It had been, yet again, another successful Running of The Leaves festival. The day had been glorious —of course, it had been scheduled that way far in advance— with only a few scattered, very puffy and enormous cumulus in the sky, providing occasional shade and visual contrast against the dazzling blue vault above.

The actual race itself had finished several hours ago, but the entire day had been filled with various competitions: mostly of the earthbound physical variety, such as six-legged races, potato sack races, relay events and the like, but also quite a few cooking contests as well. These ranged from good-natured and laid-back to quite serious and intense rivalries, although even those, once concluded, tended to devolve into backslapping and vows to “do better next time!” finales.

And, as always at such events, Ponyville sponsored many booths selling a wide variety of food and drink, so the citizens had no real reason to retire early for such mundane matters as lunch or dinner. Even so, usually by the time late evening rolled about, most everypony was exhausted from the festivities, and more than ready to retire for the night, stuffed to repletion —or far in excess, in some individual's instances— and happily exhausted.

But not this year!

This year there was going to be an additional event, and one that had generated a great deal of mixed feelings amongst Ponyville's citizens, for, this year . . . there was going to be a fireworks display!

Now it wasn't a matter of the fireworks themselves causing the division . . . and some grumbling. No, that was left up to whom the fireworks were being held for . . . and, just as decisively, just whom was going to be performing the exhibition.

Ponyville was pleased as punch at hosting any sort of event in honor of Princess Luna; she was special to, and in, their hearts, and doubly so to the foals, colts and fillies. However, that pleasure was tempered by the knowledge that “The Great and Powerful Trixie” was the actual performer.

For the most part, the majority of the inhabitants had gradually tacitly accepted Trixie’s residing in Ponyville. Since she’d completely ceased her distinct trademark swagger-and-boast attitude, had stopped performing shows, had stopped seeking blandishments and fishing for compliments, replacing them, instead, with a quiet determination to work and just quietly fit in, including the former showpony as a member of Ponyville society wasn’t as difficult as one might have expected.

There were some, however, that still harbored grudges, with others remaining suspicious. Not even the revelation that their Princess of Friendship seemed to be cultivating friendship with Trixie mollified them. However . . .

It was fireworks!!

Nothing moved as fast through Ponyville than news (never gossip; remember?) and so virtually all of the residents had learned some time ago that a fireworks show would be held the night after the Running of The Leaves festival.

Had learned that four days ago, to be accurate.

Four long, long, long days ago.

Four very long (did we mention long?) days during which Trixie had been very industrious, busily purchasing supplies —with a writ of credit furnished by, and secured by, Princess Twilight herself!— having two stages (well, one platform and one podium probably was more accurate) built, along with a host of other arrangements, most of which were puzzling to them. What point did spices and candy, for instance, have to do with fireworks?

As evening started to fall, several pegasi lifted to the sky, clearing out the few remaining clouds before returning to the ground. As if that was a signal, ponies started arriving at the east Castle lawn, some singly, but most in groups, of either family or friends . . . or really close friends.

The seating area was arranged in a partial semicircle, more of a quarter arc, with the Castle of Friendship at their backs, with the low platform situated in the front middle of that arc, and the podium about ninety hoof-lengths in front of the platform, with the river a thirty-second trot behind that.

The platform was furnished with two alicorn-sized, comfortable chairs, with a smaller one —obviously Spike-sized— to the side of one of them, and was decorated with colorful fabric coverings, runners and bunting, appropriate for Their Highnesses. The podium, in stark contrast, was unadorned, featureless, yet sturdily built. There was nothing about it to attract any attention from the Guests of Honor and draw that, instead, to the performer.

At the rear of the performance area was a V-shaped, velvet-roped entrance, the open part of the V facing the Castle, and the narrow end towards the seating area. Each rope was only eighteen hoof-lengths long, and looked a little ridiculous at first blush, rather like seeing a garden gate in the middle of a huge pasture, standing there all by itself with no fencing attached. It certainly wasn’t preventing anypony from entering the performance area from a different direction! Nevertheless, since it was there, most ponies assumed it was there for a reason, and Ponyville ponies being Ponyville ponies . . .

Ruby Pinch stood at one side of the entrance “gate”, a huge smile on her face, bursting with pride and responsibility. As each of her classmates approached, she fished out a prop from the small box Trixie had placed there. They looked exactly like the stereotypical “magic wand”: about three hoof-lengths in size, the handle made of smooth, polished wood and topped with a glittery crystalline, five-pointed star.

Most of Miss Cheerilee’s students grinned as they got theirs; Silver Spoon, on the other hoof, just rolled her eyes, almost refusing to take hers but, for some reason, just huffed and accepted it. Why did Diamond Tiara have to be away with family today?

And almost all of Miss Cheerilee’s students had the same question: What is this for? To which Ruby replied as Trixie had instructed: You will know what to do, and how to use it, when it is time.

As the evening slipped from twilight to dusk most everypony had arrived and, with the occasional assistance from helpful castle staff, had found seating. Princess Twilight and Spike were standing by the platform, pausing to chat now and then with friends and acquaintances. There was a stir, and a surf-like sound of oohs and ahhs, as Princess Luna appeared overhead, hovering motionless, wings spread wide, pinions barely rippling, before daintily descending and landing next to Twilight.

Suddenly the two were swarmed and swamped, the center of a foal cyclone. Yes, oh yes indeed, the children of Ponyville adored their Princess of Friendship. But this was Princess Luna!

As dusk marched onwards to true night, everypony took their places in expectant anticipation. Quiet murmurs were heard all about as they conversed in low tones as they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The conversations hadn’t quite turned to grumbles —yet— but eyes kept flickering to the still-unoccupied podium.

And then a soft chorus of gasps rippled through the crowd, for now there was a conical tent of fabric atop the podium, colored a very familiar pattern: star-spangled purple. As the gasps shifted to low murmurs, they again became gasps when, with no warning, no sign, that conical tent simply . . . opened up. Standing there now was Trixie herself, in her cloak and hat.

Twilight felt her throat close, her eyes blur, as she saw her friend standing there in her trademark outfit. But then she blinked, as a realization struck: there had been no wash of magic!

She wasn’t the only pony startled; virtually every unicorn felt astonishment at her appearance. There was always a little “bleed-through” when a unicorn —well, and alicorns, too— did magic. How much of a hoofprint that left was directly proportional to the strength of the spell, the skill of the caster, and the experience of the bystander. All things being equal, they should have sensed something, no matter how dimly or unrecognizable. But . . .

. . . they hadn’t. And they’d seen that podium being built. Some had, earlier, during the day, even explored about the exhibition area, checking things out. There were no hidden tunnels, no secret, concealed compartments. There were no non-magical ways that Trixie could have passed the crowd, unseen and undetected, and just appeared on her podium. And there were no magical ways she could have done so, either.

Yet . . . she had.

Trixie simply stood there in silence, none of her standard “The Great and Powerful Trixie!” boasts or grandiloquence. Gradually the murmurs faded, as everypony felt a growing sense of expectant anticipation. They became utterly silent when Trixie lifted up a single forehoof.

Ten heartbeats later, and Trixie, without saying a single word, dropped her forehoof . . .

A soft cough behind her, and a rippling stream of fire raced up, up, up into the night sky, fading into invisibility before suddenly erupting with a sharp pop into a purple peony, a spherical break of colored stars that fanned outwards, softly crackling, in a perfect globe.

Two more soft coughs; two more wavering trails of fire upwards, only to disappear before —like the purple peony— these, too, erupted, this time into twin chrysanthemums, one orange, one gold. Like the peony, they were spherical in shape, but unlike that, these were birthed with a loud bang, the stars leaving a visible trail of sparks behind them.

One after another, some singly, some in groups, twisty little snakes of fire raced upwards before erupting into their glory.

There were willows, silent bursts that closely resembled chrysanthemums, except these were a myriad of tiny, twinkling stars that left thin, glittery spangled trails, either of silver or of gold, behind.

There were ponytails that appeared with a louder pop than a peony, but a much quieter one than chrysanthemums, creating a tight burst of stars that descended in a pattern resembling a pony’s tail, accompanied by very loud crackling.

There were spiders, a very fast burning, very hard bursting, effect, a series of sharp, staccato, rapid-fire bangs, with little stars furiously racing outwards, burning themselves out within seconds.

There were crossettes, a short-lived, but very colorful and complex, effect: a firm pop birthed a series of magenta stars, twenty in all, that raced outwards in a spherical pattern . . . then each star disappeared as, with crackles, it birthed four stars of its own.

There were kamuros, a dense burst forming an enormous ball of hundreds of tiny silver stars that expanded outwards before descending like a waterfall of glittery twinkles.

There were rings, which, as was named, formed with a loud bang a circular band of crackling stars radiating outwards.

One after another after another . . .different designs; different colors and sounds; differing launch tempo, sometimes one right after another, some in series, some with a pause between. This wasn’t just an exhibition of fireworks, this was an exquisitely-choreographed extravaganza.

A full fifteen minutes later a crescendo of multiple effects burst across the starry heavens above, accompanied by loud reports, even louder bangs, and loud, continuous crackling. As the last crackle faded, as the last sparkle dimmed, the crowd erupted into loud stomps, applause, cheers and whistles . . . that gradually faded into a low susurration of whispers as Trixie simply stood there.

Stood there, motionless, as she’d done the entire performance.

The crowd grew silent within seconds as Trixie, once more, lifted up a forehoof. Was there more?

Several seconds passed in silence, and then Trixie dropped her forehoof down . . .

With a loud series of roars multiple balls of fire raced upwards, leaving behind, not thin, squiggly trails of fire, but thick brown, heavy columns of sparkling smoke that simply hung in place. Up, up, up they went, then erupted rather like a willow burst, save that instead of being thin, glittery trails of silver or gold, these were dense green clouds that resembled . . . leaves?

As the leaves took on a more definitive shape, the brown trunk of sparkles gradually faded and vanished. And as they did, amongst the hovering green canopy of still-glittering leafy sparks appeared tiny sparks of red . . . sparks that slowly grew in size as they slowly descended, as the green canopy of their birth gradually dimmed and vanished. Sparks that, as they descended, took on the unmistakable shape of ripe, juicy apples.

They finally disappeared with audible pops when just overhead, leaving behind the mouth-watering scent of the Apple family’s best.

“Whoa!” Applejack exclaimed, eyes wide and astonished.

Two crossettes rocketed upwards, then, as their effects faded, another singular cough was heard, as another firework lofted up. This one trailed multi-colored sparks behind, before finally detonating high high high up in the sky. This one was a ring, consisting of just seven fat balls of colored stars . . . red . . . orange . . . yellow . . . green . . . blue . . . indigo . . . violet . . .

They slowly radiated outwards, then, just as slowly, started curving down as they descended. However, as they began their decline, they grew closer together . . . fell faster . . . and closer . . . and faster yet again . . .

The crowd ducked as the stars, now together, streaked down and across, seemingly just overhead, leaving a wide rainbow stream behind before arcing back up and disappearing in a large, loud explosion, the glittering remnants sounding more like mischievous laughter than crackles.

Two ponytails lofted up; as they finally disappeared yet another rocket streaked upwards, this one exploding into a crossette. But, instead of magenta, these stars were a light blue; a light blue that seemed to radiate with a light all their own, while also refracting into a glorious scintillation. Glittering and sparkling, they fell lower . . . and lower . . . and lower . . . separating as they did . . . then dropping before each pony: tiny little light blue diamond-shaped crystals. Before each pony, yes . . . but before a young dragon? His was larger, more ornate . . . and was an actual blue star diamond.

Another series of effects, followed by a kamuro. As the dense forest of twinkling silver stars descended, they gradually changed hue, shifting from delicate argent to an even more delicate pink. And, as they subtly shifted in color, they did so also in appearance, twinkling and glittering, altering to fluttering. With a low rushing roar they swarmed overhead, pausing to circle several times over Fluttershy —who had eeped, ducked her head and was furiously blushing— before rising back up, expanding into a sphere and disappearing.

Another rocket forged its way upwards. Everypony gasped as this one burst, expecting another round of normal fireworks but, instead . . . this just blossomed into a thick, roiling cloud of darkness . . .

A darkness that seemed to have a pale blue glitter forlornly striving in its depths.

Seconds later came another cough; another quivering trail of fire ascending. It burst adjacent to the somber black cloud, brightly gleaming stars of purple and green. The stars seemed to hover for a moment, before turning as one and lancing their way back and forth through the menacing black cloud, shredding it, grinding away at it until, in a blinding burst the black cloud exploded with a deafening bang, leaving behind the purple and green stars . . . and a slowly revolving light blue heart.

A soft cough, and another trail of streaking fire, the tiny ball finally bursting into six parts: a central core consisting of five twinkling little pink stars forming a five-pointed star, and surrounded by five smaller, similar in design, white stars, which slowly orbited the larger one. As that pattern gradually descended, it approached the remaining purple and green ones . . . approached, then embraced; the purple-and-green orbiting the pink-and-white . . . or was it the other way around? Orbited faster and faster, almost blurring, until nopony could tell where one left off and the other began . . .

As it should be, after all.

As those twinkling stars finally faded, as seconds passed by in silence, a hush spread over the crowd as they all stared at the podium, and the unicorn silently standing there. There were some fidgets, notably amongst Miss Cheerilee’s students, who were, one and all, wondering just what they were supposed to do with their wands.

Thirty seconds passed in silence. Then there came a low, almost subaudible, cough; low, yes, but it literally rumbled, vibrating everypony there. As it spiraled up into the vault of the heavens there came several gasps, because the light of the rocket was a purple so dark, so black, it was almost invisible.

Up, up, up it went, before bursting, and again there were several gasps, for the stars that streaked out were, again, so deep in hue as to border on invisibility. Several seconds passed, and then . . .

The entire crowd gasped in shock, as, far overhead, those stars resolved into an enormous shape. Dark purple, dark magenta, and pink stars had spread out, forming a gently fanning pair of nebulous wings, while two massive, glowing stars seemed to form eyes for the darkness behind them; a darkness sensed, perceived, as a gigantic horned skull.

The crowd might have gasped, but Twilight’s head whipped to the side as Princess Luna just stiffened, teal eyes widened into enormous —and fearful— orbs, her coat twitching and shivering, tail tucked tight against her.

Overhead that enormous figure idly hovered, a sense of ominous foreboding radiating like an enveloping, icy chill.

Suddenly, mixed throughout the growing-uneasy audience, appeared tiny little twinkles of pure white. It took a few moments for that to register, but then Miss Cheerilee’s students softly ooohed, as the star topping their wands gently illumined. But . . . what did that mean?

Predictably, it was Pipsqueak who figured out a likely use for his. “Avast ye monstah!” he cried out. “Take that!” Suiting action to words, he thrust out his wand towards the looming, overhead figure. “Eeep!” he squeaked, as a bright, dazzling white star streaked upwards from his wand, finally striking the monstrous shape above, and bursting into a thousand tiny stars.

Moments later and, one after another, with different cries of challenge and theatrics, each student fired their own wands upwards, each one causing that shape to flinch and cringe.

But it wasn’t enough.

The final impact had faded into darkness, and now star-studded wings expanded even wider, glowing eyes gleamed with malevolency. Heads turned, staring at Princess Luna as she gasped, her face clearly pale and strained.

Heads turned again, fast as a whip, as a deafening scream shockingly outburst. This wasn’t a cry of fear or terror, a shriek of dismay or outrage.

That was a battle cry of an enraged warrior belling out a challenge, a scream of defiance worthy of an elite, battle-hardened champion.

And it was coming from Silver Spoon.

Everypony simply stared at the filly as she stood there, as she screamed her defiance a second time. Any possible temptation to smile at her pretentiousness was immediately extinguished the moment anypony looked at her. Silver Spoon radiated a fury so intense it rolled off her in palpable waves. Her ears were pinned back against her skull so tight it appeared as if they’d vanished, and that wasn’t the pinning back of fear, but that of a stallion about to engage in close, mortal combat. And her eyes, normally a delicate light purple, blazed with a fury all their own.

“For Equestria!” she battle-screamed. “And for Princess Luna!”

With that, she thrust her wand forward, like a spear into a foe, her cutie mark abruptly blazing as she did.

It wasn’t a bright, dazzling white star that sprang from her wand; it was a furiously raging meteor, and it rocketed upwards in a direct line, as if iron to a lodestone. A heartbeat later, and it literally exploded against the hovering monstrosity, utterly consuming it in an eyeblink.

The audience burst into deafening applause, while Silver Spoon shook her head, feeling dazed and trembly, and wondering why she, of all ponies, was being cheered by her classmates.

There couldn’t possibly be more to the exhibition. Not after that! So, needless to say, everypony was startled when a succession of coughs announced the ascension of a series of rockets, each trailing a shimmery, pink trail.

Multiple chrysanthemums were birthed, blue and yellow instead of orange and gold, accompanied not by rapid crackles but something very suspiciously like giggles. Lower and lower they descended, gradually settling into triads of two blue and one yellow stars . . . except they weren’t stars.

They were tiny balloons.

Beneath each balloon trio were suspended tiny wicker baskets. Baskets filled with, as everypony discovered once each one had landed in front of them, small treats: caramel-covered popcorn bits, jawbreakers, sugar cookie crumbles, jelly fruits . . . a small cornucopia of sweet delights.

“She’s gone.”

Heads whipped up at Pinkie Pie’s cry, eyes traveling to the podium . . . the now-empty podium.

Trixie had simply vanished, with nopony seeing her do so.

The applause that followed was thunderous, rattling the windows of the nearby castle.

Author's Notes:

One hooflength = four inches
Three hooflengths = one foot, or 12 inches