With a heaving yawn, I rinse my toothbrush and gently place it back in its nook by the sink using my primary feathers. Being awake this early in the morning is always a bother, but on a momentous day such as this, there’s good reason for decent grooming. I’m making a first impression for more than just myself, after all. This is Luna’s first official sponsorship. I think it’s for that reason in particular that I’m taking a near obsessive level of attention to my appearance and hygiene. I still have a bit to take care of, but at least I’m clean, preened, and not at risk of posing as a real offense to anypony’s nose.

Content with my hygienic needs, my focus changes to my personal appearance. Practically bouncing into my bedroom, I cannot help but reflect on everything that I’ve read about the entrance ceremonies. Of course ponies should always be dressed up nicely for fanciful events. For mares, this would usually entail a fancy dress, but being not completely in synch with my femininity, the outfit I have planned is much less emasculating. I mean, yeah, it still has feminine elements, but it’s nothing I wouldn’t have been comfortable with as a guy, either.

With a smile, I push my clothing chest open with my muzzle and quickly begin pulling out the clothes I have in mind. First out is a soft, black corduroy turtleneck that I bought in a little boutique here in Canterlot for a fair price. It’s made from an incredible type of cotton that is warm on the cold day, but on a warm day you don’t even notice it’s there. I think the cotton itself comes from plants in the Crystal Empire.

The next article out is a dark olive green mini-skirt that I just had to have; it matches perfectly with the elastics I use to tie off my unruly mane. Nopony really knows why ponies wear skirts—never mind miniskirts—given that their tails all act as their own personal privacy screens. I guess they just like the look of it; I know I do.

Finally, the thing that really pulls this outfit into something special is the white thigh-high stockings. Sure, they have their place in intimacy like human lingerie, but outside the bedroom socks and stockings seem to be a sign of confidence. The stockings themselves are pretty, yet durable—no need to worry about getting a run in them, either; this material is like kevlar for your legs. You could probably be hit with dragon-fire and poking out of the ash pile would be your perfectly roasted legs.

I slip everything on at a leisurely pace, humming a jaunty tune. Rarity would probably have some minor gripe about my ensemble, but even she would have to admit that for a former male, I didn’t do too badly with the outfit. Indeed, I can’t help but strike a few poses in front of the mirror after everything is on and adjusted. This really is a pretty nice outfit... but something’s missing.

“Silver, you forgot to brush your mane again!” Candy’s voice chides from the doorway. “You can’t seriously be thinking about going to the ceremony with that bedraggled mess.”

With a guilty smile, I turn to face her. A single sidelong glance at the mirror reaffirms what has already been said; my mane is a mess. “Sorry... That’s the one thing I can never get used to doing.” Truth be told, I still want to just shave it all off on occasion; tangles are painful! Can you imagine though? A bald mare movement?

“It’s almost time to go, silly! Just how long were you dancing in front of your mirror?” she continues, trotting into the room. She eyes the saddlebags I’d managed to fill with most of my belongings the previous night and shakes her head. “Want a hoof with the brushing? It’ll go quicker if I help.”

Oh, right! That’s the other reason I don’t usually brush my mane. See, Equestrian ponies are a lot like terrestrial horses in that they are inclined to help groom their friends or members of their herd. Some sort of trust thing, by my understanding. Either way, I enjoyed having my mane done when it was Lyra doing the brushing, and while Candy lacks fingers, she’s far more adept with a brush.

I smile and nod. “Yeah, that’d be swell.” Candy looks around the room before giving me a questioning look, and its only until she stares at me for a few moments that I realize that she has no idea where my brush is. “Oh! Saddlebag, left side; beneath my diary.”

Without ceremony, Candy strolls on over to the bed and, using her muzzle, pushes open the saddlebag before dipping her head in. I can’t see from my angle, but it’s easy enough to know that she just pushed my diary off of the brush. Mere moments later, she’s back at my side and running the brush through the still-damp tangles of my mane.

“Sho, ‘re ya e‘cited?” she asks, forming her words as best she can around the handle of the brush.

“Kinda...” I flinch as she pulls through a particularly bad knot. “I’m anxious as all heck; I know that much. Lately, it just feels like each time I’m about to get comfortable somewhere, something comes along and I have to move on. I mean look. Everything I own—aside from that disposable toothbrush in the bathroom—is packed into either my saddlebags to come with me to the ceremony, or in my clothes-chest to be picked up by the moving company contracted by the university. It’s kind of sad when you think about it.”

“Understandable,” she replies, putting down the brush. Through the corner of my eye, I catch a momentary look of despondency cross the young mare’s face. “You’ll always be welcome here if things don’t work out. I know we’re going to miss your cooking.”

I can’t help but let out a little nicker at that. “Only my cooking?” I ask in a playful tone as I allow her to pull my mane through an elastic. “I know you enjoy having some non-medical personnel around to talk to. I’ll miss you too Candy. You and your mom have been good to me.”

The trot through Canterlot is unlike any I have done previously. Unlike every other time, there is no casualness about this trip. Everything is oddly muted today—the air heavy with oncoming change—and all I can think is how odd it would be if I were to wake up in my own bed, having slept in. It’s just the sort of thing I wouldn’t dream of—so slice of life—that I would never see it coming.

The morning itself is rather cool for April if Candy’s idle chatter is any indicator. As we trot along ahead of Forceps, I’m only half-listening to the younger pony’s criticism of unicornian weather control; I’m too busy continually checking the magical compass I tucked away beneath the collar of my sweater. After all, I have the worst sense of direction in the party, and it would seem that I’m the de facto leader...

Honestly, I think that half of the reason I get lost so easily in Canterlot—and I’m not just saying this to salve my own terrible sense of direction—is because of its layout. If you think of the city proper as a circle, you have four quarters: the Canterlot Residential Zone, the Educational District, the Market District, and the Government District, which is further divided into the Palace, a large selection of government branches, and what is colloquially known as Nobletown to everypony else. If the city were simply just divided into four quarters, it wouldn’t be so bad, but instead you have that labyrinthine Market district that is more like a tree trunk than a quarter in that it has tendrils snaking its way through each of the three other districts. If you take even one wrong turn, you could end up in the same part of the district no less than three times before you get out. Other ponies always say that it makes sense to them when I comment on it, so maybe I’m just brain damaged?

Regardless of that, it only takes us thirty minutes to get to the university. I honestly think the others are a bit surprised at how well we made out in regards to time. In fact, I recall one of the two—I don’t remember which—saying something about my musty old compass getting us lost. I just don’t think they understand the concept of waypoints, which is apparently how this thing operates sometimes. Heck, I bet this thing could get me to the center of the hedge maze in the castle gardens, no problem.

That’s just me procrastinating on going inside the university’s atrium though. Now that I mention it, the building looks less like a school than it does a massive pyramidal greenhouse. The surrounding buildings look more like school buildings, but only just. Each building is a different color and shape. There’s even a spherical one that doesn’t even touch the ground aside from a stem-like staircase reaching up from the ground. Why is everything so damn colorful and nonsensical in this place?

At the urging of Doctor Forceps, I trot toward the main door. Standing beside the door is a rather familiar looking unicorn mare, but it takes more than a few moments to recognize the gray pony with the purple and white mane. The trio of five-pointed stars on her flank only solidifies what is already going through my mind.

“Good morning, Silver Script!” Twilight Velvet calls out as she notices me approach. “Aren’t you glad my little Sparkle’s tutelage has paid off for you?” Yes, I recognize the older mare from my visits to the family’s abode during my studies. It almost completely escaped me that she’s one of the astronomy professors here at the university.

“Yes ma’am,” I reply a more relaxed tone. Seeing more familiar faces makes this all much easier for me. “You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you. The flu is just the worst, isn’t it?” Hearing that, Forceps perks up and seems far more interested in the mare, so I quickly shift gears in the conversation. “So do I just go in and join the crowd or...”

The older mare smiles before tilting her head toward the door. “Just go on in and head toward the gathering in front of the stage at the center of the atrium,” she explains. “Another member of staff will take your signed paperwork and you’ll be seated with the rest of this year’s new admissions.” Glancing at Candy, she adds, “Guests will be seated in stands to either side.”

“Thanks, ma’am!” I reply, hurriedly dashing into the atrium, with Candy hot on my hooves. Of course, with the way my skirt catches the displaced air, it’s no wonder she’s complaining about my modesty. It’s not like my tail is raised or to the side though, so why should it matter?

Still, I decide to afford the younger pegasus a glance over my saddlebags, just in time to see Velvet and Forceps breaking a friendly hug. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that the two know each other. They are in the same age group, after all. For all I know, they’re old friends, or even cousins. Still, it’s enough to almost trip me up as I approach the crowd of first-year students—all seated on plush-looking pillows set out on the grass before what looks more like a massive wooden plinth than a stage—and another member of the staff.

“Please present your paperwork and be seated,” the unicorn stallion says gruffly. “We are due to begin shortly.”

With an affirming nod, I duck my head into the right saddlebag. Nudging aside sheaves of parchment paper disturbed in the transit to the university, I quickly find and retrieve the appropriate scroll. My head is barely out of the saddlebag before the proctor snatches the scroll up in an acid-yellow aura. He takes a few moments to read over the contents of the scroll before nodding, and I could swear there’s even a trace of a smirk on his lips.

This leaves me feeling rather irked and slightly confused as I make my way towards one of the few empty pillows left in the crowd. It isn’t easy, and there are quite a few tails and saddlebags stepped on or over in the process, but I finally find myself seated and relieve myself of my saddlebags. I mean, yeah I could have simply flown over the group, but I reckon one of the many visible nobles would complain if I so much as disturbed their manes with a breeze.

The unicorn mare beside me looks like one who might make such a complaint. She has that tall slender figure I’ve only ever seen on a number of ponies, mostly royalty, and her posture suggests she probably has a stick up her arse about something or other. At least she’s pretty. Her brilliant gold mane is pulled neatly into a french braid that neatly covers her light-red neck. She’s even dressed like a noble wearing a royal purple gown. Maybe she fancies herself a princess?

A quick glance toward the stage tells me that they aren’t quite ready to commence the ceremony, and I feel half-inclined to dig a novel out of my saddlebags. Just when I ready myself to find a distraction, I catch a glimpse of movement in my peripheral. The red noble beside me is leaning in my direction, regarding me with a blue-eyed stare, as though she is contemplating my attire. After a moment, she nods and smiles. “There are just so many commoners here this year,” she says in that condescending upper-crust accent. “Can you believe that Her Majesty Princess Luna herself is sponsoring one of these low-bloods to come here? A foreigner, at that!”

Oh Goddesses... she thinks I’m a noble. On top of that, she’s one of those snooty holier-than-thou types. If I tell her I’m not a noble, she’ll start a scene here and now, and then it’ll be everywhere before I’m even housed in my dormitory. “That isn’t to say that commoners don’t have their uses,” I reply carefully. “Nobility is built on the backs of commoners, after all.”

The regal unicorn raises her eyebrow before nodding slowly. “Yes, quite.” She doesn’t look all that impressed with my viewpoint, but it seems like she at least understands it. “My apologies, but in the scandal of it all, I’ve failed to get your name.”

My ear twitches at the tone of her voice, and the implication of what she just said. How stuck up is she? Ask my name before introducing herself? “Silver Script, pleased to make your acquaintance...”

“Are you any relation to the Silverblood nobility out of Manehattan? Or are you of the Ponyville Silvers?” she asks, completely disregarding the etiquette of introducing herself. “I do so love the quality items those small-town nobles create.”

“Though I have spent time in Ponyville, I am of no relation.” Is it really so much to ask that you have the decency to tell me your name, you pompous ass? “And you...?”

“I am Princess Aqua Regia, youngest daughter of the Blueblood line, and sister of Prince Blueblood the forty-second.” The mare puts forth one of her bejeweled hooves, as if expecting me to kiss it. I just stare dumbfounded at the hoof as I let it all sink in. Not only is this mare expecting me to kiss her hoof, she is the very sister that a drunken Blueblood harassed Princess Luna about. Why does the universe have to have a sense of humor? “Yes, I do suppose mention of my brother and the purity of my bloodline has that effect on some ponies. For this once, I’ll forgive your rudene—”

“Fillies and gentlecolts!” I look to the stage, giving silent thanks for the convenient interruption. Standing at a podium on the great wooden plinth—er, stage—is a large white unicorn stallion who strikingly resembles Fancypants, only with an ochre mane and no moustache. He’s undoubtedly the dean or chancellor of the university. “We are gathered here today to welcome the newest additions to this prestigious gathering of Equestria’s best and brightest.

“First and foremost, Canterlot University is the pinnacle of higher education institutions.” The stallion smiles out upon the crowd of attentive students. “As representatives of the best and brightest Equestria has to offer, we must hold ourselves to a higher standard. That being said, any students caught bullying or sabotaging their peers will be expelled.”

A low din of approval rises from the crowd around me. Seems like nopony here likes the idea of their education being sabotaged by their classmates. Only one pony seems to disapprove of the dean’s proclamation, and she’s sitting right beside me, as though she’s used to stabbing ponies in the back in order to get her way. It’s like the longer I’m beside this mare, the more I don’t want to be near her. So many bad vibes and feels are coming off of her.

“There are a few changes to the first-year curriculum this year...” The stallion continues to speak, listing off changes to various courses running in the school. Because they don’t directly pertain to my own needs, I only half-listen to his speech. “Finally, for all fledgling alchemy students, the curriculum has been altered. The first trimester will consist of Alchemy Fundamentals, Safety, and Introduction to Potions. The summer trimester will consist of Independent Research, where you will present findings to your class at the end of each week. The end of this trimester is marked by your choice of study for the following one. In previous years, students were required to gain experience in all three schools of training, but at the suggestion of Princess Luna, this practice has been abandoned as it weakens one’s abilities by introducing conflicting ideologies from the different schools. As such, the final trimester will be one of your choosing.”

That last part doesn’t make much sense to me. Everything I read implies that the three schools, outside of purpose, all use the same basic training. Are the books mistaken? Or is there something historians and the like aren’t getting right? Maybe there was something about it in the restricted books. There were a great many books that I wasn’t permitted access to without a university identification or written permission from somepony with valid credentials.

There’s no telling how long I’m lost in thought. By the time I return my attention to the speaker, he is telling the new students that they will in line up in front of one of many professors to receive a room assignment. Sure enough, when I look in the direction indicated by the dean, I see a row of older ponies of alternating sexes—Twilight Velvet included—off to the back of the gathering. Well, at least I have a reason to get away from the snooty pony beside me.

Not waiting for Aqua Regia—like Blueblood, I refuse to acknowledge her as royalty—to talk to me again, I use a well practiced kick to get my saddlebags back on and quickly make my way around the other students. I’m not the first to line up in front of Twilight’s mother, but I’m still pretty close to the front of the line. It only takes a few moments before the hundred or so new students are all lined up in even files in front of professors.

“Alright, fillies! My name is Twilight Velvet. I am the first-year astronomy professor, and I will be your dormitory’s den mother. Come with me and I’ll get you all situated with your dorm mates,” Twilight Velvet announces to her file of students. Turning her back on us, she gives only a cursory glance back at us before leading us towards one of the sides of the atrium. “This year the dorms are named for the signs of the Equestrian zodiac. We will be heading to Sagittarius Hall. Stay close now.”

To my surprise, instead of going through the nearby exit, she leads us toward a concrete staircase descending into the ground off to one side of the door. A glance past the students behind me reveals a stairwell opposite of the one Velvet is leading us down. It’s rather curious that the dorm halls would be subterranean given all the hazards of living underground with minimal technology. Carbon dioxide comes to mind as one such threat. It’s not like there isn’t space to build dormitories on the university premises.

Descending into the ground, I almost expect the utilitarian metal hallways of a Vault-tec Vault. Instead, at the bottom of the stairs I’m greeted by the sight of a stairwell that goes down another level and cozy wooden hallways not unlike a Hobbit hole. Unlike the Tolkienian Hobbit abodes, however, the hallway lighting comes not from candle or hearthfire, but by gemstones. Surely it is a sight unlike any other I’ve yet seen here in Equestria.

As our new den mother leads us down the circular hallway, she begins directing the mares ahead of me into seemingly random rooms. She never assigns the same room to two first-years though; it’s almost as though she knows which rooms are already fully occupied and which are not. Common sense tells me that being the supervisor for this dormitory, she’d have to know.

Leading the group around a corner and into another hallway, Twilight Velvet turns to me and smiles. “Alright, Silver Script! You’ll be rooming here with Gale,” she says, pushing the door open. “She might be a bit different from what you’re used to, but I think the two of you will get along nicely. Oh, and your belongings should be delivered in the evening.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I reply, peering warily into the oddly domed room. “Have a nice day!”

I watch in silence as the group moves on down the hall before slipping into my new room. It begins to dawn on me just how different the architecture of this dorm is compared to anything I’ve seen in all of my life. The place is perfectly circular, matching the braced wooden motif of the hallway outdoors. Verily, the room is quartered by intersecting flying buttresses, upon which are mounted the magical light sources. Recessed into the walls on opposing sides of the chamber are two large beds. Beside each bed stands a desk and chests for one’s belongings.

Drifting momentarily from the welcoming sight of a warm bed, my eyes alight on a door opposite of the one I stand before. Unlike the door through which I entered, this door is painted a pastel green. I can only imagine that on the other side of it lies a fully equipped bathroom. Had I drunk anything before the event, I might very well have given myself reason to venture inside. Not now though.

The excitement of the day’s events is a bit more than I’ve grown used to. A desire to lay down and rest before exploring presses against me in an almost overwhelming blast. Casually trotting toward the left bed, I cannot suppress a loud yawn. I gently allow my saddlebags to slide to the floor in a gentle heap beside my chosen bed. I could take the small, maroon blanket that I’d packed away in my saddlebag—one of only a few mementos from my former home. Instead, I lazily crawl onto the bed, not bothering to shed my clothing.

I can only guess at how long I lay there in the half-light of crystal-lit chamber, dozing face-first in a pillow. Time is a fickle bedfellow when you so desire to sleep, and without windows to observe the rise and fall of the sun, time becomes immaterial. At least the bed is a comfortable one.

That is not to say, of course, that I do not gain a few moments of shut-eye. Through half-imagined daydreams, I can make out the opening and closing of the room’s main door, followed by a curious clicking along the wooden floor. It draws nearer and nearer before a new weight disturbs the bed.

“You’re on my bed, child,” a gruff voice whispers in my ear.

My eyes snap wide as I roll away from the source of the sound. The last thing I see before my head strikes the alcove’s wall is the frightening grin of a fully grown, rosy brown griffon staring back at me. All too soon, the dim veil of unconsciousness draws over me, robbing me of my senses.

Author's Notes:

Well... I was planning on getting this out earlier, but I wanted to give a few days opportunity for it to be edited. For circumstances that I was already aware of, one editor wasn't going to be able to do anything for the next little while. I want to thank NightmareKnight for being able to dedicate some time to helping me go over this chapter. To the others, who were unable to answer the call this week, it's okay.

This of course means there might be a few more errors than usual, but I'm always accepting of people pointing them out.

Bit of a weird chapter to write, but it had to be done for the sake of getting things moving.