Summer.

If Equestria were to truly have such a thing as an official religion, summer would be the most sacred season of them all. It’s the time of year when the sun shines brightest, the days are warmest, and the whole world breathes a collective, contented sigh as it kicks back and relaxes on a massive, global holiday. Even before Celestia ruled alone for a thousand years — the defining feature for what historians call the Celestial Age — ponies revered our closest star as the bringer of light, and likewise, the bringer of life.

Since the early days of civilisation, its importance was never lost on any of the tribes. Pegasi revered it as a beacon by which they could sail the skies and claim the heavens and highest mountains for their own. Unicorns idolised it as a symbol of their magical abilities. Earth ponies worshipped it as a herald of friendlier times to come, and gave thanks to it for driving the snow away and that their crops could feed on rejuvenated soil.

As time progressed, however, and the longer Equestria remained stable, the world didn’t seem so uncertain anymore, and the need to find hope slowly dwindled; the commonfolk were content with their rulers, their living conditions, their general wellbeing, and so it was that icons such as the sun took on a lesser role in everyday life. They never faded completely, or else we wouldn’t thank the stars whenever something goes right, but they’re not as significant as they once were.

That’s not to say certain traditions from way back when haven’t survived; the longest day of the year witnesses the Summer Sun Celebration, after all, which dates to the beginning of the Celestial Age. To my reckoning, the princess herself hadn’t intended for the festival to happen, really — it more or less sprung up on its own, as a collective effort to cheer her up. Banishing one’s only family to the moon must’ve been quite a heavy burden, naturally, so the kingdom’s citizens pooled themselves together and did their best to make her feel appreciated.

Like so many ancient icons, the original purpose was lost in time, condoned by Celestia herself as she gradually came to terms with what she’d done, and what a prophecy assured would happen. Now, it’s less a show of solidarity and more an excuse to kick one’s hooves up and bask in the afternoon glow. Not that I’m complaining, or anypony else for that matter.

In fact, I’m probably reminiscing too much — curse my fascination with history — as I inspect the stall and all its souvenirs: pendants and charms made from gemstones and other precious minerals. They’re shaped so finely and detailed so intricately that I can scarcely believe they’re real, let alone that they’re not in a Canterlot jewellery shop. I’ve always known there are treasures to find in unlikely places, but some of these are simply beyond compare.

“That one’s nice,” Philip comments, pointing to a necklace in the centre, featuring a golden sun held in a silver horseshoe, both of which are set with tiny squares of amethyst. “Even matches your cutie mark.”

I nod idly. I could easily afford it, I just don’t have the bits on me at the moment — we’re simply browsing out of curiosity to pass the time. Even so, I’m sorely tempted to flaunt my celebrity status and promise the mare behind the counter that I’ll pay her back. I wouldn’t be hard to press charges against if I didn’t comply.

“Twenty bits,” she announces.

I baulk and snap my attention to her. “Just twenty?”

“Yep.” She smiles at me keenly. Not so much in the hopes that I’ll buy something from her, but more in the sense that she’s happy somepony considers her stock worthwhile, though there really shouldn’t be any doubt in her mind whatsoever; this rivals a diamond dog jeweller in terms of quality. “My auntie’s sister finds gem deposits all the time, and she passes on what she doesn’t need to me, so the materials are never hard to come by.”

“And you make these all by yourself?” Philip questions, less openly surprised as I am, but curious all the same.

“Mm-hmm.” The mare nods, her pink and purple curls bobbing with as much enthusiasm. “My sister has an eye for fashion, and it’s kind of rubbed off on me. I’m more of a singer, personally, but I try my hoof at this from time to time.”

“You’re very talented,” I observe, perusing the items on display again, this time spying a pendant of the Sisters bounding after one another in a circle, one a black opal, the other white. “I just wish I had the money to pay you right here and now.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m doing well for myself anyhow. This is more of a hobby. So long as I can make ponies happy one way or another, I’m happy.”

“That’s a very positive attitude,” Philip remarks.

She shrugs. “I do my best, Mister Montero. That’s all a pony can do.”

“And humble too.” He looks to me and quirks an eyebrow with a smirk. “It appears we’ve found a gem of a different kind.”

“Oh, don’t you start.” She giggles, covering her mouth with a hoof. “You two taking the time to stop by and browse is flattering enough already — no need to make me blush.”

“Yeah, he’s a real charmer, this one.” I give him a light-hearted nudge with a wing as I cast my gaze around to the rest of the wide, open square.

We’re back in Ponyville after… gosh, it’s been so long. More than a year, I think, and so very little of it has changed from what I remember. As far as Rainbow has told me, it rarely ever does; the latest addition was Twilight’s school, which came after the Castle of Friendship, and both of those are at least a decade old by this point, or thereabouts. Time flies when you’re flying all over the place, and have experienced so much of the world that news from your home country feels pretty benign.

Celebration decorations adorn the streetlamps and some of the houses, the setting sun in an orange, darkening sky sharing its last two hours or so of direct light with the world. We met at the Fillydelphia train station just after the break of dawn, catching one that put us here late in the afternoon — perfectly timed to miss the morning festivities, and whatever crowds came with them. Most of the stalls have either packed up and left or are in the process of doing so. This little souvenir stand is one of only five that haven’t, as far as I can see.

It shouldn’t be long before we’re needed elsewhere, but for now, I’m appreciating this quiet time; just me, him, the guards forming a small perimeter, and the hoofful of ponies who wander the streets. Phalanx slid back into his role with ease, almost as if he hadn’t been away for several weeks. I suppose his mother recovered from whatever illness I never concerned myself with asking about — something about it felt improper, or perhaps insensitive.

I’m not sure why. I hope that doesn’t make me insensitive.

“Philip!”

We crane our heads around to see another mare approaching us at a trot; white coat, pink mane, blue eyes. She seems familiar, but I can’t quite put my hoof on where I’ve seen her before.

Ironside moves to intercept.

“Redheart?” Philip queries, his brows creased bemusedly, but them his face brightens and he strides closer. “Reddy!”

Oh, right, this is the nurse from Ponyville General I saw exactly twice before. She seems incomplete without the cap. But part of the reason we’d come here was to reconnect lost connections, and even though she isn’t who we’d intended to see, I suppose we shouldn’t turn away a friendly face if we can help it. May as well make the most of what the day can offer, before we’re summoned to a meeting that might or might not go as smoothly as I expect it will.

I follow behind at a leisurely stroll.

Ironside steps aside and lets Redheart through, which she thanks with a courteous nod, and when she’s close enough, she rears up and wraps her forelegs around him in a generous hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again.”

Without much hesitation, Philip returns it as best he can, patting her back. “Likewise.”

“How dare you stop talking with me for half a year, you big dope, you.” She gives his chest a light punch as and pulls away somewhat and looks him in the eye with an enthusiastic smile. “If I hadn’t heard there was some beef between you and the princesses, I’d have thought I said something wrong!”

“Sorry about that.” He chuckles, lifting his hands in mock surrender and glancing at me briefly. “I got a little preoccupied, as you can probably tell.”

“I’ll say, moving to Fillydelphia, being guarded twenty-four-seven, fending off reporters. I don’t know how I would’ve coped with it.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” I interrupt, waving a hoof at her to slow down as my brows wrinkle in confusion, then share a look between them. “You two have been in touch for how long, exactly?”

They blink. Philip stares at me, seemingly quite dumbfounded, but Redheart peers at him from the corner of her eye. “You didn’t tell her?” she asks in a surprised tone, quirking an eyebrow.

My ears stand a little more upright, attentive.

He returns to her, but still doesn’t answer. Not for a period of time that feels much too long, for whatever reason. “It… must’ve slipped my mind.”

Redheart rolls her eyes with a sigh and leaves him, falling to the floor on all fours and turning to face me. “We were pen pals while he was staying in Canterlot,” she explains in a polite, cordial, diplomatic manner, and it doesn’t appear forced; both our occupations require us to interact with the public, which sometimes requires a lot of patience, and tends to have the side effect of gifting you the ability to smell a fraud a mile away. She may have learned how to be one, but she’s no liar in the here and now. “Emphasis on the were part.”

I blink, and even though I’m sure it’s practically an impossibility, I can’t help wondering if she said that last part for my benefit. I doubt it. Probably nothing. “So, while he was writing to me, he was also writing to you?”

“And Spike and Twilight, let’s not forget,” Philip adds intently. “I didn’t mean to forget, Fleet, it just sort of… you know, never had its moment to be brought up.”

“When did this start?”

“When he left Ponyville, same as you,” Redheart answers chipperly, then offers a friendly hoof. “Speaking of which, it’s good to see you again too, Miss Fleetfoot. If you don’t remember me, I’m Nurse Red—”

“Nurse Redheart, Ponyville General,” I finish, accepting the offer and shaking on it, holding her gaze as I do so. “Yeah, I remember. Hard to forget the pony who told me about her experiences with yaks giving birth.”

“Ha! Still haven’t lost your sense of humour, I see.”

“Still traumatised, more like.”

“Understandable.” She chuckles. “I’ve been told I can be too descriptive for my own good.”

“Too damn right you are.” Philip folds his arms, flashing a conflicted smirk, perhaps recalling a sour memory that seems more funny in retrospect.

I can only begin to imagine, and I’m not sure I want to.

“Don’t you start,” she playfully reprimands, letting go of me and taking a few steps back so she can face both of us with ease. “You wanted more of those ugly stories, so if anypony’s to blame, it’s you. I supplied the sword, but you’re the one who fell on it.”

“As if that vindicates you.”

“Don’t start this, Philip. I’m warning you. Or should I ruin Fleetfoot’s lovely day with some of those completely family-friendly tales?”

His eyes narrow to slits. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She grins at him fiendishly, then turns to me with the same look.

“Oh, nuh-uh.” I firmly shake my head as I retreat, feeling the very sudden and quite logically sound urge to shoot straight for the nearest cloud and spend the rest of the evening there, and a decent chunk of the night as well. “Don’t rope me into this.”

“In war, Miss Fleetfoot, collateral damage is practically inevitable,” she smugly intones. “It’s all a matter of who’s more desperate to win.”

“I’ll make sure nopony wins if you keep this up.”

“I call your bluff, Wonderbolt.”

Despite the awkward situation I’m being put in, and the fact it wouldn’t have taken somepony of her calibre to see it, I can’t help admiring how quickly she’d seen through the threat. It’s like I’m revisiting some long-lost part of my life, or meeting an old friend by chance, even though we both knew we’d never been more than acquaintances.

“Okay, alright, leave her be, Reddy,” Philip soothes, stepping a little closer in an effort to come between us. “There’s enough on her plate already that she doesn’t need something else weighing her down.”

I raise an eyebrow at him and open my mouth to ask him what exactly he means, but by the time I do, I’ve already answered the question on my own. And indeed, it weighs on me like a weighted net, and I shut my mouth again and look away, hoping I look more embarrassed than I do apprehensive. Though what I could be embarrassed about, I haven’t the foggiest.

“Oh, so you didn’t come all this way just to see me?” She turns to him and pouts, ears drooping. “Philip, you wound me.”

“You’re a medic, aren’t you? Patch yourself up.”

A snicker escapes me and I shrink back, covering my snout with a forehoof.

“Oh, ha-ha, how very considerate of you,” Redheart retorts good-naturedly, taking the blow in stride, then turns to me. “And you, my dear… I expected better. How can you call yourself a servant of the realm when this foreign invader is harassing an Equestrian citizen right before your eyes?”

“Diplomatic immunity, ma’am,” I reply, shrugging. “Only the Sisters can revoke it.”

Her expression hardens like tempered steel. “Right, then. It’s settled. If taking matters into my own hooves means defeating them in mortal combat, then so be it.”

In the background, Philip hunches over and clasps his hands to his mouth, eyes wide and wild, a giddy squeak escaping him.

I’m tempted to ask what’s got him so excited, but dismiss the idea with a shake of the head. “As much as I’m sure everypony would like to see that, you ought to realise that if you did plan on doing that, then you and I would have to come to blows.”

Her ears perk up and she cocks her head, brows high with interest. “Is that a challenge I hear, Miss Fleetfoot?”

I snort. “Not in the slightest. If what you said when we first met taught me anything, it’s that you’re way too much for me to handle. No, I’m simply lamenting the fact that we’d be enemies. You seem like a decent pony.”

“One can only try, Miss Fleetfoot. One can only try.” She gently nods at me, then at Philip, and then to the jewellery stand behind us, and the mare behind it. “So, I see you’ve met Sweetie Belle already. Is that why you’ve come here, to peruse her world-renowned finery?”

I blink at her, and then swing back to the mare whose cutie mark I couldn’t and still can’t see — not with the stall in the way.

She gives me a coy smile and a small, shy wave. Demure, she seems, and more so than her sister, as I’ve been led to believe — the kind of pony to know exactly when enough is enough, and what information need or needn’t be shared. Her name, for instance, was something she hadn’t disclosed, and if I’d asked, I supposed she’d have given me an alias — a simple but effective ruse for outsiders such as myself.

“Unfortunately, no,” Philip answers, sparing Sweetie Belle, the younger sister of Element Bearer Rarity, only a respectful nod, which she respectfully returns, then looks to Redheart once more. “We’re awaiting our escort for the evening to Twilight’s place — a little-known lady of culture and refinement who goes by the name of—”

“I don’t think she needs to be bored by the details,” I interrupt, giving him another nudge, this one with a little more urgency behind it. What we should or shouldn’t disclose, I can’t say for certain, but I’d rather play it safe and keep our lips as tight as possible, and hope we somehow come off as civil despite it. If anypony’s doing the talking, it should be me; if anything that happens should be anypony’s fault, it should be mine and mine alone.

I am in control.

“Oh, so it’s kind of like a dinner of truce, is it?”

I blink at her again. “What?”

“You know, he got mad at Twilight, Celestia, Luna, maybe some others, and stopped communicating with us and them for half a year, or thereabouts.”

I blink at her a third time.

The longer our silence stretches, the more her brows crease in thought. She lifts a hoof and points to us limply. “Or did he make up with Twilight behind the scenes, and you two are going to hers for something else?”

My teeth clench and my ears stand to attention as a chill darts down my neck and through my body to my hooves, but those are the only signs of anxiety I allow; the compulsion to tuck in my tail, widen my eyes, shift my weight, or shuffle my wings would be too much. I can trust myself to keep my nerves hidden, but I feel more comfortable sharing my discomfort with Philip, however hidden I may keep it.

He meets my gaze, but isn’t as shy about expressing himself as I am, brows and lips tense.

“Come on, out with it,” Redheart excitedly implores, letting her hoof return to the cobbles and dancing on them in anticipation for a second or two. “It can’t be that bad if you’re seeing her.”

“Sorry, Reddy,” he says, sharing his uneasy look with her as he straightens himself and puts his hands on his hips. “I wish we could tell you, but I don’t think either of us really want that. This is, uh… Well, it’s just different than what you’re used to.”

“Oh.” She blinks a few times in confusion. “Sounds… delicate.”

“That’s one way of putting it. I mean, not that I don’t appreciate your company, or that I’m trying to shut you down or anything, it’s just…” He sighs and looks to me again. “We don’t want things blowing out of proportion. And that could very easily happen if we say too much to the wrong people.”

She cocks an eyebrow at him. “And I’m not trustworthy enough, is that right?”

“No, wait, hold on,” he quickly interjects, “that’s not what I meant to—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” She waves him off and laughs. “Don’t worry, Philip, I understand. Believe me, I do. I’ve been there before, wishing I left a certain announcement until later on.”

My ears stiffen once more, and I barely resist the almost overwhelming urge to tense my feathers, ready for flight. Her tone and body language doesn’t give anything away, but that word echoes through me as surely as a bolt of lightning — announcement. She doesn’t know it, but she hit the nail on the head with that, and it’s only weighing on me even more, like how you hammer in a wedge to split a log. And I think I’m starting to feel cracks appear.

“So, you’re enjoying the peace while it lasts, huh, before the coming storm?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Am I intruding?”

He hesitates.

I pick up the slack, stepping forward with my neck bowed, holding her gaze as my ears lower in an apologetic look. And I really do feel bad for what I’m about to say. “We don’t want to say yes, Redheart… but we can’t really say no either.”

“Yeah…” Philip agrees without much conviction, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like you said, calm before the storm and all that jazz. It’s great seeing you again, Reddy, don’t get me wrong… you just happened to catch us in a bit of an awkward spot.”

She huffs through her nose and rolls her eyes to the right with a good-humoured smile. “Figures. Well, then, that settles it, I guess, doesn’t it?”

“You’re not upset, are you?”

“No, no, heavens no,” she calms, returning to him with a shake of her head. “Just the luck of the draw. Can’t fault you for things out of your control.”

“Thanks.” He lowers himself to his knee and gives her an apologetic look of his own. “Sorry about all this. And for not contacting you after… you know.”

“Stars, Philip, think nothing of it.” She returns his look with a kindly, reassuring one, almost motherly in quality. “Whatever it was, I’m sure you had your reasons. Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t respect boundaries?”

He shrugs. “You tell me, Red; which suits you better: pervert, or stalker?”

“Neither, thank you very much. I get enough claims of both by my patients when I’m on the job that I don’t need your sorry hide—”

“Hot stuff coming in!”

All three of us turn our collective attention skyward to see Spitfire gliding down from above, landing on the cobblestone just in front of Brave and Phalanx, who pay her no mind as she trots by. Like me, she wears casual Wonderbolt attire — a blue jacket with the trademark golden sleeve and a black polo underneath — sleek enough to be considered formal, and formal enough for the occasion we’re attending. Unlike me, she has a pair of aviators shielding her eyes, which grants her an air of confidence I sorely need. Maybe not right now, but almost definitely in the near future.

“Spitty!” I cry, closing the distance at a canter and enveloping in a hug so sudden I nearly knock the shades from their perch. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, Fleet.” She chuckles, patting me on the back with a hoof as her wingtip pushes the aviators up her snout, flashing a bold smile. “What, you thought I’d refuse a completely out of the blue, not at all suspicious invitation to a dinner such as this?”

I squeeze tighter. It’s in her nature to hang things over others’ heads, so I can’t fault her for that, and I knew she’d be the first to figure it all out, out of anypony attending, but I wish she could curb her antics just this once. Be less outspoken. Choose her words more carefully. Not to say she’s always recklessly self-indulgent, which she isn’t, but if there’s one thing this night needs, it’s tact.

I know she can be tactful, and I know she knows that’s what she needs to be, so I don’t doubt she’s more than capable. But impressions mean everything here, and I’m worried that if she doesn’t tone herself down, we may be starting off on the wrong hoof.

“Nice to see you too, Philip,” she greets, nodding over my shoulder to him. “Doing good?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” The shrug is practically audible. “Yourself?”

“Aside from being choked to death by Fleet here, I’m fit as a fiddle, clean as a whistle.”

“Sorry.” Damn it, I must be underestimating how nervous about this whole thing I really am. I break away and back up with a discomfited giggle. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

“Clearly.” She chuckles again, giving me a knowing look — of course she’d see through every excuse I make — then shifts her focus to the other two mares with us. “And I see you’re finally making a few extra friends, is that right?”

“Oh, don’t mind me, Miss Spitfire,” Redheart says, bowing her head somewhat in respect, “I was just leaving myself — don’t want to get in the way of whatever you three have planned.”

“Heh. Yeah, sorry, Miss…?”

“Redheart.”

“Redheart. We’re due there soon, and we’d better get there before the rest.”

“Fair enough.” She turns to Philip. “Take care, Philip, and try not to fall from any more high places from now on, alright?”

“Oh, believe me, Reddy, you don’t need to tell me twice.”

“I thought as much.” She giggles, then looks to me. “And you, Miss Fleetfoot… keep him safe. He’s too good a creature to lose.”

Again, I’m struggling to keep my features in check, especially when she’s unwittingly tugging on a nerve — a little piece of information I already know and have come to appreciate. I want to smile, but that might be too obvious a sign, even though it would be a perfectly natural reaction; we are, after all, in her mind, just friends. And you’re told your friend is indeed a good friend, why wouldn’t you smile?

Curse the mask I force myself to wear.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Redheart, she knows what to do,” Spitfire says, playfully batting me on the shoulder. “I know this girl like the back of my hoof, and there’s a special place in her heart for ponies who win her affection.”

I snap to her with wide eyes and a mouth as taut as a steel cable, and if we weren’t in public, I wouldn’t think twice about biting her ear off, or at least smacking her upside the head. This is the first time in recent memory that I can legitimately say she and Soarin deserve each other.

“I see.” Redheart nods idly, her tone and expression difficult to decipher, though she seems rather genial. And then she bows. “Well then, I’ll take my leave. It was nice seeing you all, and especially you, Philip.”

“Yeah.” He snaps his fingers at her as a thought strikes him. “We’ll write to each other some more soon, yeah?”

“Sure thing.” She smiles as she turns away. “You’ll have to send the first letter, though, and when you do, don’t forget to include the return address, okay?”

“Too easy, sister. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye and goodnight, Mister Montero. And stay healthy!”

He chuckles and waves a final farewell, then lowers his hand to his hip and sighs, returning to myself and Spitfire. “So, we’re all set, are we?”

“Just about,” Spitfire says, strolling past us for Sweetie Belle’s stand. “I brought a couple of bits myself, and I spy with my little eye something that would suit our dear Fleetybee quite nicely…”

---

Like everything else about the town, the Castle of Friendship hasn’t changed a bit. At least from the outside. And I have to admit, at dusk, I might actually consider calling it a pleasant sight — how the light of the setting sun catches on the edges and twinkles with even the slightest of movements.

It’s not as imposing as I thought it would be, now that I’m standing so close. I thought it would seem like a malicious fortress of impending doom — a monument to insurmountable odds everywhere and in any form they take. But this just feels… calming, in a strange way — how the purple crystal looks against the darkening sky, and how its walls seem somewhat translucent at this time of day. Not that I can see anything inside.

“You coming, Fleet?”

I blink and refocus on the entrance.

Philip and Spitfire are facing me from the top of the short staircase. How long they’ve been waiting for me to come to my senses, I don’t want to imagine. The whole situation is embarrassing enough when my captain knows why I’ve invited her, and neither myself or my boyfriend have made a formal declaration.

…Sisters, my boyfriend. If the saying is true, that the bigger they come, the harder they fall, then I must be an absolute unit, because I’m sure everypony can attest they’d have thought I’m the least likely to fall for this romantic crap. Yet here I am, buried up to my neck and sinking deeper still.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” I reply with a sigh, turning my attention to the path ahead and climbing languidly up the steps. It’s an easy enough journey that only takes a few seconds, but each hoof feels heavier than the last on the polished surface. I’m drawing ever closer to a momentous occasion I don’t see going too well, even though I hope with all my heart that it does.

“Getting cold feet?” Philip queries, doing his best to make it sound like something he’d ask anypony, regardless of his connection with them or lack thereof, but I hear the unmistakeable hint of genuine concern.

It’s yet another sign I feel he should keep hidden, but it warms me to the core all the same, and I can’t help smiling in return. “Me? No.” I chuckle as I reach the top and stand by him. “I never get stage fright. Just ask Spitfire.”

“It’s true,” she affirms, nodding. “Some shows, even I need some reassurance. But Fleetfoot? Nah. This girl’s rock solid — literally nothing phases her.”

Oh, if only she knew.

“So, you ready now?”

I look from her to Philip.

He looks from her to me.

He seems… attractive enough. I’m not sure if I’d go so far as to say handsome, but… his is the face I’ve come to appreciate in all its alien ways. The lack of fur isn’t an issue, and neither are the better-defined eyebrows, or the misplaced ears, or the way his features can’t stretch as far as I’m used to, or the more earthly tone of his skin. The eyes, however…

I don’t know what my dream stallion is supposed to look like, but he’ll do. He’ll have to. We’ve come too far to turn back now, and he’s all dressed up — the same flowery shirt and jeans he wore to our first and last official date, freshly shaven and neatly combed, while still keeping it windswept. And besides, I know that when he puts his mind to it, whether I like it or not, and whether I ever want to admit it or not, he can and frequently does make me swoon like a… a…

Well, something that swoons a lot. I may be able to compose a decent song or two, but that doesn’t mean I’m an on-the-spot wordsmith.

I love him. I love that he loves me. I love the way me makes me feel.

That’s all I can ask for, and that’s all I ever will.

“Yeah,” I finally answer, returning to Spitfire with a nod. “I think we are.”

She nods in turn, then steps closer to the door and knocks heavily.

There’s an echo in the hall beyond.

It echoes within me too.

The very subtle tap and tremor of clawed feet padding toward the entry rises through the crystal floor and up my legs.

We’re almost there. Just a little longer.

I look down at myself and over my shoulder. I seem underdressed. Or am I overdressed?

I swing back to Philip. “How do I look?”

He turns from the door out of curiosity, but once he locks eyes with mine, his gaze grows empathetic and he faces me and kneels, resting an arm on his leg and a hand on his hip. And when he inspects me, it’s with sympathy and compassion. He reaches out, straightens the collar of my jacket, gives my forelock a few gently brushes, lifts up and examines the amethyst sun and horseshoe pendant hanging from my neck.

The footsteps approach the doorway with a calm sense of urgency.

“Delightful,” he replies, smiling at me — such an addictive sight — and pinches and gently rubs the tip of my ear. “Completely and utterly delightful.”

My eyes glide shut and I welcome the gesture, as fleeting as the moment will have to be. Another small act of consolation that I worry I’m growing more and more reliant on as the weeks roll by. Or perhaps it’s just this new territory that’s got me so skittish.

Either way, I’m so glad I found this boy. I’m so glad he’s chosen me.

Stars above, he chose me.

“I love—”

The doors open and I’m snapped out of the spell, a startled chill dashing through me with the speed of lightning as I break away from his embrace and face the entry, shocked at how I could’ve let my guard slip so readily.

“Well-well-well, who do we have here?” Spike inquires, practically a giant as he stands on his hindlegs — easily twice Philip’s height with room to spare if he stretched. He shares his toothy grin with the three of us, going from left to right. “Captain Spitfire of the Wonderbolts, Fleetfoot, her third in command, and Philip the Human. What an honour it is to make your acquaintance.”

Philip, who didn’t have the mind to stand in time without raising suspicion, swivels about and slides his leg back so he rests on both knees, then lifts both hands and bows to the floor. “The honour’s all ours, Spikey-Wikey-san.”

“Get up,” I hiss, slapping his hip with a wing.

He scrambles to his feet and gives me a playfully warning look, rubbing the point of contact. “Careful, Fleet. A little further south and that wouldn’t have been very cash-money of you.”

“Shut up,” I growl, as irritated as I am bewildered, baffled, mortified, and perhaps a little entertained. “We’re their guests, remember? Be presentable.”

He scoffs light-heartedly and with an underplayed roll of the eyes. “We’re at Twinkle Sprinkle’s place, not a fifteen-star restaurant in Canterlot where they charge you for the napkins — we know these people. And Spike here has seen me at my worst, so there’s not much of a bad impression to make.” He looks up to him and offers his hand. “Greetings, by the way. Long time no see, big guy.”

Spike blinks at him — well, more likely the display as a whole — and opens, then closes his mouth. And then he lowers his gaze to the outstretched hand and slowly, confoundedly places a single talon within its grasp. “Dōmo… arigatō?”

Philip pauses, his brows rising, then laughs and shakes then talon calmly. “Colour me impressed, you remembered. How long has it been since I taught you that?”

“Eight, nine months, I think — your sixth letter.” Spike shrugs. “I’m also good with languages, so that helps. As well as, uh… being privy to certain snippets of information about your Earth and its cultures, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Philip slowly lets his grip come loose, his hand falling by his side as his gaze goes from enthused to… something else. Still positive, to be sure, but the air has been soured, and his mood with it. “Let’s just not talk about that, okay?” he requests, huffing a sigh. “Not a subject that needs digging up.”

Spike nods and sits on his haunches. “I can respect that.”

“Good.” Philip claps and rubs his palms together, glancing behind him to the three guards waiting diligently at the foot of the stairs, all of whom have their backs turned on us, looking out for trouble. “Now, you’re not going to leave six weary travellers out in the cold, are you? We’ve travelled ever so far to share this dinner with you.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Spike waddles aside and beckons us through with a sweep of the arm. “Please, come in. Twilight and I have been cooking all day, and we’re just about done.”

“Twilight and you?”

“Okay, mostly me, but she helps, I swear.”

“I’m sure she does.” Philip pats Spike’s chest in mock condescension as he passes by and enters the castle. “But alas, we’re all creatures of habit — her more than most.”

Spike puckers his lips and gives him a sideways look, but doesn’t respond, turning to Spitfire and I and waving us through as well.

I trot inside and nod my thanks, and Spitfire does the same, and once the three guards have clambered up the steps and joined us in the entry, Spike closes the doors behind us all.

Gosh, it’s been so long. And nothing has changed. Of course, why would it? There’s no reason to, and as far as I’m aware, no excuse to either — no renovations to file a stylistic makeover under.

For nearly two whole weeks, I walked through that doorway and stood in this exact space, marvelling at the wonders some freak force of the magical ecosystem could produce. For nearly two whole weeks, I came to check up on and enjoy the company of somepony I was slowly starting to grow more and more comfortable calling my friend. For nearly two whole weeks, I started thinking the same of the princess who lived here, including her assistant. And my oh my, how things have progressed since then.

I don’t care to reminisce about what’s changed, nor shall I pretend to know whether they were better the way they were, but I find myself yearning for a time when everything seemed so much simpler; when I didn’t have to maintain a ruse for longer than the next interview, or force myself through unpleasant scenarios unless they were absolutely necessary.

Finding a special somepony was never on the agenda.

And what a special somepony I’ve found.

He’s talking with Spike now, the lumbering yet surprisingly nimble hunk of scales, claws, teeth, spines, wings and fire having snuck past me while I was lost in thought. By the sound of it, they’re recalling some of the good times they’ve shared within these halls, and somehow quickly segueing into the subject of what’s for dinner with ease. It’s easy to forget that, at one point, he was quite happy to cut this entire place and those who live within it from his life. Now, here he is, behaving almost as if nothing happened.

He isn’t the most resilient boy around — a fact to which I can attest — but I think he’s getting better. He’s doing his best, anyhow, and like Sweetie Belle said outside, that’s all a pony can do. Even if they aren’t, strictly speaking, a pony.

My ears perk up at the sound of a dreamy sigh and I swivel my head to the right.

Spitfire watches me with a knowing look, her smile as tight-lipped and genuine as her eyes are narrowed and smug. “You almost touched his butt.”

My teeth clench and my eyes widen, a sudden warmth rising in my cheeks as I lean toward her. “Spitty, I swear…”

She lifts a hoof defensively and shakes her head, still beaming. “Hey, I’m just saying you’re cute together. It’s nice to see you smiling more — loosening up.”

That dreaded phrase again. The whole reason I got myself into this mess is because I dared to let myself fantasise a little too much. And on top of that, I’m cute. One of my two oldest friends now thinks that me telling my romantic interest to behave himself is cute. It’s not enough I have to endure that kind of torture from him, but now her as well?

And why the heck am I fighting back a grin?

“You’re as bad as Brave,” I grumble, turning away before that grin breaks through, but when I refocus on Philip and Spike , I notice they aren’t chatting anymore, but looking up the main staircase. And when I follow their gaze, the urge to grin fades instantaneously.

Twilight stands at the top, facing the foyer and watching him closely. She doesn’t seem outwardly nervous, but the fact she’s refusing to show much emotion is pretty telling, especially since almost everypony here knows what she was a part of, and how Philip felt about it. She wears no regalia, only a plain, butter-yellow frock — as casually formal as the rest of us.

I don’t need to see Philip’s face to know he’s donned a similarly inexpressive expression.

“Philip,” she greets, and her tone betrays how tense she is. She may try to hide it, just as we may try to hide our mutual connection, but try as we may, we can only ever do so much. And she hasn’t been a practiced liar for as long as I have, and certainly not as long as the Sisters.

Philip doesn’t respond.

If she expected him to, she doesn’t show it, and begins descending the stairs, glancing down to check her pace, but otherwise never diverting her attention from him. “It’s been too long.”

Still, he offers no reply.

She continues descending. “I know things have been… difficult between us, but I hoped I’d be able to say something before we start.”

Again, nothing.

She leaves the final step and waits a long moment at the foot of the staircase, staring at the long, wide carpet beneath her hooves with a somewhat troubled expression. Her teeth clenched behind a forcibly relaxed mouth — the kind of look you wear when you’re convinced there’s no easy way out, but have already come to terms with the fact, and all that’s left is to do it, whatever it is.

But there’s no fooling anypony here. We all know what she’s trying to say.

“I’m sorry,” she declares, voice quivering slightly, looking up at him and meeting his gaze with upturned brows. “It’s my fault you’re here. It’s my fault you’re staying here. I never… wanted or meant to hurt you. Ever. What I did wasn’t right, and… it was wrong of me to assume I know what’s best for you. I can’t speak for… her, but if it were up to me, now I know how strongly you feel about it, I—”

“Twilight.” Philip raises a hand. “Stop.”

Her mouth hangs open, hesitant, but then she blinks and slowly closes it, ears angling back.

He takes a deep breath in, then exhales, and then steps forward a few small paces.

She gulps.

A tingle dances between my withers as I feel the urge to follow, in case he does something everypony would regret in five minutes’ time. He may be aware of his short temper, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less likely to fall victim to it. My wings loosen in preparation.

“I’m going to tell you what I told Spike,” he announces, slowing to a halt and folding his arms. I can’t see his expression from this angle, but his tone doesn’t sound critical. Warning, perhaps, but not hostile. “Let’s just not talk about that. We’ve said some things… done some things we both regret. Maybe they could’ve turned out differently, but… I’m tired of being mad at you.”

Her upturned brows curl downward in surprise.

Philip glances over his shoulder at me, but it becomes a longer, more meaningful look, accentuated with a small, sincere smile. “This isn’t the life I imagined for myself,” he admits as he returns to her, though it’s less of an admission and more of an obvious statement, “but I’m learning to live with it. Like it, in some respects. I’m working with what I’ve been given, at any rate… and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realise I’ve been dealt some really… really wonderful cards.”

If this could be considered cliché, I honestly can’t tell and frankly don’t care — if we were alone, I’m not sure whether I’d slap or hug him, and I know he’d love it either way. It makes me smile, and my chest feel heavier. Swooning in secret, I suppose.

“You lucky duck,” Spitfire whispers in my ear.

I gently push her away with a wing, my smile growing shamefully wider.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Twilight,” he continues, stepping a little closer, then lowering himself to a knee, arms unfolding, one resting on his thigh as he holds his thumb, “but acting the way I did wasn’t right either. Not to you. And yeah, it has been too long. So… what do you say we bury the hatchet? Let bygones be bygones. Mend this fence together.”

She blinks, stunned.

“I’m willing if you’re willing.” He spreads his arms and offers a tight-lipped smile. “Hugs?”

She darts forward and wraps him up in the blink of an eye, awkwardly balanced on her hindlegs, forehooves locked around his back, snout pressed into his shoulder.

Philip pats the back of her head and smells her mane — another habit of his, I realise, and I assure myself that I shouldn’t take it personally when he does it to somepony else. He’s allowed to be friendly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She mumbles something into him, muffled by his shirt and softened by the distance.

“I know,” he replies. “Me too.”

Another apology, I bet. It’s the way of things — once, twice, three hundred times never seems to be enough. And considering it’s the Princess of Friendship this is coming from, I can only imagine how much it means to her, to finally hear that there’s still a place for her in his future, from his mouth, in his words, face to face.

I knew this was coming. It was inevitable the second I proposed the location, and both he and Twilight agreed, but it warms my heart to actually see it happen. And to see him improve — to know how unlikely it is that he’ll ever repeat…

…Best not ruin the moment.

He gives her a squeeze, then lets go. “Better?”

She falls on all fours and looks up at him with a grateful smile, rubbing at an eye with the back of a forehoof. “Better.”

“Cool. Now, what say we get this party started?”

---

Calling the event a party is a vast overstatement. We’re sitting around a long dinner table in the dining hall — a room that’s seen very little use for as long as Twilight and Spike have lived in the castle. Most of their meals, as well as mine and his when he was staying here and I came to visit, were eaten wherever was most convenient, as opposed to wherever is most appropriate. State visits and the occasional overnight friendship client slash patient are the sole exceptions, or so they’ve said.

This is neither, and as such, would be the first time it’s ever seen any unofficial use, in the literal sense. And so far, the conversation has been rather casual as we munch on appetisers; carrot and celery sticks with various dips, salad plates, spring rolls, all homemade by a certain drake. Though most of it is rather basic, admittedly, as far as food goes.

“Rarity,” Spitfire answers, sitting back in her crystalline chair while chewing a cracker with a small slice of cheese. “She’s best pony, for a number of reasons.”

“Really?” Philip wonders aloud from the seat beside me, brows high as turns to face her a little more squarely. “Not Rainbow?”

“Probably doesn’t want to be nepotistic,” I remark, knowing full well the irony of the statement, and where her favouritism has got me.

She shrugs from her side of the table. “That, and… well, her track record isn’t that great when it comes to what she’s supposed to represent.” She looks to her left. “No offence, Princess.”

Twilight cradles her head in her forehooves with an expression I can’t quite see from this angle, but it’s clear she isn’t at all enthused about the topic at hoof. No doubt she’s heard enough of it for a thousand lifetimes, not only from the masses but possibly among her friends as well. The space beside her is empty while Spike continues preparing dinner.

Nearly done, my ass.

“But yeah, Rarity.” Spitfire looks back to us. “Don’t get me wrong — as a captain, loyalty is important, but it isn’t everything, and it’s certainly not all there is to being a good friend. Generosity is the way to go, and I’m sure you two can attest that I’ve been pretty generous in letting you have time to yourselves.”

I give her a warning frown and glance meaningfully to Twilight, who’s still stuck in an ever-deepening state of self-pity.

She gives me an understanding, but also playfully condescending smile, as if I were crazy for thinking she’d ever let the cat out of the bag, then shares her look with Philip. “But besides her Element, let’s just face it: she’s prim and proper in all the right places without coming off as poncy, and she’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Are you sure you want to rub salt in the wound?” I question, motioning to Twilight again.

“Oh, please, spare me,” Spitfire scoffs, waving me off dismissively. “She’s mature enough to not let any of this get to her. Isn’t that right, Princess?”

“Enooooough,” Twilight groans, head sliding from her hooves to the tabletop with a soft thud, where she looks at us all and begs with tired eyes. “Why can’t everyone agree we’re just six parts of a greater whole?”

“Because life doesn’t work like that, Twiggles.” Philip shrugs. “We all have favourites, like vanilla, chocolate and strawberry; you can say Neapolitan is the best of all three worlds of ice-cream, but everyone’s going to dig into one side more than the others.”

A silence descends as she, Spitfire and myself stare at him.

“What?”

Spitfire slowly shakes her head. “How the heck do you make philosophy so digestible, and yet so delicious?”

He pauses, then shrugs again. “It’s all a matter of taste, I suppose.”

I smack my head against the table. The pain doesn’t hurt so much as my ears do.

“Spike!” Twilight shouts in a somewhat aggrieved fashion. “Can you make something deep fried for desert, please?! And smothered in chocolate?! I think I’m going to need some comfort food when this is all over!”

“Make that an order for two,” I grumble.

“You two are so thin-skinned.” Spitfire laughs. “So, anyway, yeah, back to Rarity—”

And then there comes the echo of a knock at the door.

It’s loud. Unusually so. I’ve heard it from the inside once or twice when I was visiting the place while he was staying here, but this feels different. Each hammer of the knocker seems too far apart, the tremors in the air and walls seeping into me through my wings and tingling with cold, sharp pinpricks. My body feels hollow like an echo chamber, and I stiffen and sit up straight in my seat, ears perking looking behind me as far as I can without moving my head, as if any sign of movement would attract the attention of a manticore.

For a split second, I wonder if it would be healthier to face one instead of this.

“Perfect timing,” Spike comments from the kitchen, though whether he’d actively taken on board our orders for later tonight is unknown. “Don’t worry, guys, I’ll get it.”

The padding of his clawed feet leaving for the entry signal his departure, and I’m left to my own thoughts as a newer, less welcome silence settles in. Just like the apology and the acceptance, I also knew this was coming, but I’d hoped… I don’t know, that maybe I’d be as prepared for it as he was. Why? Well, I’ve been in the spotlight for longer. I know how to deal with situations like this.

…Except I’ve never been in this situation before. Not really. Not with any amount of certainty like I know I have with him.

Merciful Sisters, this is a lot of things, but easy is as far from it as you can launch it with a trebuchet, and then some.

My wings, tail and ears all tuck in, hoping to make me as small as possible, even though I know it won’t do me any good, especially when I’m stuck frozen in place. Whether it’s fear or some misbegotten sense of duty, I don’t rightly know. I look to my left to Philip.

He meets my gaze with a neutral one, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s putting it on for my sake — there’s fear within him too, as well as some misbegotten sense of duty of his own. He lingers on me for a moment, then lowers his attention to the closest hoof.

I look at it too. I know what he’s thinking, and there’s nothing I want more right now than to feel his hand over it, his thumb tenderly caressing the skin beneath my fur. To know he’s close, and that he’s there for me, because although seeing him there should be enough, now the option for added closeness is on offer… it doesn’t feel like it.

I need more.

I need him.

“No,” I mouth despite myself, moving my lips as little as possible.

Yes, there’s nothing I want or need more than him… but now isn’t the time. Of the six ponies we planned to tell, four are present, and two already know. I’d rather not blow the lid off this thing prematurely.

Voices waft through the halls. All four are familiar, but the mare among them is the noisiest. At least it seems that way — could be my nerves again. Probably. I hope. Stars above, why does everything have to happen so slowly, so… I don’t know what the word for it is. I just know I don’t enjoy it one single bit.

The gentle thud of clawed feet returns, and the sound of hooves on carpets and crystal floors comes with it. Every click, every clop, I’m keenly aware of, but only in the sense that they bring something I need to face with them. It’s a step every pairing must go through, whether they like it or not, but that doesn’t make the fact any easier to digest.

And then, with very little ceremony and soft but heartfelt laugh, Mum, Dad and Soarin appear from the archway on the left, soon followed by Spike’s much larger figure. They halt almost immediately upon entering the dining hall, taking in the view, as well as those who are already seated. The three guests all bow to Twilight in varying degrees of genuine reverence, who accepts it with a small, gracious nod, though it’s clear enough to me that she’d rather they not do that.

“Announcing Senior Airpony Soarin of the Wonderbolts and Mister and Missus Slipstream and Mistral,” Spike heralds behind them, sticking his head through the arch and smiling at us all brightly. “Welcome guests one and all.”

“Oh, stop it, you big charmer,” Mum says with a flattered giggle, looking up at him and doing her best to give a dismissive wave, then returns to Twilight. “But yes, Your Highness, it’s truly an honour to dine with you tonight.”

“Believe me, Missus Mistral, the honour is all mine,” she replies, nodding again, then gestures to me. “But please, you have your daughter to thank for this. It was her idea, after all.”

A small part of me wonders for a split second whether I’m being thrown under the carriage, but it’s a brief thought with absolutely zero evidence and I dismiss it entirely in the blink of an eye. I turn from her to Mum, Dad, Soarin and Spike, all of whom have already turned their attention on me. I put on a brave face, which doesn’t nearly feel convincing enough, and wave at them a greeting, which doesn’t feel welcoming enough.

Mum is clothed in a white top and a loose-fitting black dress — the kind she saves for only the most formal of occasions while not looking overly fancy; a common pony with aspirations for the upper crust of society, in essence. Pearls dangle from her ears like miniature stars, shining in the light of the room, and her blonde mane has been brushed with the utmost care and thoroughness, underscored by a purple flower that matches her eyes.

Her expression is gentle and warm when I meet her gaze, but she stays on me for only a moment before her focus shifts to my left, her right, noticing for the first time, it seems, the odd one out. “Mister Montero,” she greets in a tone that I can only hope isn’t cold, “we meet again at last.”

“It’s good to see you again too, Missus Mistral.” Philip nods. “And Mister Slipstream, and you too, Soarin.”

“Please, Philip, no need for any titles,” Dad says. “I thought we made that clear last time we met. Which was… how long ago?”

“Oh, uh… almost six months, I think, or thereabouts.”

“Too long, regardless.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Anyway, please, come, sit,” Twilight beckons, waving them closer and motioning to the seats on the opposite side of the table and beside Spitfire. “I trust all went well on your journey here?”

“Yes, indeed, rather swimmingly,” Mum answers and begins trotting around the table in my direction. “It’s not every day you’re invited to the Princess of Friendship’s castle, no less escorted by a high-ranking Wonderbolt.”

“Hey, I’m still third in command,” I protest.

“Oh, I know you are, sweetie.” She sweeps around and gives me a hug from the side furthest from Philip… which might be a red flag. Or it might simply be that there wasn’t enough space if she were to do it from between the chairs. “But you’ll always be my little girl to me, first and foremost.”

Sweet Celestia, she never stops with the babying, does she? I return the embrace as best and willing as I’m able, avoiding eye contact with anypony other than Spitfire, who only holds my gaze a moment before she looks to her left and watches Soarin side into the chair beside her. He wears a similar outfit to her and I, with the exception that he may have gelled his hair. And is that… cologne?

No; perfume. Mum has doused herself in it.

“Thank you so much for this, Fleety,” she whispers, pecking me on the cheek.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I murmur, then realise I’d said that out loud and quickly try to think of something to add so it sounds less suspicious. “I mean, we haven’t had dinner yet, so… you know… maybe I brought you to the wrong place.”

“Hey,” Spike whines from the archway, “I’m a great cook, I’ll have you know. Which you should, because you ate everything I ever made for you and Philip while both of you were practically living here.”

“Correction, Spike: I was living here.”

“Whatever you say, Philip.” He shrugs, backing up and turning away to disappear down the hall. “Anyway, make yourselves at home, I’ll be bringing through the first course shortly.”

“Ooh, exciting,” Mum chirps, letting go and trotting around to the two empty chairs on the right side of the table. “Served by the princess’s own assistant. That doesn’t happen every day either, does it?”

“I guess not,” Twilight replies, though I can’t tell if her warm, inviting smile grows just that little bit smaller, or if it’s just me. Stars above, why does everything have to be so… on edge — so close to seeming like it’s all mere seconds from disaster? “I’m just glad to finally meet you two.”

“Oh, please, Your Highness, you’ll make me blush.”

“And wouldn’t that be a sight, ma’am,” Soarin remarks with what might be a sly smirk.

I snap to him, but Spitfire’s the one who takes action and whacks him upside the head.

“Hey, watch the mane!”

“Cool it, Casanova. Keep it civil.”

Dad stops by and hugs me as well before I can catch what Soarin mutters under his breath in response. “Hey, Fleet,” he says, giving my cheek a similar peck, “missed you.”

“Missed you too, Dad,” I reply automatically, offering him a brief smile before I switch back to watching Mum take her place and make herself comfortable.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure.”

“Now, I don’t mean to be a nuisance, Your Highness,” Mum begins, “but I have to wonder, how exactly do you keep a place as large as this so clean?”

Fixating on the little details to make for small talk. Typical of her. At least it’s a sign that she’s feeling comfortable, so she hasn’t caught onto the true purpose of this meetup. I think. I hope. I can normally tell when something’s up with her, but for whatever reason, I don’t feel entirely confident in myself tonight. Perhaps my nerves are catching up to me.

Perhaps? No, I’m certain. It’s going to show, she’s going to see, she’ll ask me what’s wrong and I’ll hesitate for a second like I tend to when lying nowadays, and she’ll figure it all out. She’ll notice the extra attention I’ve put into my hair and fur, the way he’s dressed, the fact we’re so close together, and she’ll put two and two together and see us for what we are — what we came to tell them. And then she’ll… she’ll…

“Hey, Fleety.”

I snap to my right. Not desperately, but fast enough to count as surprised.

Dad watches me closely. “You’re sure you’re okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah.” I nod and avert my gaze to the table. “Just hungry, is all.”

He lingers on me, then slowly nods in turn, letting go and sliding off to the floor, swinging away and following Mum to the crystalline chair beside her. She and Twilight are in deep conversation. Spitfire and Soarin banter between themselves. Spike returns about a minute later bearing the appetisers, setting them at each place on the table, then sits by Twilight’s side.

I look to Philip.

He looks to me.

He knows what I’m thinking.

This is going to be quite a long Summer Sun dinner.

---

“Spike, if you don’t mind me saying, I wish you could meet my dad right about now.”

He quirks an eyebrow at Philip as he finishes sipping from a large glass of water — a small bucket in size, almost definitely custom-made, not unlike Philip’s requirements in a way. “What makes you say that, friend?”

Philip continues chewing on his meal, eyes closed until he swallows, sharing a smile with him. “Because my old man used to make shepherd’s pie all the time, but never have I ever in all my years ever tasted a serving quite like this.”

Spike’s other brow rises to give a look of pleasant surprise.

“Stars above, Philip,” I groan, slumping my neck somewhat and peering up at him from the corner of my eye, a smile of my own sneaking through, “why are you always so obsessed with food?”

“Hey, give me a break.” He shrugs, returning to his meal and cleaving another chunk from the cheesy potato layer. “This is good stuff.”

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s complaining here,” Spitfire comments, finishing her own mouthful. “I may be captain of the Wonderbolts, but that doesn’t mean I’m in control of what we eat at the Academy — that’s the Ministry of Defence. With the exception of holiday meals, most everything you’ll find in the cafeteria is nutritious, not delicious.”

“Are you kidding me?” he remarks, moderately bewildered. “There hasn’t been a single bite I’ve had in this world that I haven’t enjoyed. You calling some cafeteria food tasteless slop seems bizarre to me at this point.”

“Was your father a chef?” Mum queries.

“Motel owner,” he replies without missing a beat, showing absolutely no signs of the brief chill that strikes me every time she opens her mouth. If he’s afraid, he’s better at hiding it than I feel I am. “But I understand you don’t have those around these parts. Think of it like an inn, or a carriage rest stop, but with an extended staying period — a hotel, really.”

“Like the one you were staying in? The… Riviera, if I’m not mistaken?”

I shove down the urge to prick my ears to the deepest, darkest parts of my psyche where I hope they’ll never resurface. He told me later he moved to an apartment complex because he didn’t like living in the same place, sleeping in the same bed where… that happened. Which was and still is perfectly understandable. I’d probably have done the same, but for all I know, I might very well have soaked the whole room in oil and lit a match, blame it on a faulty appliance.

To hide my shame further, I begin eating my dinner anew.

“Seaford’s, yes.” He nods, sparing me only a single, fleeting glance, which I’m sure is meant to be empathetic. “The difference there, though, is that they’d normally have a set limit for how long you can stay in a hotel.

“Normally.” He brings the fork to his mouth and chews. “I’m not normal, relatively speaking. The way I think they saw it, I was the honoured guest of Princess Luna and her sister, so on top of the fact I had access to an almost limitless supply of cash, people want bragging rights. They want to say they stayed in the same hotel as me, and that brought a lot of business to the place. So long as the princesses paid, I had free range to do whatever I liked.”

“Scandalous,” she remarks with a smirk. It’s barbed, I’m sure of it. “Were your guards impartial to certain shenanigans? Or dare I say, were they co-conspirators?”

The image of Brave’s smug grin flashes before me, echoed in Spitfire’s, and basically everypony else who knows about us to whatever extent.

“Kind of. Some took a little more breaking in.”

“Ah, a drillmaster.”

“On occasion. I don’t plan on making a habit of it.”

“What a shame. Perhaps you’d make an excellent addition to the Royal Guard.”

I burst into laughter, covering my mouth with a hoof in case anything comes flying out. It’s loud and probably uncalled for, but my nerves need an outlet. “Really, Mum? Him? A guard? He can’t even beat me in a game of fisticuffs!”

Philip angles his head toward me. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Oh, come on,” I roll my eyes at him, “don’t tell me that’s what you really want to do.”

“Yeah, as much as I’d like to see you try, it really isn’t for everyone,” Spitfire adds. “You’d be protecting the Sisters. This kingdom doesn’t take that duty lightly.”

“The sisters, huh?” He quirks an eyebrow at her. “I don’t get a choice in my posting?”

“Like I said, not for everyone.”

He lingers on her, then carves up another bite-sized piece of the pie. “Evidently so.”

“Anyway,” Twilight interrupts, no doubt sensing the conversation was starting to head down a path nopony wanted, judging by the look on her face, “you’ve been living in Filly for almost a year now, haven’t you?”

He looks up at her while he chews. “I have.”

“So, how is it?”

“Fine,” he answers, then waits until he’s finished his mouthful before continuing. “By which I mean it’s better than I expected. Never thought city life would suit me as well as it has. But I suppose that has something to do with the fact that everything has to be within walking distance, since there aren’t any cars and whatnot. Until recently, that is. But honestly, I’m kind of glad they’re not so common anymore.”

“Is that so?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” He nods. “Don’t get me wrong, I miss my RX-8 — spent a good chunk of my savings on that beauty — but there’s something strangely… I don’t know, liberating about using your feet for once. But then again, maybe it’s just me getting used to the way things are done around these parts — osmotic Stockholm syndrome, let’s call it.”

“You also meet our dear Fleety once a week, we’re led to believe,” Mum mentions in a tone that sounds both curious and accusatory. “The Lunar Bean, if I recall correctly.”

“Indeed we do,” he replies, nodding again, seemingly unphased. “Sometimes more than once. Depends on when we’re both available, really, but Spitfire’s helping us out in that regard.”

“Oh really?” She turns to Spitfire, brows high. “And here I was thinking you were the one pony who took her job seriously in your unit.”

Spitfire’s lips curl and tighten, taking in a sharp breath, ears almost flat and parallel with her twitching wings. “Ooh, you’re lucky we’re in polite company, ma’am, because there’s nothing I take greater offence to than having my team called unprofessional.”

“Testified,” Soarin adds, lifting a hoof and letting it hang for Spitfire to bump her own against, and when she does, he lets out a satisfied snort. “With all due respect, Missus Mistral, and if you don’t mind me saying, but there’s a big difference between taking it easy and being unprofessional. We just prefer not to have a stick up our asses twenty-four-seven.”

“Soarin!” I gasp.

“Language!” Twilight hushes.

Spitfire hits him on the shoulder. “Tact, dude.”

Mum merely watches our reactions and giggles to herself, the edge of a hoof covering her mouth demurely. “Don’t worry, Mister Soarin, Miss Spitfire, I understand well enough. It was only a friendly jab, as they say, I’m still very proud of my daughter for serving alongside you.”

I resist the urge to frown at her as I settle back down into my seat. That’s not what she was saying when I returned from my first world tour, and I don’t see any reason why she’d have changed her mind since then. She’s hiding something. I can feel it. She’s going to ask a question sooner or later and everything will step out into the light.

“But yes, anyway, back to you, Mister Montero.” She clears her throat and shifts her weight to face him a little more squarely, her expression delightfully pleasant, and therefore highly suspicious. “Were you pressured out of the hotel, or did you decide to buy your own apartment on your own?”

She’s probing him, testing the exterior. I can’t exactly be sure what she’s after, but it can’t be anything good. It never is with her.

Philip seems to sense it too, glancing at me before answering. I think I see an anxious glint in his eyes. “What’s Fleet told you about how I wound up here?”

Everypony else’s collective attention falls on me, four in surprise, two without any discernible emotion behind them. Mum’s is the heaviest of them all, boring into me like a diamond-tipped drill. “Very little, admittedly,” she says, casting her attention back to Philip, her expression still impassive. “I suppose you’re about to enlighten us.”

He slowly nods, solemn but resolute as he looks to Twilight, on whom he lingers, taking a deep breath and quietly sighing. “Barring a few details. For matters of national security.”

Her gaze grows solemn in turn, and she nods in kind. It’s as much a sign of approval as it is a sign of recognition.

“Perhaps you remember the magical storm that brought me here two years ago.” He sets his cutlery down and sits with his hands folded in his lap. “Fleetfoot started it.”

They all snap to me again, this time in shock.

“I didn’t mean to,” I insist, raising my hooves in defence, knowing how bad simply stating the fact must sound. And no, I’m not being thrown under the carriage or needlessly dragged into the archery range, because this needed to happen at some point if we were ever to be completely honest with everypony. This is as good a time as any. “I was on my own, fed up with everything, hoping an idle flight might take my mind off it all… and the next thing I know, after I do a rainboom through some clouds…”

“Of course!” Twilight exclaims, focussing on some indefinite point of air before her. Lost in her own little world, it seems. “If the thaumatic discharge from breaking the sound barrier is enough to shatter light, then it stands to reason that it might be enough to act as a focal point for other forms of magic! Ugh! Why didn’t I think of this before?!”

“Twi,” Spike mutters as he bows his head closer, “quit being a nerd. We’re not alone.”

She looks at him, and then to everypony around the table, then lowers her ears and chuckles with an awkward smile, curling a foreleg in front of her as if she’d been disrobed against her will. “Oh. I see. Uh… Yes, anyway, please continue, Miss Spit— Fleetfoot. Please continue Miss Fleetfoot.”

A faint whisper from ages ago resurfaces, when Spitfire and I were in Junior Flight Camp, and somepony claimed we had to be sisters because of how similar our manes were. Truth is, one of us copied the other, but we’ve both long since forgotten who the original was. When I mentioned this to Philip, he said something about ‘Agent Smith’ and laughed and trailed off into a series of quotes that were completely lost on me. I just stood there are stared, not sure if I was being made fun of.

Right now, I’m taking too long to respond, so I open my mouth to continue my answer.

“Point is, she told me this secret of hers, and that kind of… well, soured things for a long, long time. From my perspective, that is” Philip leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, holding a thumb in the other hand as he watches me carefully from the corner of his eye. “I didn’t handle it well. At all. Moving out was supposed to be like a… a cleansing. Burn it down, start again — that sort of thing.

“But that’s not how you deal with your problems. Spike helped me realise that, and what I was missing out on. And I have to say… giving her a second chance has been one of the best decisions of my entire life.”

I have to be mindful not to let my smile spread too wide or else I won’t seem at all like myself. Fleetfoot is a reserved mare, only showing her true colours to those she really, truly considers friends — callous as it may sound, family doesn’t count. She doesn’t let something as pathetic as a small, heartfelt speech get to her. She doesn’t want to hug the pony responsible and hold him close and wish the world would freeze on that moment forever. She doesn’t do romance, plain and simple.

And yet my chest is fluttering all the same, and I’d kiss him from the tip of his fingers to the tip of his nose and every point in between. I’d take him to see a sunset from above the clouds, and share banana pancakes and sip orange juice while the sky turns purple, crimson and gold. I’d buy a house just for us, where we could cuddle up by the fire and sleep in, pretending it’s the weekend.

He offers his hand.

I hesitate only for the barest fraction of a second before placing my hoof in it.

“And look at us now,” he muses aloud, giving me a gentle squeeze, “so close that she’s letting me preen her wings.”

And then my heart stops, and not in a good way.

The whole room goes deathly quiet, like the final brick in a tomb has been laid and set, and I’ve only the grim reality that is my immediate fate for company. It’s so silent that you could hear a needle fall in the far corner, and it would echo with the loudness of a clocktower bell, each chime hammering an ice-cold nail down my spine.

Philip realises his mistake almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, staring through me with wide eyes and without a hint of a smile. It’s clear he’s in a similar state of shock as I am. After a while, though, he stiffly cranes his head toward the rest of the table and casts a cautious eye over his shoulder.

Spitfire watches us with a comparable expression, the weight of her hoof slowly lowering her fork to the plate before her. Soarin puckers his lips and bows his head, rubbing his brow uncomfortably as he stares at his half-eaten meal. Twilight covers her mouth with a hoof, ears attentive. Spike shifts his weight in place and shuffles his massive wings, glancing at the others out of some sense of vigilance. Dad appears blank. Mum, however, gawks with ears angled back and a mouth so wide open you could stick a hoof in it and have room to spare.

The air has grown frigid and unwelcome, tight in the throat and restricting on the chest, every breath a conscious effort and noticeable to all who’d even spare a single thought in my general direction. Whether I like it or not — and I most definitely do not like it — the time has come to do what needs to be done, what we’d invited everypony here for. Answers must be given. For my sake, for his, for us all.

“Maybe we should elaborate,” I say, sounding far less certain than I’d like before I clear my throat. I consider taking my hoof away from his hand, but decide it’s better where it is; I’m not ashamed of us, merely concerned for our future prospects. Everypony else will just have to deal with it. I add my other hoof and look to my parents. “Mum, Dad… we’re… well…”

“You’re courting each other?” Twilight interjects, leaning closer, then throws her forelegs high and beams a grin as bright as the sun. “That’s wonderful!”

“Sweet stars above,” Spitfire breathes, a light-hearted smirk forming across her muzzle, “it took you two long enough, didn’t it?”

“Is it all that different from dating a human, Philip? Ooh, ooh, are there any special needs you have to consider? Did you make the first move, or did—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the bleeping phone, Twilight,” Philip interrupts, raising a hand and waving her down from her rambling. “One question at a time, and please don’t make such a big fuss about it like you usually do. There are… still some things we haven’t sorted out yet, and a lot of issues we need to address.”

“What issues?” Spitfire wonders aloud with a shrug. “You like each other, don’t you?”

He angles his head at her and gives her a look. “It’s not as simple as that, Spits. We promised we’d take it slow, and that’s what we’re doing. She hasn’t dated anybody in a long, long while, and as for me… Well, let’s just say this is alien territory for the both of us. There’s a lot of learning, unlearning and relearning to be done.”

“Sounds like you’re overthinking it, if I’m being honest.”

“Perhaps, but that’s our mistake to make. And believe me, we’ve made plenty enough of those already.” He turns to me and offers a small, sincere smile. “Yet here we are. And I couldn’t be happier.”

If this were another time, I’d probably feel a sense of gratitude, or swoon at his words again and long for another mutual hug, maybe even a kiss on the lips in full view of everypony here. But this isn’t another time, and I’m not entirely focussed on the conversation at hoof; I’m frozen stiff and tense as can be, watching Mum with all the care in the world, searching for any and every sign of hostility.

But she doesn’t say anything. And as the discussion drags on, her gaze lowers to the table with a baffled frown, squinting now and then as she mumbles to herself. Private thoughts she wishes she could express, I expect, but can’t in a setting such as this, and especially not when the current company seems rather supportive. This is exactly what I wanted.

And yet, somehow, it isn’t.

Did I want her to glare at me? To judge me? To shout and rave and demand that I change my mind, or that Philip stay away from me? No, of course not. But I can’t help feeling this isn’t right. The air should’ve cleared, but it hasn’t. It lingers. Festers. Hangs above my head like a sword ready to fall at any moment. It’s heavy to breathe, sickly to smell, foul to taste and even worse going out.

I’ve put her in a position she hates, just like I did with Philip on that dreaded morning.

Merciful Sisters, I never learn, do I?

“Excuse me,” I mutter to nopony in particular, slipping from my seat and walking with a sense of urgency for the main hall, hoping to find my way through the winding passages to the balcony overlooking Ponyville. “I need a minute.”

Whether anyone calls out for me, I don’t notice. My heart is pounding too hard and fast.

---

The night wind is cool against my fur and feathers — refreshing. Not at all like the atmosphere inside; out here, the cold only goes as deep as the skin, rather than all the way to the core. Natural defences against the weather can only do so much.

Not having the walls and roof around me also helps. I hadn’t planned on leaving and still don’t, but pegasi thrive in open spaces. Knowing the sky is above you and just as expansive as ever is always a welcome comfort, like some ponies have their favourite toys or blankets they cuddle with when they need assistance sleeping. I grew out of mine when I reached Junior Flight Camp, pressured by Mum so I wouldn’t be picked on by the other attendees. That’s something I can thank her for, because if she hadn’t, I’d have joined Thunderlane in having an absolutely atrocious time.

But yes, the sky has always been an encouraging sight for me, and seeing it so full of stars, twinkling like sunlight on a black sea…

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, and the tension in my body dissipates. So relaxing, in fact, that my wings droop enough for another idea to come to mind — one that would give me some actual purpose out here, rather than simply calming my nerves.

I back away from the railing and let my forehooves fall to the crystal floor, then assess the space I have to work with. Large enough that you could host a small party here, I reckon — fifteen ponies, maybe more. Perfect.

With another breath, I open my wings to an idle state and slowly begin trailing across the floor my routine’s path for an upcoming show. Only a week away, if I’m not mistaken, which means that now’s the time to ensure everything on my side of this is in working order. I should know because this was a joint project between Rainbow and I — a secret that, if the press found out, would pretty much confirm the long-standing rumours that she’s out for a leadership role. Replacing me was never on her agenda, though, and never has been nor will be. I’m safe for now.

It starts off high and simple: a glide over the stadium, followed by a steep, rapid descent. Some pirouettes here, which I listlessly perform by briefly hopping into the air, some flips there, executed in a similar manner, and… Wait, no, it was a flip then a pirouette, wasn’t it? Or was that something entirely different? A routine from years ago.

Shit, it probably was. Is. Gah! Words are hard.

I rear up and twirl my way back into my original position, hoping to keep the momentum going.

“Practicing for a show?”

I practically jump and land on all fours, facing Dad side-on with wide eyes, attentive ears, a clamping tail and a wing held out defensively while the other tucks in close against my side. He’s always had a way of sneaking up on me, usually when I’m deep in thought or trying to distract myself. “Yeah,” I reply, forcing myself to lower my guard. “I just kind of realised I haven’t sunk as many hours into it as I usually do, so… I thought I’d catch up.”

He snorts and teases a smirk while he leans against the balcony entrance. It’s a good-natured gesture, but there isn’t much humour behind it. “Not a whole lot you can do from the ground, don’t you think? Unless the Bolts have decided to do something a little more down to earth.”

I quietly chuckle, more out of politeness than sincerity. “Yeah, well… we don’t practice our routines outside Academy airspace. You know, so word doesn’t spread and the audience walks in blind.”

“Of course, of course.” He strolls idly toward me, looking up at the night above as he leaves the incandescence of the castle interior behind, framing him in a soft light. He wears a white button-up shirt patterned with pale green palm fronds and simple khaki chinos — if tropical were formal, I guess. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I follow his gaze. I’d been watching it for the past few minutes, so there’s no need for me to make another judgement when I already concur. But I also know he’s here for something, leading into something, and I know what. I sigh and turn away. “Dad, don’t do this…”

“Do what?”

“Beating around the bush.” I wander to the railing and hook my forelegs over them, looking out across the lamps in the streets of the town ahead, and the lights within the windows and under the awnings. Some are fireflies, some are electric. Ponyville is sleepy. Tired. So am I. “I’m sick of playing coy with the truth, and I don’t want somepony else to fall down the same hole. If you came out here to say something, please, just say it.”

He comes to a halt. “I’m not your enemy, Fleet.”

“I know you’re not.” I sigh again, lowering my attention to the dirt path leading from the town to the castle. “I’ve just… had a rough few months.”

“Months?”

Jeez, did I say that? That sounds like I’ve had a worse time than I’ve actually had. Yes, there were hiccups, but they didn’t ruin my life. Nearly derailed it a couple of times, sure, but they didn’t. “The fight, I mean,” I reply, glancing over my shoulder at him as if I’m afraid I’d been caught out. Regarding what, I don’t know. “You know, the… one Philip mentioned.”

“Right.” He nods understandingly, then looks behind him to the chamber he’d exited onto the balcony. Maybe it was the map room, or the… I don’t know, main lounge, or whatever — I didn’t pay attention when I passed through. “See, that’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”

I quirk an eyebrow and look at him directly.

He lingers on the entrance, breathing a slow, deep sigh, then returns to me with a troubled expression, ears lowering a fraction. “Is everything alright between you two?”

I blink. “Yeah, yeah, of course, perfect,” I hurriedly answer, casually waving a dismissive wing and accidentally letting out a small, suppressed, moderately nervous giggle. “It’s never been better, really. I’m just… worried. About Mum. And what she thinks, and how she’s reacting, and what I expected, and… a lot of things. But not me and him, or he and I, or however you’re supposed to say it. We’re… we’re fine.”

The furrows in his brows deepen, like I hadn’t given him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But I have. We are fine. The very fact we’re here and feel confident enough to tell everypony about ourselves is evidence in and of itself. Isn’t it?

Clearing my throat, I pull away from the railing again and face him directly, neck bowed as the whole situation begins weighing on me again, like a scarf made of lead. “Really, Dad, we’re fine,” I say earnestly, meeting his gaze and holding it as kindly as I can, and trying to not at all sound like I’m nervous about anypony or anything this conversation relates to. “I know he’s not what Mum was expecting…”

“He’s not what either of us were expecting.”

“Yeah.” I chuckle with uncertainty, looking to the floor as I rub my foreleg and shuffle my wings. “Sorry, it’s not all that easy for me to talk about it, but I… I really think I’ve found somepony I can… well, be happy with.”

“Weren’t you happy before?”

“I… was.” I slowly nod. “But then… Well, something changed, I guess: I noticed him… and he missed being noticed. And now, here we are.”

He pauses. “Here you are.”

My ear twitches. I quirk another eyebrow as I look up at him again.

He watches me with the same troubled expression from before, but… there’s something more to it. An added edge. A sharpness in his eyes. A tautness in his lips. A hardness in his brows. Less reassuring and more inquisitive, as if I were a puzzle to assemble and a few pieces are missing. “You’re not the only one who’s worried, Fleety.”

I faintly frown in bafflement. “About…?”

“Your mother.” He looks behind him again, and then swings back to me with his eyes on the floor, pensive. “And your friend.”

Now I’m irked as well as baffled. “I just told you I’m not worried about him.”

“I know, I know, but… I am.” He sits down and puts a hoof to his chest, meeting my gaze empathetically. “Please, just… indulge me.”

I hesitate, maintaining a very baffled, and now very wary frown, glancing left and right without moving my head. Like so many things in my life in these past two years, this… is throwing me for something of a loop. Perhaps I’d expected or even hoped for a shouting match with Mum, but for Dad to come and meet me out on the balcony and sit me down for what sounds like a mature conversation? I thought I was done with those. Dad isn’t the one I should be having this with.

But it appears he didn’t get the memo, and I sit down regardless. Apprehensively, but I sit.

“Okay.” He pats the crystalline floor with his forehooves, quickly scanning the sky as he thinks. “I’ll be honest, I… have my reservations about this.”

“…Reservations?”

“Yes, reservations. Concerning the, uh… wisdom, if you will.”

I wince. “Wisdom?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe that wasn’t the right word.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He bobs his head from side to side as his forehoof returns to the ground, brows furrowed and lips puckered. “You have to understand, Fleet, this… is quite a big shock. Not just for Mum, but for me as well. I’m not opposed to you courting a non-pony, if that’s what makes you happy, but I didn’t think… well…”

“That I’d actually…”

He slowly nods. “Your mother loves you, sweetie. I do too. I just want to make sure that this is what you want, and this will make you happy.”

At least he’s not ranting and raving like I know she would, and is actually putting in the effort to hear me out. This may not be what I expected, but it’s not the most unpleasant outcome of a situation I only saw going down plenty of bad roads not a few minutes ago. “I know you do, Dad,” I say with a smile full of as much conviction as I can muster. “And it is. And it will. Trust me, I’ve had a long time to think about this.”

“But are you sure?” He slides a hoof closer by half a step, brows upturned and peering into me like he’s begging me not to hurt him. “Are you sure about him?”

My frown returns, more confused than anything. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He pauses, then sits up straight again and shifts his weight and licks his lips, staring at the floor. “Because the last time your mother and I heard from you… starting a relationship was the furthest thing from your mind that you could imagine. You made it clear to me that you didn’t have the time, or the patience, or whatever limited resource you want to call it — you didn’t have enough of it to find a special somepony. And then the next thing I know, you’re letting him… preen you — this stranger who I’ve only met once, who you rarely talk about, and whose character I can only guess at through the news.”

I blink a second time, then draw my head back with widening eyes, a certain numbness trickling through my insides like lukewarm water — wet without temperature.

Shit, I have been pretty shitty to them in that regard. And to Dad no less, the one I can count on in the messy-but-nowhere-near-as-bad-as-it-could-be bond between three ponies we collectively call a family. They deserved better, and I didn’t deliver.

And I know for a fact they rang my phone and swung by more than their fair share of times when I was sorting things out with Philip, and I never answered. I thought it would’ve been too hard to explain, too much baggage to unload on them, or just… I don’t know. Not nice — that’s what it would’ve been.

But here I am, unable to escape the fate I knew I’d inevitably have to face.

“I want to trust you, Fleet,” he continues slowly and carefully, “but what am I supposed to make of you suddenly changing your mind like this after, what, four months of absolute silence?”

There’s a twinge in my chest, and my brows crease as I cock my head and ears. “What’re you saying, Dad?”

“I was worried, Fleet.” He scoots himself forward until I’m within reach, but he doesn’t reach out. Not yet, at least. “I was worried something had happened to you. That he’d…”

My lips part, my brows rise and my eyes widen again. I think I should shake my head, but I don’t. I’m frozen stiff. Too stunned that he’d take that line of reasoning that far. “Excuse me?”

The serious look in his gaze has returned. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

I baulk, the shock hitting me like a buck to the face, and open my mouth to outright deny anything and everything in regards to all suspicions he has, but something stops me.

An image.

A sound.

A memory.

“I… hurt him, Dad,” I meekly respond, struggling to keep the shakiness out of my voice while maintaining eye contact. “You heard him say so in there.”

“But did he hurt you back?”

Again, I try to defend myself, or him, or us, whatever label I’m supposed to use, but words are coming up short, dying in the back of my throat before they have the chance to become fully fledged sentences. “No, I—”

“Are you sure this is the kind of pony you want in your life?”

“I… Yes! I mean—”

“Does he work?”

“…Work?”

“Does he have any goals? Ambitions? Is he just going to leech off the royal treasury forever, or is he actually going to do something with his life?”

“I… don’t know. You’d have to ask—”

“How do you know he’s not using you?”

“…What?” The string that line pulls is as heavy as it is confounding. “Dad, I don’t—”

“Humour me, Fleet,” he commands. “You’re a famous pony. Your name, your face, your mark — you’re known here, there and everywhere, not only as the third in command of the Wonderbolts, but as the mare who rescued the world’s first human. How can you be sure he’s not using you to make himself seem or feel more important?”

I blink, doing my best to keep up with this barrage of questions and various leaps in logic. “Dad, that’s… No, that’s not how any of this works. Heck, he was camera-shy when he first showed up.”

“What about his commitment?”

“His… what?”

He gestures to the pendant around my neck. “Did he buy you that?”

I look down and lift it up with a hoof so I have a better view, and it somehow feels… worth less. Not worthless, but, like, worth less, as if the very fact he’s pointing it out and I know the truth diminishes its value. Spitfire bought it, and that was incredibly nice of her. Why can’t a nice thing just be a nice thing? “Love… isn’t about grand gestures, Dad,” I answer, returning to him as my hoof falls to the floor again. And I hate myself for how cheesy that sounds, but how else am I supposed to say it? “It’s about trust.”

“And I’m asking whether you can trust him.” He puts a hoof to my shoulder and stares me straight in the eyes, unwavering. “Can you promise me he won’t go galivanting off with somepony else when he gets tired of you?”

When?! Since when did our very real, very genuine relationship have a predetermined expiration date?! Who says he’ll get tired of me? I know for a fact I’ll never get tired of him. And as far as I’m concerned, I wouldn’t be sharing him with anypony.

Except…

No, that’s an absurd thought. Shouldn’t spare it a single second. No way there’s any truth to it.

And yet… he did forget to tell me about Redheart, or ‘Reddy’ as her nickname goes… and they were pretty cuddly with each other…

“Fleet.”

I blink and snap back to Dad, the rotten feeling inside taking hold once more, widening my eyes, flattening my ears, stealing the words before they can leave my mind. This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be doing this to me. Not Dad. I can handle shouting, but this? This is new, and it’s scary, and… I feel… cold. And foul. And hungry. And terrified.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, I… He—”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Dad, please don’t—”

“Answer me, Fleet.”

“He didn’t mean to.”

But the second I say that, something in him changes. His gaze hardens. A scowl forms. His ears flatten. His teeth clench behind closed, sneering lips. His wings and legs tense up, as if he’s on the brink of tackling something, or somepony, and not just for sport. I’ve never seen him like this before, but I know what he’s thinking, what he’s planning on doing, and that startles and stuns me as much as it scares me; he’s the supportive one, not… this.

I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said anything. “Dad, no, it’s not what you—”

But he isn’t listening. He’s already standing and turning and marching back into the castle, neck low and purpose in his stride, prowling like a wolf with a vendetta who’ll stop at nothing and let nopony stand in his way, so long as he gets his way. Each step he takes, I swear I can feel through the floor, and it echoes in my core like a funeral bell.

I need to say something. To do something. Anything. But I’m stuck in place, quivering in terror at what exactly had happened, and what I’d unwittingly admitted. This is a misunderstanding. It has to be. I need to make him realise that before it gets out of hoof, and before my insides freeze over, where I’ll then be totally incapable of putting out this fire, or rebuilding the life I want on more solid foundations.

With all the effort I have, straining against my fears and willing myself forward, I lift a hoof and place it in front of me, and the same with the other, then stiffly rise and do the same with my hindlegs. Soon, the ice in my joints come loose. I stumble for a few steps, but quickly recover, get over the momentary dizzy spell, and stagger after him, my breathing too shallow and my mind racing with all these horrible thoughts to utter much of a defence. “Wait. Dad, please, wait.”

But he doesn’t. He continues marching, I continue stumbling after, and before I know it, he’s in the dining hall again and I’m caught on the doorway, watching on in horror. The laughter and conversation in the air quickly fades when everypony turns to look at him.

“Slipstream?” Mum queries. “Are you alright, dear?”

He doesn’t answer her, stomping straight for Philip. “You.”

Philip disconcertedly glances to the rest of the table, only to be met with similar looks. “Me?”

“You,” Dad hisses, coming to a halt within striking distance, poised with his snout aimed at Philip like a lance. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Slip,” Mum cautions, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“Protecting our daughter, honey, because this scummy piece of shit thinks he can insult her and get away with it.” He shakes his head, still glaring at him. “Not on my watch.”

“Insult her?” Philip draws his head back in disgust, then lifts a hand and swipes it left and right. “Okay, look, sir, I don’t know what gave you that impression, but—”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You think she’s just another conquest of yours, huh? Another trophy on your shelf? A floozy?”

“Mister Slipstream, please, calm down,” Twilight cuts in from the opposite end, insistent but clearly surprised at this new and unprecedented display that’s shocking all of us, none more so than me. “Whatever the problem is, I’m sure when can get to the bottom of it if—”

“The problem, Your Highness, is that this creature doesn’t respect my little girl enough to be whispered in the same sentence as her, let alone seen with her.”

Philip recoils. “What?!”

“You know what I mean, fuckface.”

“Slipstream!”

“My daughter isn’t a thing, and if you think for one bloody second that I’m going to stand by and watch you break her heart by using her like some exotic sex toy for you to dump your seed into, then you can go right back to that miserable shithole you call home and stay there. And if the Big Four aren’t going to help me, I’ll do it myself. You don’t deserve her, or anypony’s affection, and if I ever, ever see you around her, her friends, or my family again, I’ll break your toes one by one and—”

Mum slams her hoof on the table, rattling everypony’s dishes. “Slipstream, stop!”

He snaps to her and opens his mouth to shout something, but comes up shy when he notices all the shocked expressions around him. The only one who looks any different is Mum, who’s more riled than anything else.

“That’s quite enough, don’t you think?”

“He hurt her.”

“I did not!”

“You did.” He swings back to Philip and jabs a hoof at him. “Why else would she have stayed away from us, or you, or her friends? And now here you are, coming into all our lives—”

“Slipstream, I told you to stop!” Mum slams her hoof again. “Whatever his part in whatever transpired, we’re not discussing this at the dinner table. Control yourself, please, or we’ll take our leave.”

“And let this monster have his way?”

“Mister Slipstream.”

He looks to the other side of the table.

Spike sits more upright and folds his forelegs, a disappointed and bitter scowl plastered across his features, a small whiff of smoke rising from flared nostrils. “With all due respect, sir, even though I haven’t known him anywhere as long as your daughter has, I can assure you that Philip is no monster.”

“That’s all well and good coming from you, but I’m not convinced.”

“And when would you be?”

“Never. As far as I’m concerned, he lost my sympathy the moment he started thinking of her — of all of us — as inferior. That’s not what good ponies do.”

“But I’m not like that anymore,” Philip replies, trying to sound vehement in his defence, but everypony can hear the anxiety crack through. “I don’t see her as—”

“Too little, too late,” Dad growls, snarling at him once more. “Consider that next time you think about fucking with somepony’s life.”

And at this point, I just can’t take it anymore. The words… hurt too much. They bleed into one another like a swirling vortex of faces, expressions, heated accusations, all of which burn through my chest as if it were dry, wrinkled paper, leaving only a putrid husk in its wake. I can’t take a side without pissing somepony off, and neither one has any advantage over the other. How am I supposed to react when all roads lead to horrible outcomes?

A silver blur leaps over what I think is the table, all the while purples, blues, yellows, greens and this stranger, more alien shape start raising their voices. The blur lands in front of me and canters the rest of the way, facing me, staring me in the eyes. He says something, grabs something — my… my head, I think — begs me to do something.

Begging?

I can’t tell. He’s talking to me, but I can’t hear him. My heart is beating again, so hard and loud I swear I can hear the blood in my ears. Pressure’s mounting. An air bubble is desperate to burst — to escape. My throat is tight. Or is that my stomach? Or my…

I back away. I can’t understand anything. All I know is that this isn’t what I wanted, and I can’t sit on the fence either, watching everything break apart for a second time. The glass had only just finished being repaired, and now it’s fallen from the shelf again, ready to shatter. I can’t bear to see it happen.

It hurts too much.

I need to get away.

Out.

Air.

I need air.

With a whimpering, ragged breath, I turn in place, leap up high and spread my wings, then clap them again my sides for all the speed I can muster. I think I see the silver figure start to give chase, but I’m too desperate to leave everything behind and soar through the night sky all the way to my home in Cloudsdale.

Nopony can hear me sobbing there.

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