” “Useless” my big toe. Pfeh. Screw those Illuminators.

I heft myself up onto the sill, balanced on a small strip of white marble. Cold from the rock seeps between my toes and fingers, and my body has a tense shiver. I flap my wings a few times, stretching out knots, lifting myself to my fingertips.

And I spring away from the windowsill.

Ease the drop with an illusion at my feet. Slap the texture of wood across it, as a private joke. Shape snaps into a triangle, downward force yanks me to the left. A low arc, skimming over towers. Now I begin really pumping my wings. The illusion falls away and disintegrates, and I heave my awkward body upwards. Shoulders already hurt like none other. My toes knock against gold steeples. I drop, run, and launch off another roof. Glide for a bit, pressure pushing up on my wings.
I glide between the towers of the castle, over the river-like steppes of the city. Watch the moon naturally sink into its place as I circle the mountain, bank around, pump and pump my wings upward.

Flying, not that bad at all. Needs improvement. But checked a long time ago.

A tower sits at the top of a tiny, winding path, peeking its tower into that great sky. A simple tower, simple steeple dome held up by four basic posts. Attached to a small guard house, but otherwise, it’s a place empty and disconnected from the city below it.

I circle around it a few times, dipping and pumping my way back up. Got to get the timing just right... And I hope the spell’s still there. Snap my wings open, go into a steep dive. Tower rushes to meet me. I bust through its curtains, slamming into squishy, half-realized pillows. Landing? Controlled crashing more fun. Also, long distance illusions? Doing better. Not-yet-checked.

I snap corrections over the pillows, stare up at my room-away-from-my-room, and absentmindedly start flicking whatever illusion experiment thought to cross my mind.

So Discord, why do you need a distant room a long, long way away from your room? None of your business, that’s why. Privacy’s such a novelty, maybe I want to hog it to myself. Find a place where nobody yells at me for my more bizarre experiments and decor. A place where no servant will start screaming once their mane catches for real fire. Guards, Illuminators, whatever, they leave me alone here. Long as I do my one single chore, nobody could care less that I housed myself here.

In an hour, maybe two, I banish every experiment from the room. The glittercano experiment, some more simple “machines,” including two wheeled devices, five fake birds constructed of numerous materials, and one independently shuffling cat. Lights blink out, doodles vanish, and I stretch my way out of a particularly restrictive personal disguise. Even the curtains and pillows vanish. It’s just an empty marble landing now, sharing its space with a single, actually-really-here rope. The breeze starts creeping in, wafting away the overheated, stale air. The wind is actually pretty warm this morning, very gentle. Enough to just barely tickle my fur.

I pick myself off the floor, pop my aching fingers, and saunter over to one of the open balconies. Focus on something simple. Trying to summon refractive lenses. Should be starting soon. I can already see a few of the Illuminators collecting downslope from the ceremonial platform, like fat little ants or bees.

In the distance, down the mountain, there’s a stone dais. And it’s not Canterlot Marble stone. It’s some sort of black granite. Very old, as far as I have heard. Dragged all the way from the Frozen North during the Exodus or something. Centuries of Unicorns have worn the stone almost smooth, obscuring the patterns and carvings of an intricate calendar.

Of course, I won’t be able to see it that well if I can’t get these dumb lenses polished right. I weave the curve of the convex lens, slap a chassis around the outside. The illusion doesn’t have to be fancy, but I make it black and gold striped anyway. Check inside, nope, blurred. And also upside down? Stupid, ultra-specific, finicky bullcrap. The Illuminators tell me there’s a math to figure this out, but they refuse to give me the information. Say I need to learn crap like algebra first. Bah. I try again, rubbing my thumb across the lens, adjusting the casing. Better. A minor adjustment or two. There we go.

I glance down at the tiny, distant ants, and bam, cloaked ponies they become. I swear, the Illuminators are the most somber pre-dawn and pre-dusk. Catch them during the day and they’re just snippish blowhards or pursed-lipped librarians, hissing over their hooves for silence and obedience. But catch them before this ceremony, and they turn into looming, stone-faced statues with eyes that could eat holes through the walls.

No different today of course. There’s sallow old Pitter Paint, magically adjusting his cloak. Head Illuminator Golden Foil standing at the head. Junior Earth Ponies Rubble Road and Spring Breeze holding the flags, trying their absolute hardest to look just as stiff and stony as their superiors. Where is she, where is she…

There. There she was.

She doesn’t wear the same cloak as the rest of the illuminators. She deserves better, and she gets better. Deep, deep dark blue, hem speckled with silver stars. Every day she stands just a little bit taller, back straighter, head higher. She holds herself like a Princess now. So proud. So elegant. Mane cut perfectly and settled right and straight around her neck. One tiny, perfect curl under her ear. Her mane almost seems to flutter in its own personal breeze, even when she stands still. Little Laughter Element shining from her front, and silver shoes on her feet.

Her horn flicks to light, and her magically cast voice rises beside me, sending shivers down my spine.

“Good morning, Discord.”

I wave. Tilt the spyglass away from my face, scrawl my message onto the stone in front of me. What should I write, what should I write… don’t overthink this, Discord! You’re going to say something stupid if you overthink it! But it’s got to be cool. Really, really cool. The coolest thing I have ever said to her.

“Luna, Luna, Luna.” I scrawl. “Yore lookin gr8 2-day!”

I slapped my hand over the message, swiping it away. It reforms as a hovering mist before her eyes. She stops to read, then seems to laugh, shaking her head.

“Your spelling is still really sucky, Discord.”

“Give a gaye a br8k, lernin 2 reed is reely hard!”

“Have you been attending your classes?”

I huff, scrawling a very hasty reply about faith in your friends and other poignant stuff. But before I can finish, her voice wafts into my ear again.

“Can you please go today?”

I roll my eyes. Carefully, I spell out my response.

“Yes. I. Will.”

I think of sending another response, about how hard classes were. About the lack of respect, the browbeating, the unreasonable demands. My words are just starting to look like one big scribble, and she’s probably had her ears stuffed full enough times by my rants. So while I don’t have to attend classes, and even though I learn so much better on my own… Might as well humor her. Only proper. I mean, she did say please.

I press the spyglass back to my eye, watching her, waiting for her response. But no, talking to her older guard friend. Apple-bleh-whatever. Brandy. And now she’s talking with the Illuminators… and that’s it. That’s all I’m going to talk to her today. Boooo.

I keep watching her anyway, eyeing the sway of her body. The quick, yet careful and gentle placement of her hooves. Like she’s afraid of crushing even the tiniest blades of grass. She moves better than everybody else. Everyone else is a big, clunky, pile of meat and stupid. She’s like as a leaf propelled by the breeze. Direct, purposeful, graceful. Perfection in an adolescent pony body.

I jump as her voice drifts around me again. “We’re starting soon, so be ready, okay?”

I hastily scribble back my sloppiest YES. She giggles in my ear, and I melt inside.

“Horrible spelling!” she chides. “What the hay even was that? An egg?”

“Dragone eg. 4 brekfast 2-day.”

“Gross! Liar! Now shush up, you’re going to distract me!”

Oh Luna. Luna, Luna, Luna. Even just a few more words are better than none more words.

I keep my spyglass tightly pressed to my eye, watching her as the Illuminators do their twice-daily ritual. They form into two lines, ascending the steps up to the dais. They reach the top. They slowly spin into patterns and circles. They chant. They sing. Some old poem, I only heard it clearly once or twice. The rest of the stars hurriedly vanish from the sky, like they finally realized they have to get the heck out, make way for the sun.

Luna steps forward, six Illuminators following by her side. Her hood gently pulls back. Her horn shines brightly, illuminating her face, displaying her closed eyes, mouth open and singing that old poem. Her aura flares brighter and brighter, sparks hissing and fizzing as they swirl past her chin. And not one sign of strain from Luna.

Lazy and lonely in the empty black sky, the moon slowly drifts down, beyond the mountain, resting for yet another day.
Luna, Luna, Luna. You’re so good with magic. So strong. Why is it so hard for you to see that sometimes? Her and the six Illuminators set the moon. She counts as four of those unicorns. See, as the moon-setters step away, ten come to raise the sun. She could handle the moon with less Illuminators at her back if those scholars weren’t fretting so much about tradition and dignity and whatever.

I retreat from the balcony as the sun nudges over the horizon, watch as it grows bigger, and bigger and bigger, searing its crazy bright light across the land. When the final bit of its butt nudges over the black cloud sea, I grab the rope with both hands. With all my strength, and several pounds of illusion weighing me down, I yank.

Above me, bells ring, echoing with other towers, waking the marble city from its slumber.

Yep, that’s my chore. Luna gets to manage the moon, and ring a bell twice a day. I’d say division of labor was a little messed up, but knowing me, I doubt I could stand all the pomp and circumstance every single day. Ringing a bell in exchange for a tower suits me just fine.

I weave the basic living illusions back in place, the curtains and pillows, watching Luna as she strides away with the rest. Off to her own classes…

Uhg, I really don’t want to go to my own lessons. It’s just an exercise in futility by this point. Worse than futility. Me and the Illuminators, we will never see eyes to eye, but…

If I do go to my own classes...

I can walk Luna to her classes!

“w8 up!”

I slap the rest of the illusions in place and charge off the tower. Gliding down to meet her, my whole body soaring. Landing sucks. I basically overshoot by several yards, skid down the slope, and tumble into a bed of summoned feathers. But it’s okay, because physical comedy is funny, and Luna laughs at everything I do. Including this! Score! Ignoring the exasperated eyerolls of the Illuminators, I stride right up to Luna and get to chatting.

We just talk small stuff at first. Hey-how-are-you’s and this-one-thing-bugs-me’s. Normal stuff. Casual stuff. Feel like I should do something cool again. Like, like maybe more tricks? Something crazy. What hasn’t she seen yet?

But before I get to that, Luna brings up another question.

She asks, “Have you talked to Celestia lately?”

I snort. “Uh. No? She doesn’t have a single thing to say to me.”

Luna sticks out her tongue. “Have you even tried talking, Discord?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I have. I call out to her, sometimes.” I shrug. “Just try and say hello.”

“And?”

And, she ignores me. Trots right off to find the best dressed group she can, and just chats with them instead.”

Luna frowns. “Strange…”

“Trust me,” I replied. “When she blows you off a half dozen times, it stops being strange at all. Celestia…” I shook my head. “I don’t know what happened, but she’s changed.”

Luna keeps walking, eyes straight ahead, face unchanged. After a short little silence, “We all have, Discord.”

“What?” I laughed, “No, it’s just Celestia. I know I haven’t changed at all.”

“Your voice has.”

“My voice?” I heave a few breaths into my hands, then cup the sound to my ear. “I don’t hear a thing.”

“Like that would work, you goof!” She bumped her shoulder into mine, and my heart skipped right into my brain. “And I do mean what I say. You sound completly different. You used to sound like… ” She waved a forehoof around frantically. “Yipyipyipyipyipyip! You talked so fast and quick, all your words got jumbled together!” Her hoof fell. “You’re much more deliberate with your words now.”

“Yeah, well, guess that happens after so many lessons with Madame Opal. You know how picky she is about manners. Manners and,” I cleared my throat, jabbing my nose into the air. “E-nounce-i-ation!

She giggled through her teeth. “That’s a pretty accurate impression!”

“I’ve per-fect-ed it,” I snoot, “Through years of training.”

“Oh stop, that’s just mean!”

Again, she bumps into me, and my head goes a spinning away.

I remember the walk to classes being much, much longer than it turns out to be. Oh well. I got to talk to Luna almost four times more than I usually do. That should be enough. I think.

Trying to avoid suspicious looks, I find my way to the classroom they always shunt me into. A little room with two walls dominated by books and a bland wooden table with stiff seating. There’s a window, but its frosted. Can’t look out it, can’t enjoy the design of it. Just a window there to let light in, but no view beyond. Wouldn’t want the students getting distracted, would we? One crystal rotates above my head, giving off a bland sort of light. Pale and quartzlike. For about a minute I slip color sheets over four of its faces. But then I eye the door, and remove them. Any Illuminator could enter at any time for all I know. And the punishments they dole out for my “ridiculous tricks” can be anywhere from slaps with a ruler to scrubbing every floor of the whole damn library.

So I wait.

Doodle on my hands some. But mostly wait.

Wasn’t I supposed to be here at nine? What time is it now? Nine thirty? Ten? Did the Illuminators give up? Am I unteachable. Why is there no clock in here? Why--

The door cracks open, and a brown mare pokes her head in.

“Hello Kindness,” Book Binding says, not even looking at me. “Not here? Bye then.”

She’s almost done closing the door by the time she notices me. She blinks over her spectacles, hard eyes staring right into mine. I smile, and give her a small wave.

“This isn’t a trick, is it?” she huffs.

“No?”

“I’m not going to bother teaching an illusion, you know.”

“This is really, seriously me.”

She continues staring in silence, as if her eyes could pop any illusion of mine apart. Or maybe she was hoping I’d get bored and stop fooling around. Either way. She really did not believe I was here at all.

“And,” her stern voice snaps, “You’re really here to learn something?”

I shrug. “Try to.”

“Well well then.”

She strides in, her nose held high, high in the air. Without even bothering to look at me, she tugs her books down from her back, and flips through them quietly. I can see her eyes zip back and forth, trying to remind herself of what we were doing. To be honest, I can’t remind her or anything. I haven't the faintest idea what we’ll be doing today.

It was a long time before she cleared her throat, glancing back up at me. Or, more accurately, at the table space just in front of me. Four strips of paper are pushed into that space, followed by a quill and a small pot of ink.

“Pre-Tribal History then,” she says.

Balls. Of all the days I had to come to classes... Worst Possible Day. I don’t dare say anything, though. Booky knows I hate the stuff, and complaining is only going to lead to reprimands. So... onward, I guess? Booky begins without my consent, droning on in her low, monotone lecturer voice.

Without an ounce of context, nor any reason why it’s important, her words immediately slip from one ear and out the other. But damned if I’m not going to try and give it my all. I listen as intently as I can, just try and absorb it all in. I stare at my hands, and mindless little illusions dash between a finger made circle. Like pictures projected on a soap bubble. Insubstantial things from an idle mind. more feedback to try and help my memory.

Booky talks about magically created plagues. I make a unicorn, dressed in the dark robes of a dark evil wizard. Magic crackles around his horn. Fear and distrust of Unicorns stemmed from these magic accidents. She asserts, they were very often accidents. The unicorn shrugs, mouth open with its tongue lolling out. A very stupid science wizard unicorn. One such plague rotted the soil itself. I paint a bubble of a tree melting under a unicorn’s tossed alchemy flasks. The dirt bubbles, and the unicorn sinks in, flailing. My fingers part for a second, and the image stretches. My hands snap back, and the unicorn is saved by a Pegasus. A very sarcastic Pegasus. She rolls her eyes. The unicorn’s eyes go googly.

She stops. The pictures stop flowing. I look up at her. She does not look happy. She never looks happy.

“Kindness,” she snaps.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Care to repeat what I just said?”

I sigh. Roll my neck back and just try and recreate the scene in my head.

“Pre-alliance tribal relations were made tense because of the mistakes of undertrained unicorn magicians,” I recite. “Lesser magicians, in their experiments, sometimes accidentally caused artificially created plagues. You just listed an example about dirt melting.”

“It did not melt, Kindness, it rotted into a black slurry.” I rolled my eyes. Same difference, Booky. “More importantly, can you tell me the name of this plague? The dates in which it happened?”

Yep. Here it comes. This lecture again, for the millionth time. I’m suddenly and very frustratingly reminded of why I gave up on this bullcrap. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say to make it not happen. I stay quiet, just waiting for it to come and go.

“I thought not,” Book Binding huffs. She taps at the books in front of her. “Prince of Kindness. You need to be able to recite the name and dates of every event I teach you about.”

“I understand.”

“Can you repeat to me any events and dates I have taught you?”

“Yes,” I say, “The Exodus began the First Year of the new Equestrian Age…”

“Of course,” she sniffs. “You pick the easy fact. What other dates can you recite for me.”

I bite my tongue. Just say it and move on already. Just say it again. Just say it...

“What year did the Tribal Age end?” she asks,

Nope. We’re doing this all the way, apparently. “Five-eighty-eight.”

“The Plight by Windego began when?”

“Five-eighty…” I frown. “Three? Four?”

Oh, she jumps on my fumble like a cat on a fat mouse. “Date of first snowfall? Leaders of the tribes?”

“Mid-summer season,” I recite. “Puddinghead wasn’t in power yet, and the Pegasus had their peacetime leader. The King of the Unicorns was indisposed, so Princess Platinum did a lot of hard work…”

Names, Kindness. Names and dates.”

“I got the gist of it,” I mumble. Crap, that was out loud. No whispers can hide in such a tiny room. Her nostrils flare, jaw set tight.

“The gist is not enough, Prince of Kindness. I thought we went over this! Or have you forgotten in your long unexcused absence!”

“Didn’t forget,” I mutter.

“Then please, refresh my memory!”

Quickly, still staring at the ceiling. “Remembering names and dates gives greater context and meaning to the broader sweeps of what’s happening in the world.”

“Exactly! If you understand that, then why won’t you just learn?” Her voice cracks a little. “I thought, you returning to lessons, you would at least understand what I’m saying!”

Oh, Booky... I can tell you’re not malicious. I can tell I’m frustrating you more than you’re frustrating me. You’re trying to reach out, to just teach me. But you’re teaching all wrong. You’re focusing on stuff that doesn’t matter, missing the big picture of the thing. And thinking I’m not learning because I can’t spout back some king’s favorite kind of tea kettle.

But I’m the king-to-be, have-to-know-things, have-to-master-all-knowledge-and-become-some-sort-of-useless-garbage-spewer. That’s her response. Can’t even reason with this woman.

Never feel like I learn a thing here. This isn’t even worth it for all that Luna Time in the world.

Book binding sighs. Taps the table in front of me with her hoof. “Please. Just take notes. It’ll help you remember.”

No, it won’t. Whatever. I pick up the quill and pretend to dab it in ink. Holding the quill all nice and proper, a wiggle my pointer finger just a little bit further forward than the feather tip. I’ll write better with my claw and a basic illusion stain than I ever will with a quill and ink. And anyway, that’s how Ruin always wrote. It’s tradition to write with my claw. not that any of these Illuminators understand that.

“Now.” Book Binding sighs. “The Reaper’s Joy.”

“The what?”

“A magically induced land plague.”

“Right.”

“Was started in the Pre-Tribal year of One-Hundred-Twelve.”

“Mm.”

“By a unicorn going by the name Ichor Wings.” Her neck crans as she leers over my notes. “It’s spelled I-C-H-O-R.”

“What does it matter? They’re my notes.”

“It matters because you need to learn how to spell, Prince of Kindness.”

And so the lecture goes on exactly how she thought it should: By droning on and on and on and not even giving me a chance to take proper notes. I just began mindlessly scribbling when she said any kind of word that sounded important. I wasn’t even looking at the paper. I was staring at the bubble cradled in my paw. That’s where my focus was, recreating her words for myself.

Maybe as a joke, or maybe to help myself through all this dumb, every pony she described, I recreated it as Luna. I removed her horn, put her in a burlap cloak. Now she was the earth ponies. With wings and some of that guard armor, she was the rough and tumble Pegasi. It was funny, making Luna talk with Luna, and her advisor, Luna. An army of shock Lunas went out to investigate a problem with all the little cloak Lunas. When things went wrong, big bubbles of tears would well in their eyes. When everything was fixed, they hopped around and squealed silently. Or in Pegasus Luna’s case, rolled loop-de-loops through the air.

I wonder, will there ever be a day when we’ll fly together? We’re all going to be alicorns someday, right? We’ve been here for... I don’t know, forever. No transformation yet. No other Elements yet. Just doing the same thing day in day out, sitting on our hands and rolling with what we’ve got...

And I haven’t seen Luna hop around lately. I wonder if she’s been sad or lonely or…

I make the little bubble show me giving her a hug. She smiles and hugs me back. Illusion me blushes. Illusion Luna... The illusion rolls like boiling water, twists into a big, magically uncontrolled wad of crunchy gum.

Can’t even control my magic, just feeling all hot and bubbly on the inside! I willed it away, and tried to stop myself from laughing. Fail a little bit, Booky narrowing her eyes at my snickering. Darnit! I have a lesson to bullcrap my way through, Luna! Stop distracting me! But with how idle and brainless my illusions are, they still transform occasionally into little Lunas.

Fidgeting in my seat, unable to control my own squirming thoughts, I think... holy crap, I may have a problem.

~æ~

Late. Doing “private study.” As if these books will be less boring outside of the classroom. I lie on my stomach, in bed, and peck my way through the dry tome. Flip a page. Flip back. Connect the words I read with little lines, make simple shapes. Circle important words. Erase words I don’t know. Slam face into book and breathe its pulpy scent.

What the hell do these Illuminators expect from me?

Slowly, face crammed into a pillow. I nudge the book off the bed, delighting in the sound of its mournful drop to the floor. Yeah, screw you pre-tribal history. You have nothing to do with anything important.

Now something important, I got a different book for that.

I inch myself over the other side of the bed, horns knocking into the floor as I peer under the springbox. Fingers, searching, a stiff blob hidden in shadows, away from prying pony eyes. Carefully, with both hands, I drag out a crumbling volume, held together with two tightly strapped belts. I hold it to my chest, breathing its foul scent. Like straw, rot, and blood.

Jeez, Ruin. Your journal stinks.

I pluck open the belts and gently ease the pages to where I left off. Nothing’s pleasant in this volume. Ruin went through as much, if not more horrible things than I did. And yet, he spent that time being productive. Documented a lot of stuff. Wrote a lot about Draconequus society, physiology. Stuff about magic, and his successes and failures in teaching it. Some entries were just stuff that just happened to him…

But I guess I had something I wanted to double check with him.

I pick and choose his memories at random, flipping from entry to entry to entry. Or maybe they just seem random. Lots of stuff Ruin himself went through, what he was thinking about when he was my age. And what he thought about his time when it was all over. A lot of what he’s written, it feels almost too personal. Stuff I shouldn’t be looking at. But when I do read, everything makes sense. Everything falls together.

Ruin, you just keep on teaching me. More than those dumb Illuminators with their facts and dates, you tell me things how they are. No stupid numbers, just straight, relatable events and relationships. Giving me this book, I think that was the smartest thing you’ve ever done.

I close the book, my suspicions confirmed. With days ebbing and flowing through my head, well, nothing significant happened on every day. But from the flow, I can see a pattern swimming towards me. Bubbling up from dark waters. The same pattern Ruin went through when he was my age. What every Draconequus... heck, maybe even every pony goes through.

The way Luna talks makes me feel like laughing. And the way she moves makes me want to watch. When we get close, the heat and smell of her fur makes her all the more present. And when she’s gone, every idle illusion is, in some way, for her. This will impress her, I think. I know just what I’m going to say next we meet. She’ll be so impressed. I’ll get a hug. It will be the greatest feeling in the world. Fireworks will go off and everything.

Then I’ll…

What, taste her?

Sweet life, my brain goes to weird places past that point.

It’s a pattern so stupid clear, I wonder why I didn’t think of it sooner. No. I had thought of it. I just thought it’d be far in the future, something I wouldn’t have to worry about until I was so much older…

Deep breath now, Discord. You gotta face this. You gotta accept what’s going on with your feelings. They’re totally natural. They’re nothing to be afraid of. You see…

You are going through puberty, and your body’s telling you to go grab yourself a mate.

Well! That settles that! My reactions to Luna are purely physical. This is just another urge, like hunger or thirst. And I’ve been repressing stuff like hunger for a good long while now. Practically a master in the art of not obeying my own body. So, if I can stop myself from eating meat, I can stop myself from getting all gross over Luna. This should be easier, actually. This isn’t some life or death situation here. I won’t keel over from not mating with something. Because that would be dumb.
I guess, now, the only problem is how to act around her. Yeah, normal, but it’s like I’ve forgotten what normal was. Stupid puberty, it’s addled the heck out of my brain. No wonder all Draconequus adults are dumb as rocks, they’re probably all frazzled from this brain-wiping garbage. On top of, well, everything else that makes them dumb, and not smart.

Well, I am Discord. I am the master of self-control.

I can totally handle this.

Next Chapter: XLIX : A Canterlot Dance Estimated time remaining: 10 Hours, 47 Minutes
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