“Remember, don’t stay in bed all morning,” a voice calls from the other side of the bedroom door. I’ve known this voice for months now. Candy Stripes, whose mother was kind enough to take me in, is giving me my morning wake-up call. She’s my closest friend and has been ever since I nearly lost my mind and wound up in a Canterlot hospital. “Don’t forget you need to find out today whether or not you’re getting your Equivalent Education Certificate.”

With a groan, I peel my face off of the piece of parchment that I fell asleep on. Looking down, I see my notes for a potential writing project are smudged and covered in drool. From the looks of things, I fell asleep in the middle of a late-night brainstorming session again, and I can only imagine that part of my gray-furred muzzle is smeared black. “Sorry Candy,” I croak back. “I fell asleep at my desk again.”

As the door is pushed open, I point my bright blue eyes toward the intruder. Unsurprisingly, Candy looks absolutely immaculate. Her candy-red mane is tied up nicely in a bun, topped with that same adorable nurse’s cap I saw her wearing when I first met her. Not only that, but her coat and feathers have that nice, healthy sheen. Then again, as a Certified Nursing Assistant, she always has to look her best.

With an unamused snort, she glances over my posture quickly. “You really shouldn’t fall asleep like that,” she admonishes, flicking an ear indignantly. “That posture really plays havoc with the alignment of your vertebrae. That’s no good, especially for a pegasus of your diminutive stature.” Her frown softens into a wry smile. “Still no luck on your project?”

I snort as I reveal my my ink-streaked face. “Maybe, I’ll never know though.” I lower my neck and pick up the dreadfully smudged parchment in my teeth, displaying the completely smudged parchment. “It turns out that I still can’t just faceroll.”

Again, I manage to confuse my best friend with my human humor. With a shake of her head, she asks, “How often do I tell you that you’re so weird?”

Falling onto my side after the sudden onset of paresthesia, I grin goofily at her. “On average, or just the last week alone?” I reply playfully. As she covers her face with a hoof, I let out a small giggle while I scramble onto my hooves. “Probably more often than I should be proud to admit.”

With an amused snort, Candy backs out of the room. “Anyway, Mom has a double shift today, and I’m working the newfoal ward.”

Passing her outside the door, I shoot her a goofy smile. “Finally wooed that hunk of a stallion Dr. Lovechild into taking you under his wing, so to speak?” I ask, playfully crossing my hoof in front of my chest and fluttering my eyelashes. It’s all a jest, really, as I’ve never met or seen the stallion, and have no interest in relationships whatsoever. It just really amuses me seeing Candy get all flustered. “Oh, the scandal; if your mother knew you were flirting your way to the top, why she’d die of shame!”

Exactly as expected, she puffs out her reddened cheeks and begins stomping on the spot as she fumes. It’s so cute that I can easily visualize steam shooting out her ears. “Oh, go soak your head!” she finally shouts as I trot into the bathroom. “You’re as bad as a gossiping noble.”

Closing the door, I make for the sink. “You still love me!” I call back playfully. “See ya tonight, okay?” Now, to scrub that darn ink off of my pretty little face. Once that little embarrassment is taken care of, I can worry about washing up. Oh, but then I have to take care of my mane and tail before I can worry about lunch. Just thinking about it is making me miss not having to worry about a tail or long mane.

No matter how many times I see Canterlot—and believe me, in the period of six months of living here, you see it an awful lot—I can never get over the feeling of disbelief. It’s not some sense of I’m-actually-here unreality; all of that wore off after the third month. It isn’t even the physically improbable castle that hangs off the side of the mountain like a holster that gets to me. Instead, for some reason I can’t help but be reminded of 16th century Florence. There’s just something about the architecture that gives me that deceptive sense of familiarity.

Honestly, it’s probably a side effect of too much video games and movies. That’s one of those things you don’t even take for granted until all you have at hoof are plays, novels, and the odd primitive arcade machine. Those plays and novels are plenty interesting, sure, so it’s not too hard to supplement my needs for entertainment. Still, there’s something to say about growing up in a high-tech society and being forced by circumstances to adapt to a low-tech one; Equestria needs computers and its own internet.

The one thing I will say about it is that this lack of digital media gives me a lot of time to get lost in my thoughts. Whenever I’m not cooped up in my room trying to write—you’d think given how free I am from distractions, I’d have no problem getting all sorts of writing done—I often find myself aimlessly wandering the streets of Canterlot. During these times, I often think about nothing and everything all at once. I suppose daydreaming is a rather apt description.

In these wanderings, be they flight or simple walk, I find the most curious places. Less than a week after starting my studies for the EEC exam, I wandered into Pony Joe’s—you know, the coffee shop everypony ended up at in the Best Night Ever—without even knowing how I got there. I was only supposed to go out for a short trot, but instead I found myself halfway across Canterlot from Twilight’s—or rather, her family’s—place.

More curious than the fact that I was able to so casually walk in and order an iced cappuccino was the sense of nostalgia I got from the place. I know anypony in my horseshoes would liken the place to their favorite coffee shop back home, but Pony Joe’s honestly reminds me of a cross of Tim Hortons crossed with a Second Cup. None of that stuffy expensive atmosphere of a Starbucks.

As I trot past a small cafe, I debate stopping for a quick cup of tea. How could I not when these Canterlot cafes all have this wonderful blend of tea not dissimilar to Chai? It’s a crime against my palate to say no, but now isn’t the time. After all, the Equestrian Education Bureau closes its doors for a week following the end of the last trimester of the school year, and today is the last day before that happens.

I could easily blame them for not grading my exam sooner, but honestly, that’s just a load of horseapples I’d be telling myself in order to feel better. My exam results were available to me yesterday—the very day after I took the darn exam! In my defense, I was wiped and deserved an afternoon of sleep. If Twilight hadn’t insisted on ‘final revisions’—read: cram session—the night before the exam, my circadian rhythm would be fine right now.

Mentally, I shrug the thought from my mind. Luna preserve me, I really need to pay more attention to these winding streets. It’s bad enough you need to cross through the labyrinthine Market District just to get to the Government and Education Districts from the Canterlot Residential Zone, but this is the fifth time I’ve passed this tiny curio shop.

“Pardon me for asking, young miss,” a dry voice asks from behind me, scaring the daylights out of me. “Are you by any chance—and I mean you no offense—lost?”

Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I see a peculiarly dressed gray stallion trotting up behind me, his blue-gray braid poking nicely from beneath his strange little hat. I can tell he’s not a unicorn, but he could easily be packing wings under that getup. “Sorry?” I reply with a confused smile. The strange pony’s clothes, primarily the short-sleeved brown tunic layered over the long-sleeved white shirt, with the red scarf and the yellow-orange sash reminds me a lot of a Tibetan monk or perhaps something out of China. “Yes, I got a bit turned around, but why would that be offensive?”

I catch a glint of confusion in the stallion’s eyes. “Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that most pegasi take pride in their sense of direction.” As I glance at my own wings, I can’t help but laugh. How could I be so clueless? At least he’s never heard of Ditzy Doo down in Ponyville, if that business with the Winter Wrap-up is to be believed. He cocks his head curiously, allowing his purple-rimmed glasses to shift awkwardly on his muzzle. “May I perhaps interest you in this magical compass? It’ll always point you where you need to go! For you, just twenty bits.”

Oh of course. This mare is lost. I should make her feel bad about her sense of direction, and then compound that by offering her some worthless trinket for an inflated price. “I’d love to stay and listen while you try and peddle your questionable wares, but I really have somewhere to be.” I flare out my wings to make a point.

“Please, reconsider. Captain Rum Starling’s compass is quite the artifact to own!” I ignore his plea, and begin beating my wings to generate some uplift. Then he begins to mumble under his breath. “Blast that Trixie... If she hadn’t exploited my love for bits, I wouldn’t have sold her that damned Alicorn Amulet. All she had to do was not use the amulet, but no... Took over a small town, she did. So of course, the Royal Guard tracks the purchase back to me, and suddenly I can’t even sell an enchanted kitchen sink!”

Trixie, huh? “As interesting as that sounds, sir, I’m sorry!” I take off to the south. “Maybe later I’ll stop by to hear about what ‘The Great and Powerful Trixie’ has been up to.” Not ten minutes later, I’m back in front of the curio shop, feeling like an idiot. When did my sense of direction get this bad? I always thought I had a pretty decent sense of direction back on Earth. Then again, it’s really simple to memorize and follow a straightforward route.

With a sigh, I push my way through the candlelit shop’s door, causing a small bell by the door to tinkle.. Immediately a feeling of embarrassment creeps over me as I look at some of the randomly assorted items here. First I notice a claw-mirror that supposedly shows you yourself in other realities; I only see myself as I am now. Next, I pass by a display of crystal orbs that, according to the plaque, allow you to turn whatever you want into various kinds of cheese. Finally, before approaching the counter, I pass a display case with a plaque announcing the Crystal Skull of Equitor, an artifact supposedly the key to accessing alternate realities. This whole place is definitely feeling like a waste of time.

Still, in spite of the ringing bell, the curiously dressed stallion is nowhere to be seen. Did he go off somewhere and forget to lock up, or did he simply not hear the bell by the door? It doesn’t help any that my eyes are barely at counter level here. I mean, I can see a little countertop bell that I could push with my hoof if I could reach it, but short of flying—the last thing you want to do in any place full of antiquities—there’s no way I can interact with it.

“Hello?” I call out meekly, peering around at the shop’s bizarre wares. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, sir, but is the offer for that compass still on the table?”

There’s a loud crash and a muffled curse from somewhere in the back of the shop, beyond the door behind the counter. Just barely, I can make out that stallion shouting, “Just a moment!”

A few moments later, the door into the back slides open, revealing the bedraggled merchant. As he shakes what looks like a draconequus antler from atop his hat—I’m not sure I want to know—he smiles softly. “Hello again, young miss.” His voice is kind, and without hidden motive. “Had second thoughts about the compass, did you?”

If his tone had been inundated in sarcasm or the such, I probably would have replied in kind; after all, sarcasm begets sarcasm, if you ask me. “Ah, hehe, yes... or at least my sense of direction did.” I mumble, my cheeks flushing scarlet. “I take it this compass of ‘Captain Jack Sparrow’—”

“Rum Starling!” he corrects, quickly.

“Yes! I take it that this compass of Rum Starling’s has some sort of interesting tale accompanying it.” I know I don’t really have the time for it, but the way he tried to sell it earlier tells me that he’s probably as much a storyteller as he is a curio merchant. “What can you tell me about it?”

The quaint fellow perks up at my interest. “Ah! You’ve been to a curio before, haven’t you little miss?” He sounds most cheerful at this. “Yes, the tale of Captain Rum Starling is a rather tragic one. Once an honorable Captain of the East Neighpon Company’s merchant navy, Starling was renowned for his impeccable sense of direction. Wherever he wanted to be, he would find his way there.

“Nopony knows how he came about this wonderfully gifted sense of direction, for he was neither pegasus nor unicorn. He was a seafaring earth pony, through and through. In those early days of intercontinental trade, it didn’t much matter so long as he got to where he was supposed to be, and by Celestia he got the job done.

“Captain Starling lead a very rewarding career with the merchant navy, amassing a horde of bits that rivaled that of a young drake. He was often suspected of piracy for how much he owned, but there was no proof of any wrongdoing on his part. Most simply suspect that he often used his knack for ending up where he needed to be in order to find rum-running jobs on the side.

“When he finally decided to retire from the seafarer’s life, he married a barmaid and settled into a small home in a fishing village. For many years, he regaled his mare with jewelry and trinkets, and treated her like a princess. Next to his love, there was nothing she valued more than the compass he bequeathed to her as a necklace on their wedding day, the very compass his father had given to him on his deathbed.

“One day, after venturing out to the docks to get some kelp from one of the trawlers that had come in that morning, he returned home to find the place ransacked. Upon rushing upstairs in search of his beloved, he found her murdered in a pool of her own blood. The remains of the cord that once held the compass lay ruined at her side.

“As the story goes, his ability led him to the dilapidated doorstep of his wife’s murderer. Blinded by his grief and rage, he tore through the ramshackle shack’s door with the muscles born of decades of life aboard a ship. He cared nothing for the stolen riches or even the heirloom he’d given his wife. Starling wanted blood repaid with blood. He began mercilessly beating the stallion inside, with no intent to stop.

“It was only when he caught a good look at his wife’s bloodied murderer that his blood turned to ice and his murderous rage faltered. The stallion that lay before him was none other than his own brother. When he asked his brother why he had robbed him of his greatest treasure, his answer was the compass. His brother, it would seem, felt that it was him and not Rum Starling who rightfully owned their father’s heirloom, and bore much hatred for his brother for all those decades after their father’s passing, and upon seeing Starling’s wife wearing the compass in the village one day, he could take it no more.

“Wracked by grief and fraternal betrayal, he took back the compass and left his brother laying there, crippled and dying. In the end, he ended up carving his wifes name—Cornflower—into the compasses lid before throwing himself and the compass into the sea. They say when he perished, his gift embedded itself in the compass.”

The antiquities dealer produces an ancient but well preserved closed-faced compass, a fairly new hide cord looped through the top—just the right length for a pony of my size. “This has been making its way across Equestria and lands beyond for more years than can be verified,” he says proudly, opening it to display the name Cornflower carved in the tarnished brass of the lid. “It will always point in the direction of the place you most wish to be. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

I can’t deny it, that’s a pretty darn interesting story. I have no doubt it’s rather abridged, but it sounds like something I’d read about back home. There’s only one problem. “If this is such a priceless and vaunted artifact, why are you selling it for just twenty bits?”

With a free hoof, the stallion presses his glasses further up his muzzle, until they reflect the light in such a way that seeing his eyes are rather impossible. “Ah yes... By all reports, this particular item is... cursed. Misfortune always follows it,” he says dejectedly. “I can only think that this is true in some sense, given my recent luck. If that discourages you, I apologize for wasting your time.”

I stick my hoof up in a warding gesture. “Hold on! I didn’t say no.” A few moments of rooting in my saddlebags produces my coin purse. I count exactly twenty bits onto the countertop in front of him. “I don’t believe in curses, good sir.” He pushes the compass across the counter and pulls the coins to his side. As I drape the cord around my neck, I smile to him. Even if this is a crock, I’ve still bought a compass, so at least I’ll be able to figure out what went wrong and get over to the Education Bureau. “Even if I did, they say misery enjoys company, so why not misfortune?”

Whether by quirk of fate or by the whim of a magical trinket, my next attempt to make it out of the Market District goes off without a hitch. The compass’s abilities have not been oversold if my passage over the Government District is any indication. Instead of pointing me north, it points in the general direction of the Education District. I even make sure by making an effort to project a desire to go home. Almost immediately the needle spins and points towards the CRZ.

After a few minutes of flight, following the device’s direction exactly, I find myself directly on the doorstep of a large building that back home could very well have been the Capitol Building in Washington—if it was all colors of the rainbow and two thirds its size. I don’t think I could make a worse pun than the one standing here before me... “Whoa, this is like the education capital of Equestria.”

“That it is, little filly,” a zebra stallion by the steps comments. “But being late would be rather silly. Hurry now, if you have an appointment, or only time will be your ointment”

Part of me wishes to make my own barbed comment, particularly regarding the little filly comment, but he is certainly not mistaken. The amount of time I spent walking in circles and then listening to the curio merchant has severely limited the amount of time I have until they close up for the day. Instead, I hurriedly run up the steps, shooting the zebra a sour look and a flash of my tongue.

Having never been in the Capitol Building—or even in D.C. for that matter—I can’t rightly say if the interior of one is anything like the other. What I can say is that the interior is a stark contrast to the exterior. Whereas the outside of the building was brightly colored—how in Tartarus did I miss this?—the antechamber is completely white like marble or moon-rock. The edges of the chamber are almost entirely seating, as though they expect a lot of ponies to visit on appointment. Who knows, maybe they do?

Near the back of the chamber, right in front of the only other exit, is a large circular desk, at the center of which sits a pale yellow bespectacled unicorn mare. As I make my way up to the desk, I see that the mare is rooting through papers anxiously, glancing occasionally at a clock on the wall behind her. Looks like she’s eager to get home to her family.

Unfortunately, like almost all trappings of the adult pony world, the desk is not designed with the vertically challenged such as myself. The top of my mane is probably barely visable to the mare above. This has been an almost constant problem for me since the ambient magics of Equestria forcefully changed my original human body and I was returned to it after spending a week in the form of a fully grown unicorn mare.

It’d be easy to say I’ve gotten used to it, but honestly, I haven’t. When you spend the first twenty-one years of your life as a biped—spending the last ten just short of six feet in height—you just can’t get used to being literally half your original height. Even the wings don’t particularly help, as there are many situations where flying is quite inappropriate. For example, I could easily just hover in place at eye-level with the mare at the desk, but the gusts of air generated by my wings would probably scatter her papers, and that would be rude.

Instead, I do as I’ve done in the past. Rearing up, I gently rest my forehooves on the edge of the desk. “Excuse me, ma’am?” At least my voice is that of a mature mare, and not one that matches my appearance. That would just make everything even harder for me.

“Oh! Hello!” she exclaims upon noticing me. “How can I help you today?”

Glancing hesitantly at the clock behind her, a smile graces my face. “I’m here for the results of my EEC exam,” I reply cheerfully. “I’d also like my certificate, if I passed.”

A knowing smile crosses the mare’s face, as she adjust her glasses. “Of course!” she exclaims. “Name, Cutie Mark, date of birth, and residence?”

“Silver Script, not applicable,” I reply, blushing at my own lack of a cutie mark and preparing for her surprise. “Dee oh bee, twenty-first day, tenth month, one nine eight one post-Harmony. My residence is Apartment D, Windsong Place, E-Block, Canterlot Residential Zone.”

The mare gives me a curious look, that could have been about my blank flank, or my odd assessment of the calendar. It’s probably both. There’s no real reason that I say it like this; for some reason equestria has the same Gregorian calendar as on Earth. I can only assume that it came from Roam out in the Zebrican Empire or the Griffon Kingdoms. I don’t think I ever cared enough to find out.

The mare shuffles through her papers before ducking into a drawer in her desk. “Ah yes, miss Silver Script.” A larger envelope levitates out of the desk. “Please look over this,” she says tonelessly.

Gently tearing open the envelope—you’d be surprised just how rigid yet flexible a flight feather on a pegasus is—a rather thick piece of paper slides out. I reflexively grab it the falling slip with two primaries on my other wing, as though they were two fingers on my hand. “Are these my results?”

Even as the receptionist trills her own affirmative, I’m already reading over the sheet of paper. I won’t lie about my results on the Equestrian History portion of the exam; they’re hardly anything to brag about, but I got enough questions right in order to pass. I think what saved me were the questions about Discord and Nightmare Moon, and the relating present day questions.

My mathematics score fares far better. Apparently their mathematics aren’t nearly as advanced as expected, since I was able to substitute a far more efficient formula than the one I was asked to use on the exam. I really like the fact that one of the ponies responsible for going over my results felt it important enough to include a comment on my results page.

“No cutie mark, but possesses exceptional mathematical skills for a pegasus of her apparent age. Very curious,” I read aloud, casting my eyes away from the paper to gauge the receptionists reaction. She barely bats an eyelash, but I can tell from a twitching in her cheek that she’s trying desperately not to smile.

I move on to the more important parts of the exam for my intentions and stare intently at the results. My physics and chemistry may have been a bit rusty, but it was apparently enough to get a grade necessary to get in to the University’s alchemy programme. I won’t be in the gifted class, but I should be able to do well enough. It’s not like alchemy in this world is as much chemistry as it is magical interactions between ingredients.

Finally, I look at the magic portion of the exam. This is definitely where a lot of my free points on the exam stem from. Because I am a pegasus, this portion of the exam was technically optional, but at Twilight’s advice I made sure to get some understanding of magical theory as a fallback for any mistakes I made in other sections. It also helps that some of these principles are used in alchemy.

Looking up at the yellow unicorn, I frown. “It doesn’t say on this slip whether I passed or not.”

“Turn it over deary,” the kindly mare explains, finally smiling.

Following her instructions, I turn the slip over. To my surprise, what I thought was an exceptionally thick sheet of paper is actually an envelope with the results of my exam printed on it. Does that mean I pass or fail? If I’m a failure, am I going to find a slip of paper saying ‘Better luck next time’?

With a heavy breath, I slit open the second envelope.

There are many things I would have been ashamed to do as a human that I can and do get away with in the body I have now. The most obvious thing one might think of when comparing humans to ponies is regarding shame is nudity. Hay, I’d have been arrested for strolling around nude in the city I used to reside in. That, however, is not what comes to mind right now.

For me, the most shameful thing that comes to mind while walking around town was not having a completely stoic expression on my face at all times. As stereotypical as it may have been, even I was not immune to the male stigma on publicly expressing emotions. Any time that I did have to cry, I tried as much as possible to do it in private or only around my closest friends.

As I walk the streets of Canterlot, I can’t help but wonder where this all changed. Did it happen when I was trapped in Lyra’s body, slowly suffering a partial memory overwrite? Is it all just a side effect of having a different brain chemistry than a human male now? What if ponies are just more in tune with their emotional side than humans? Is that why there are tears rolling down my cheeks right now?

At least the mares and stallions aren’t casting disdainful looks at an over-emotional man. Instead, everypony is being really kind. More than once, a couple stops me, asking if I’m okay. In some ways, I guess I’m still very much the same pony—person—as I used to be, because regardless of whether or not I’m okay, I’d still tell those kind ponies that I’m fine.

When I finally stop in front of a door, I take a moment to ask myself the obvious question. “Am I alright?” With a quick shuffling of my wings and saddlebags, I clop my hoof against the door three times. “Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

For a few moments, there is no response. Inside, I can hear the muffled sounds of heated conversation. It sounds like they have guests; maybe I should come back later? Intending to leave and come back later, I turn my head to make sure I don’t bump into anypony when I back into the street, but just as I do so, there’s a click of a lock.

“Hello?” somepony asks as the door creaks open. Turning my head back to the door, I see the small purple-green form of Spike, a confused arch gracing his scaly brow. “Oh, hey Silver! So how did it go?”

“I passed, Spike,” I say with a relieved sigh, letting tears of elation once more stream down my cheeks. “I did it!”

Author's Notes:

Well now, here's the first chapter. Pretty straightforward, going from Silver's perspective starting on the day she goes to retrieve her certificate of equivalent education. I can't actually think of much to say about the chapter.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask.