Bon-bon pushed the door open to the classroom in the history hall, her target seated at his desk, eating his lunch in silence. She shut the door behind her firmly, making him look up. “We need to talk, old man,” she said bluntly.

Mr. Doodle set down his fork patiently. “Test grades for last week’s test are not up for negotiation,” he said plainly. “It was multiple choice and short answer, not essay. I’d also appreciate a little more respect from my students.”

“I’m not here about the test.” Bon-bon smacked her palms down on his desk. “I want to know why you're playing this wishy washy game.”

He gazed up at her, frowning. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“No?” Her eyes narrowed. “Really?” She dropped a folder on his desk, and flipped it open, raising an eyebrow. “C. Doodle, born June 12, 1888. Passport issued, 1906. Here’s a rare newspaper photograph from early 1906, showing a young Mr. Doodle grief stricken at the disappearance of his fiancée, one Miss Matilda Mulesworth.” She glanced between him and the photo where a younger version of the teacher was being led away from a house by family. “Unless you were magically born on the exact same day as your grandfather or great grandfather, and also managed to marry a woman with the exact same name…that's you. Born more than a hundred years before I was. And yet here you are, teaching high school and looking younger than my dad.”

Cranky sighed. “So what if that's me? What's that got to do with anything?”

“Magic.” Bon-bon glared. “I've seen the book some unknown person left in Pinkie’s locker. Heard Sunset talk a little about what's in it, how the book is magically protected. How it was written by someone trying to rescue his fiancée. I’m not stupid—its your book. You don't look ancient. And you're one of the only teachers who hasn't been affected by what's happened. You know about magic.”

Another sigh. “I know enough to stay out of it. That was a long time ago, another lifetime.” He looked tired.

“Except now it's this lifetime,” she argued. “Magic is here, it's all over our school, and no one is stupid enough to believe that there wont be another incursion. But while we’re all trying to come up with ways to fight, you already know. And you're not helping.”

“Kid, you don't know what you're asking.”

This time her fist hit the desk hard enough to make his lunch container bounce. “Bullshit. I’m asking you to help us not waste our time on shit that won't work. I'm asking you to actually teach us how to fight back!”

That turned his frown into a sour glare. “Because fighting back has consequences! Because once you take that step, you can't go back! Magic changes you forever, and if you don't know what you're doing you end up causing a whole lot of trouble for other people, and get yourself into a worse situation, just like Sunset Shimmer! She started meddling with something she didn’t understand, and now look what its done to the school!”

Bon-bon stared at him, before she started to laugh. “Wow. Maybe this was a mistake—you don't even know enough about magic to know the truth about Sunset.” She rolled her eyes, but managed to compose herself. “The fact is, old man, that people are already involved, and they don't want to be hostages next time. They want ways to fight back…”

Luna stepped into the massive cathedral for the first time since her parents' funeral, more than a decade and a half prior. Emotions swirled in her chest, memories of a childhood spent attending mass with her mother’s gentle souled encouragement and loving faith, of her father’s warm voice teaching the Sunday school classes, explaining Biblical tales to curious children, until her life had been turned upside down in one horrible weekend. Since then, the thought of stepping beyond the doors had brought pain, and she avoided it, unwilling to praise an entity who had taken her wonderful, kind, generous parents away and almost stolen her sister in the same moment.

But here she was now, carrying a long narrow box, and a hope that its contents could help protect her sister and their school. Within the cardboard container sat a newly repaired and restored blade. It was a family heirloom of sorts, stumbled across when she’d been in the attic, looking through her father’s old things: a rapier, several hundred years old, from back when such things were weapons and not show pieces, brought from Italy by her great-great-great grandfather when he immigrated to the “New World.” It had been tarnished and battered, the leather of the sheath stained and cracked, but now it looked brand new; white leather trimmed in gold and blue, and the hilt and blade both polished to a mirror shine, the ancient crest of a golden sun behind a beast. At first she’d thought it a badly done rampant lion, but the repairs had revealed its tail to be that of a scorpion instead.

A manticore before the sun’s glory, she mused, and wondered if it had been a family crest or simply the maker’s mark. Given how prevalent the sun and moon had been in their family’s history, it was probably the former. Idly, she wondered if she could adopt the manticore into her own things, perhaps marked by her preferred crescent moon?

“Little Lu?” An elderly voice spoke from her left. “Lord’s grace, child…I have not seen you in years…”

The woman turned, her eyes falling on the priest who had been in this cathedral since her earliest memories. “Hello, Father…I am glad to see you well.”

Father Malleus stepped forward, pulling her into a hug. “My dear child, I have missed having you among my flock. Are you returning to us at last?”

Luna returned the hug carefully. “…I am…considering it…much has…troubled me of late. This visit has a more…immediate purpose.”

He released her, but guided her towards the back with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come then, we can speak in my office.”

Slender, smooth hands with skin of old gold accentuated by designs in warm colored henna carefully sorted and counted the paper bills and heavy coins from the register, adding up the day’s profits. Their owner paused at the end, confused, and counted again, twice, then a third time just to be certain, before she turned around to call to the back of the shop, “Amma! Today is almost triple our usual…did we sell one of cousin Kefira’s big carvings or something?”

A light laugh echoed back to her. “No, no…those are right where they always are, guarding the window displays and providing spiders with many homes.” Her mother came out of the back with a tray of trinkets to put in the display cases by the register. “It was teenagers, all coming in after school. There must have been three or four dozen of them…”

Dark brows furrowed. “Why? What did they want so badly?” she asked.

The older woman held up a small item between her fingers. “These, and anything like them. They bought every single one of our personal protection charms, beads, amulets, and runestones…and I ran out before I could satisfy them all. I’ll be making orders for weeks to meet the demands.”

“What could they possibly want them for? Is something going on? A new movie perhaps?”

Her mother brushed strands of dark purple hair back from her face, before shaking her head. “No…something is coming. I read my tea leaves after dinner…troubled wind blows foul weather to our town…and the children know it. As do the beasts. The cats are restless.”

There was a heavy metal song blasting out of the stereo speakers, a counterpoint in the form of the precise ringing strike of a hammer on metal timed to the beat of the song. Iron Will straightened up when the song switched to a new track, lifting the face shield he was wearing and inspecting his work in progress.

So far, so good. The spiked steel strips meant deter climbers on a wall were easily heated to malleability a few inches at a time with his blowtorch, enough to hammer them down around the head of the sledgehammer. He still had plenty more of the strips to go, encasing the large, heavy steel head in extra weight and deadly spikes, but when he got done, the former twenty pound sledge hammer would be a suitable weapon against the next monster to show its ugly face in Iron Will’s school and threaten his students. He chuckled, running his hand down the haft of the hammer—he’d replaced wood with steel, and then wrapped it in meticulously woven, olive green cordage. He knew from his experience in the army that the cord was reliable, durable, and easy to grip even with hands covered in blood and sweat.

Picking up his torch and dropping the face shield back down, he began to heat the next section of the metal, tapping his foot in time with the music. Perhaps if he had enough left, he would add some of it to the altered football pads and body armor he’d been working on. Nobody would mess with his students then—he’d be the one carrying The Big Stick.

Laughing at his own joke, Will lent his booming voice to the vocals coming out of his stereo.

Footsteps scampered over in that uneven gait of early adolescent awkwardness, joining a like group of youngsters, all of them guilty of restless shuffling leg movements and furtive glances to make sure no one was watching them.

“Didja get it?” an excited voice asked the new arrival, trying and failing to remain hushed.

“Uh-huh,” came the response, alongside the crinkling of plastic. “Got enough for all of us too. They were practically giving it away!”

“Awesome!” Cried a third member of the group, fishing his own ziploc bag out of his backpack. “Go ahead and dump my share in here with the rest.”

Murmurs of agreement and more bags were retrieved from pockets and packs, eagerly held out as the seeds and bits of unidentifiable plant matter from easily a dozen different sources mixed with the slow cascade of yet more seeds into each of them.

“Do you think this’ll work?” came the nervous question.

“If we do it right, it should,” was the response. “Just don't go showing it off to the teachers.”

The first youth stared hard at each of them in turn. “She’s right. No tattling. This is our thing, and everyone else has enough to deal with.”

A chorus of agreement rippled through the group, just as the bell rang out. Hurriedly, they all hid the bags away again, and took off to go back inside the school.

The ringleader of the little group paused, pulling a somewhat tattered piece of paper from one pocket, and grinned in satisfaction as she ticked off another item on the list, "This is awesome, now that we got that…that's every herb off Granny's list for keeping bad things away. All we got ta do now is scatter the seeds n' stuff once the snow is gone, and once it all sprouts, ain't nothing getting in our school!" She grinned at her two closest friends, before the trio raced after the other middle schoolers to head to class.

Flash adjusted the stack of boxes in the empty locker. “Are we still clear? We’ve still got three more of these to hide away in F and G halls.”

Brawly nodded. “Yeah, dude. We’re good. VP’s on the phone, and big C’s in her office.” He checked his phone. “Watermelody and Micro Chips both reported in. Locker rooms, gym, and the boiler-room are prepped with full kits now. Apparently old Leaky is in, and he’s giving Chips a list of other great places to store things and ten more hiding spots for people.”

The blue haired young man blinked. “Wow…Leaky Pipes? The same guy who gives you the stink eye for even looking at a floor he’s just mopped?”

His bandmate laughed. “I know, dude, I can't believe it either, but Micro Chips is talking to him now. Guess he didn't like the Dazzlings much either.”

Shutting the locker, Flash made sure to affix the Wondercolt Pride sticker across the top of the locker—markers for the student body to recognize the drop points for the boxes and their contents. Since they were unused lockers, usually ones “broken” in some way, there was little worry about them being assigned to any random new student who arrived. Especially since Miss Inkwell, the secretary, was also in on their plans, and had specifically provided them with the list of lockers…and other unused storage spots unlikely to be bothered any time soon.

“Alright, this one’s good. Let's hit F hall next. Numbers?”

Brawly Beats glanced down at the paper behind his phone. “Twelve seventy three and fourteen nineteen. One’s by the computer lab, the other near the home ec room.”

Nodding, Flash tipped the blue painted hand-trucks stacked with boxes and headed down the hall. There was work to do.

Green skinned hands, once carefully manicured as her single concession to vanity, now chapped and raw with nails bitten to the quick, worked with the exacto knife to slip under the seam in the tile square to pry it free. The woman kneeling on the floor whispered ancient prayers from her homeland, ones to call upon guardian beings to protect her, to hear her pleas and lend their strength to her in a time of trouble.

As the tile came free on three sides, she exhaled slowly in relief and glanced at the shut and locked classroom door to make sure no one could see what she was fairly certain was against her contract to do. The window in the door remained empty, and she ducked her head back down to focus on opening a pot of paint, one specially crafted in the country she had been born in, one entirely made for the powerful act she was about to undertake. She checked a worn piece of actual animal skin parchment that had a complex series of symbols and words meticulously drawn for her, along with the prayers she had to speak for each part and the order she needed to draw them in.

Preparing herself, she began to work, the first of the prayers falling from her lips in an ancient dialect of the language she had learned at her father’s knee, carefully recreating the lines and symbols as directed. Her heart fluttered with anxiety the whole time—she’d worked so hard to leave the old ways of a backwards country behind, to get an education and move to a new place, but here she was, calling on the very ways she’d scorned to protect her from something that she’d long believed was superstitious nonsense babbled by addle brained elders.

Perhaps her grandfather’s tales held a kernel of truth after all.

She could hear the heavy bootsteps behind her as her grandson followed at a hurried clip. She ignored it for the moment as she stepped into her bedroom where the farm’s gun safe was located, retrieving the key from where it was safely hidden out of knowledge and reach from the youngest in the family.

“Granny…” Macintosh drawled out, his tones full of worry and for a moment, she could hear the echoes of her own long-dead husband in his voice. Macintosh was a lot like his grandpappy, and it made her feel good to know he lived on in a way outside of her memories.

Still, that didn't change the fact that she was not about to be argued with. “Don't you ‘Granny’ me, young man,” she retorted. “Ah been runnin’ this farm since yer Uncle Cortland was in diapers, and Ah ain't ready ta retire from makin’ family decisions just yet!” Fingers twisted by years of arthritis managed to maintain a steady movement to turn the key in the lock.

The shuffling sound of him stopping behind her, several yards away, was accompanied by the creaking of floorboards as he shifted his weight. His already deep voice went down another notch with his disapproval. “But…”

“But nothin’! Ah ain’t goin’ back on this.” She pulled the gun safe open with a forceful tug, revealing the family’s collection of firearms. There weren't as many as some people might’ve expected, but there were enough that they had one designated for a specific role. Granny Smith wrapped her hand around the ancient shotgun that had belonged to her own father, pulling it out and checking it over.

For a long few minutes, there was no sound but the disassembly, cleaning, and reassembly of the firearm…Not that the battle of wills had ended. It was simply a silent one, with Granny and Macintosh staring each other down while she cleaned the shotgun.

It was broken when she stood up again, reassembled weapon in one hand. “Answer’s still no,” she told her grandson, relocking the gun safe and leaving her room behind, heading for the locked room in the barn where she kept the ammo.

Macintosh followed, down the stairs and out to the barn, not quite wringing his hands but close to it. “AJ said…”

“Yer sister says a lotta things, but Ah ain't heard one yet about us sittin’ around an’ bein’ as useless as a screen door in a submarine, boy! And even if she did, that’s too damn bad. She’s gonna have ta get on a step ladder if she wants ta lay down the law on me.” The old woman stepped into the barn from the cold outside. “Mah ass ain't no welcome mat fer troublemakers, and it's mah job ta make sure you kids survive ta graduate. Now either make yerself useful, or get outta mah way.”

Sighing in defeat, Macintosh helped her grab the two cases of salt shot and the big bag of rock salt from the storage room in the barn, hauling them to the truck for her so they could store them and the shotgun in the case behind the seats in the cab.

Age worn beads slipped one by one through Celestia’s tired fingers, finger-pads sliding over the time-darkened ivory. It was comforting in a way the woman couldn't describe, the knowledge and weight that not just her mother and grandmother but numerous generations of Solare women had held this rosary in the same fashion as she did in the present moment. That knowledge and the steady flow of the Italian she’d learned in childhood at her great-grandmother’s house falling from her lips served to help steady her emotional state, even if it didn’t do anything to solve the problem before her.

Celestia was paralyzed by indecision. She was not ignorant—she knew very well what both her students and her staff were up to, what they were attempting to do ‘under the radar.’ She knew all about the coffee filters full of pepper and chili powder, the smoke and stink “bombs,” the bottles of various holy waters or hidden sigils of varying religious significance. She knew they were preparing them to fight back if and when something magical came to the school again. And in a way, she couldn't blame them—part of her wanted to be helping them, finding ways to cache anti-magic weaponry around school, to join in her sister’s group of staff who were making use of storage rooms and cabinets to squirrel away tools and defenses, to talk to Sunset Shimmer about magic crystals and barriers…

But she hesitated, and questioned whether it was the best choice. By arming themselves, even with tools to distract and disorient rather than directly fight, they became targets, or worse, it would make them overconfident, and by extension, put them in danger. Not to mention it was against every established policy the school had. By all rights, she should be handing out detentions and suspensions, administrative warnings and even a few employment termination notices…

Yet she couldn’t do that. Not after everything that happened, the students, the staff, even she herself no longer felt entirely safe in school. There was this eternal sense of waiting for the other foot to fall, for the next magical creature to show up and make trouble, only for Sunset Shimmer and her friends to need to engage it in some kind of magical throwdown.

Guilt ate at her, twisting in her guts. She should be leading them. Guiding them. Finding more effective ways to protect the children in her care, so they didn’t feel it necessary to hide boxes of slingshots in unused lockers. She should be enforcing policies to make the combined campus a safe, healthy learning environment for the students, encouraging them to learn and grow. She should have answers to ease their fears, to make them believe that she could protect them from the monsters of the world while they were in school.

Once more she circled back around to the question eating her, even as she started a new circuit of the rosary beads. Should she stop them?

Some of what they were doing was laughable according to her limited understanding of magic and the reports Sunset presented to them…but those same acts brought comfort to them and who was she to take away what she had failed to provide?

Certainly, some of the measures had the potential to be dangerous, though the students—and the involved faculty—had firmly dissuaded the group that suggested making flamethrowers out of super soakers, or the ones interested in raiding the gym storage for the old archery supplies. Most of it though, was harmless, or at least, harmless in a way that wouldn't cause other students harm.

If her students needed that feeling of control to feel safe, then did she really have any right to stop them…particularly since she had consistently failed them so badly?

Pale fingers continued to worry at the rosary beads as the owner stared out the window at the statue of the school mascot, the thoughts still chasing themselves in circles.

Cranky crossed his arms over his chest grumpily. “They’d be better off not getting involved. And whatever story Sunset Shimmer has spun you to justify meddling in forces well beyond her ability to grasp or control does not change the fact that a teenage amateur mucking around with a few old books nearly cost her her life and instead of taking it as an object lesson, she is continuing to delve deeper. Even worse, now she’s dragged other students into her insanity.” He scowled. “Magic attracts magic, and she’s basically put a giant flashing sign on the front lawn.”

Bon-Bon shook her head. “You really don't get it, do you?” She ran a hand through her hair. “Let me elucidate, since you haven’t realized it yet on your own. Sunset isn't the amateur you think she is—this isnt ‘teen girl finds witch books and screws up.’ This is ‘experienced sorceress who grew up with magic trying to do damage control on a critical error’ with the long distance assistance of another experienced sorceress, all while trying to teach a class of accidental sorceresses how not to blow themselves up, and also trying to prepare for when the next magical being comes knocking on the door.”

She had him. She could see the confusion in his expression replacing the mulish stubbornness. “The fact is, Teach, that Pandora’s Box was opened months ago, and once the box is opened, closing it again and putting it under a blanket in the closet doesn't change the fact that it got opened. Neither does pretending you don't know about it. Us kids? The ones trying to learn how to protect ourselves? We don't want to learn magic—most of us don't have it, and that's half the problem. Sunset does. She always has, and where she’s from, they use magic to fight against magic. She doesn't know how people like me, or Lyra, or any of the non-magical kids defend ourselves. She’s done the best she can to come up with suggestions, but guess what? She’s already busy. Top student, magic teacher, magic researcher, and probably has a near full time job to pay her bills because she doesn’t have family in the area.…I’m not sure when she finds time to sleep. Sunset doesn't have time to spare to research stuff you already know. She barely has time to read that book you dumped on her.”

Each word now made the teacher flinch back ever so slightly. “We’re going to defend ourselves regardless of whether or not you help. But I think, somewhere inside, you actually care about your students, about this school, about what happens. I think you want to help, but you're scared, because you're right. For you, that was another life, and doing it means being someone you're not anymore…but it's not. You're helping others so they don't have to go through your life.” Bon-Bon could hear the words the way her father had said them once, when he talked about why he taught self-defense for a living, could see the way his eyes had…gone distant, staring at something else for a while, and seeing that same expression now on Mr. Doodle’s face, she knew she was right.

It just needed one more push. “So…are you willing to help us?”

Silence, and for a minute she thought he’d refuse. Finally he let out an explosive sigh. “I’ll work with you. Just you. I’ll give you a list of things that work, and what they work against, give your contact info to a few people who…sell…some of the supplies you’ll need. You coordinate with the rest of your friends, and you leave my name out of it.”

“I believe I can work with that, Mr. Doodle.”

“Yeah, whatever, kid. Come by before lunch tomorrow and I’ll give you the list. Now get out of my classroom so I can eat in peace. You're giving me an ulcer.”

Right. So. Lot to unpack here, haha. Glimpses into other characters...where to start....?

There's Cranky, who is apparently over a hundred years old and looks like he's about fifty. Doesn't have a high opinion of Sunny, does he?

There's some tidbits about human Luna and Celestia and their family history. Yes, the family is Italian. Made the decision based on their names, as both have a Latin origin. (Yes, I named their parents too.) Yes, both sisters know some Italian--its pretty impossible to grow up in an italian family and not learn any italian, even if its "just how to really pronounce all those foods." (I'm not sure whats funnier, listening to people try and pronounce gnocci or focaccia, for the record.) Little bit of info on their parents deaths, Luna's...somewhat dark and troubled phase, and Celestia's past struggles.

Let's see. The sword will come up later, and I was rather proud of the emblem on it, which a subtle nod to an idea by a friend for one of his stories, where the "royal emblem" for Celestia is a Manticore--I liked it, and there's a lot of subtle symbolism I use anyway about the Sun regarding both Celestias and of course Sunset (who I giggle about because her entire personality is just "Read about Leos in the zodiac." Lions have long been associated with both the sun and royalty, and of course in Italy, the Lion was used in several notable places on heraldry in history. Venice has winged ones all over the place. So I figured, why the hell not. In the human world, Celestia and Luna's family is old enough to have a family crest, and it was a manticore before the sun... (the fact that its an oblique Last Unicorn joke makes me giggle anyway.)

An ill wind blows, and not everyone in the city is oblivious. Even the ladies at the local occult store are catching on that something is wrong...Or maybe the older one just realizes that kids and animals can sense danger almost before adults are aware its happening.

I'm also super proud of Iron Will here. The whole way I'm working on Will is an homage to another story that I read a LONG ASS FUCKING TIME AGO, called "The Laughing Shadow."

Besides, Iron Will rocking out to heavy metal while he basically makes his own Super Sledge? How is that NOT badass as fuck? I pity the magic monster who tries anything on his watch. He'll reenact the legend of John Henry, except they get to be the mountain.

Meanwhile, the middle-schoolers seem to be up to something suspicious. I wonder who the ringleaders are....

Of course, it seems like there are way more people involved than Sunset has any clue of, and they all want to do SOMETHING. Teachers, students..."they're not going to just be sheep anymore. They're tigers now. Young ones, but tigers all the same."

....Anyone else scared of Granny Smith? I absolutely am. Using her southern slang though makes me laugh.

And Celestia...so much troubling her, and her courage seems to have been lost. Will she get it back?

So yeah. The Wondercolts are preparing for war.

The Friendship Games are sure going to be one Hell of an event this year, aren't they?