His heart felt like it was going to burst.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The organ carried out its ghastly, visceral melody with rhythmic clockwork as the young stallion bolted upright. Eyes dark and glazed, his chest burned with a terrible acid that sizzled up from his stomach and to the back of his throat. He retched, kicking the hot, heavy blankets off his trembling form at once. The bedsheets, drenched with blotches of greying perspiration, tumbled to the floor as the stallion stumbled to his hooves.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He was disorientated. Confused. The world was silent, but tilted and curved unnaturally. Water seeped out along his brow and dripped noisily onto the ground in time with the melancholy beat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Then the fire subsided, and the pain quelled. The thumping shriveled away to a light tap. He allowed himself to fall backwards, and was cushioned by something soft, and warm. A mattress.

'Jeez, Starfire. You scared yourself.'

The student slowly let out a long, breathy sigh, and looked around. The faces on the walls. The glowing jars in the darkness. The dark violet flowers that hung in bunches from the rafters. Zecora’s hut. So strange and intimate yet so familiar and safe.

“Just a dream,” he mumbled aloud, pushing his wavering hoof to his erratically rising chest. “Just a dream.”

He knew it was just a dream. He’d known that they’d all been dreams. After all, how could they not? They were so outlandish and surreal, so obscure and cryptic. He knew they weren’t real. He knew.

But this dream… it was different than the others. This dream was real. Too real.

This dream was real.

No.

The small bedroom that he lay in suddenly felt very claustrophobic and compressed. His body was sticky and clammy, his throat dry and hoarse, his chest rattling with swollen embers. Regaining his balance, he stepped over Candi’s bundled form, sprawled sleepily along the floor and mummified with several bright and cheery cloths, and tiptoed over to the thin purple veil that hung over the open doorway, acting as a screen. It shivered slightly, carried along with the vibrant electric of magic and foreboding in the silent house.

The interior of the hut was as familiar to him now as his own skin, every creak and groan from every settling floorboard an extension of his own voice. All of the candles that hung from the sconces were already extinguished, and the room was black. Sleepily but daftly manoeuvring his way around the width of the cauldron, a solid, tangible portion of the darkness, he stumbled over to the kitchen area and leaned over the metallic sink, spitting once down the drain and wiping his mouth with the back of his hoof.

There was a sour taste in his mouth, and an acidic burning in his throat. Shaking, he put it down to the meal he had eaten earlier repeating on him; a simple bout of indigestion, nothing more. New foods always played havoc on his insides. He held his hoof under the still-running tap, savouring the pleasant chill that ran along his foreleg, and the icy numbness of the cold water. It was too warm tonight; humid, stuffy, the uncomfortable, clingy, sticky sort of heat, thin air. Or at least, those were the conditions inside the hut. Maybe it trapped the glowing heat, held it hostage.

Starfire cupped the liquid, shimmering with black, and splashed it across his face. Refreshed, muzzle dripping, he stared out into the forest through the closed window, and pondered. Belove was out there, somewhere. How was he coping, all by himself, alone?

Trapped it. Held it hostage.

He didn’t hear the front door open, but he heard the tell-tale creak as it shut.

“Starfire, Starfire, you scared me sour!

What are you doing up at so late an hour?”

The Zebra slipped in through the front door and into her residence, letting it swing shut, least she let more of the perpetual darkness slither inside. She was half camouflaged in the blackness of night, only her white half being of any small visibility at all, like a series of milky brush strokes on a solid black canvas. But it was enough to give away her presence.

Starfire turned, a little faster than he had expected, and spilled his cupped-hooved cargo over the kitchen floor. “Sorry if I startled you, Zecora. You certainly startled me. I didn’t know you were… awake.”

There was a pause, and then a sharp metallic clang. He felt the chill of air as she swept past him to the cupboards.

“Do not apologise, there is no need.

Were you feeling peckish? Did you come to feed?”

The stallion dried his dripping hooves on his chest and leaned backwards against the counter. “No, no, I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t craving a late night snack or anything.”

“It’s quite okay if you were,

Remember, what’s mine is also yours.”

His face grew red and flustered at the mention of more food, but he appreciated the gesture and open hospitality. “No, but thanks all the same. Honestly, I just needed some cool water. It’s too hot tonight, and I couldn’t sleep. Whatever I ate gave me indigestion, I think. Or whatever I drank…”

The room exploded in light, so bright it hurt Starfire’s delicate eyes, the blue pupils diluting. Zecora stood by the kitchen cabinets, the wall sconces aflame, and the match in her hoof still smoking. She blew once, twice and then took the wax candle and set it In the center of her table. Her face was still and just.

“You ate your food far too fast,

More likely than not, it’s given you gas.”

The student raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s it?”

“Yes, yes, I am sure. Sit down, if you will,” the Zebra commanded,

“I’ll give you something to settle your stomach, make it still.”

With a fleeting glance of suspicion, Starfire did as he was told, scraping a chair up to the illuminated table as Zecora turned back to the sink and filled up a kettle with warm water. “What are you doing up, Zecora?”

She pointed to the metallic bucket she had been carrying, water residue still dripping from the sides.

“I went outside to quell the flames,

Before any more of the forest was laid claim.”

“Those dragons really sent up quite a blaze, then?”

She nodded.

“Thank you. For doing your best to put the fires out, I mean. It’s nice to see somepony care about nature like that. Especially somepony not… from here, you know?”

She nodded again, and tugged upon the kitchen cupboard closest to her. A packet, the white-cream dotted with strange tribal symbols, was pulled out and she ripped the top off the sachet and poured the contents inside of a small, round teacup.

Zecora sure was a strange one all right, and Starfire was still unsure of her motivations. But she’d shown them so much kindness that he couldn’t help but think of her as a rather shrouded, unorthodox sort of friend. He pawed at the tabletop, and then asked, “Thank you for taking care of Weatherstorm… and Derky, too. Where are they, might I ask?”

She pointed in the direction of the master bedroom.

“They’re both sleeping as soundly as newborn foals,

Not even a squeak, bless their souls.”

Starfire bit his lip. “In your bed? Where are you going to sleep?”

She dodged the question.

“The one you call Derky,

He has such a kind heart.

He has not left the blue one’s side,” she chuckled,

“I couldn’t keep the two apart.”

Zecora dipped a spoon into the ceramic teacup, and tapped the rim three times. She returned to the table with it resting on a saucer, a warm steam following it, and set it down in front of the stallion. She gave him a misty smile and tiled her head. “Here. Drink.”

The liquid inside was a pale grey. There was a strong, rich aroma. Starfire looked up and gazed into her eyes. “What’s this?”

“You’re too suspicious, Starfire,

It’s just some herbal tea.

Please take a sip, it’ll help you sleep.”

He put the teacup to his mouth, perched his lips and blew it.

The mare’s hoof shot out suddenly, grappling his leg, outstretched on the table, and pinning it there. Her face grew serious. “And tell me what you see.”

Perspiration shimmered on his forehead and his eyes grew wide. He set the cup down instantly, but he didn’t resist her firm grip. He swallowed, and then asked, softly, “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

She released her hold on him, just a little, but she kept her eyes trained and her face still.

“What do you see in your visions and unconscious mind?

Tell me, I implore you, it may be a sign.”

Starfire shifted uncomfortably, sighed, and took a sip of his drink. Then he lowered his head to the table. “They’re getting worse. The hallucinations. They’re becoming more frequent, more vivid.”

The zebra released his hoof. “You must tell me of these dreams,

These dark thoughts, these evil things.

Tell me what has kept you awake,

You must, for your friends, for Equestria’s sake.” She leaned in closer.

The stallion scratched the back of his hair. His hoof came away damp. “My…” he hesitated on the word ‘visions’ for it sounded foolish and illogical, “The bad dreams… they began the night before the Summer Sun Celebration. I remember, in my first dream, that I was looking up at the moon, just staring at it. I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular, just how big and full and round it looked, and how I’d never paid it much mind before. But as I stared from my window, I began to feel anxious and worried, and I didn’t know why. And then I saw it: just a fleck of green, light green, like bile. It was distant, very distant, but I saw a bright light as the streak connected with the moon. And in that second of blinding light, I saw a shadow, the Mare in the Moon, grinning down at me, and a black mass of worms engulfed the moon completely, and… I woke up.”

His voice croaked. “That wasn’t the last time. I’ve had many vivid nightmares since… to be honest…” Starfire took another sip, “It’s starting to scare me. Silly, I know.”

Zecora remained unfazed. She nodded, but said,

“And the vision you had just now,

It was different in some way, somehow?”

The zebra knew she was right when Starfire avoided her eye contact completely. He knew better than to argue against her theory. “I know it’s silly, and I certainly don’t believe in it, but… are you… are you psychic, Zecora?” He held his cup close to his chest, and the steam rose up under his chin.

“If I were psychic, tested and true,

I’d have no need of asking you.”

“Fair point.” The stallion shakily re-applied the cup to the table. Clearing his throat, he added, “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not important.”

“I’d rather hear anyway,

It may prove to be of worth.

Give me an image of the day,

The day,” she motioned under the table to his outer thigh, “Of your destiny’s birth.”

Starfire cocked his head. “I don’t see how it’s of relevance, Zecora.” He began to get up. “And besides, I can barely remember any of the details…”

She pulled him back down, sharply. There was a passive-aggressive power coursing through her stocky body; it compelled him. She didn’t say anything: she had no need to. He immediately sat back down, and gave an unsure smile. “But I suppose a bedtime story would be mutually beneficial.”

He’d never been on a train before.

But he found it to be a pleasant experience.

His stomach still churned and moaned in protest, however, resisting any effort the colt made to settle his nerves. He hummed along with the rattle of the locomotive, a jolty mechanical sound that he found oddly soothing as the vibrations rose through the metallic floor and shivered up his spine. It did him no good: he could try to relax his body as he wanted, but he was too smart to fool his own mind. Today was a big day: today was the beginning of the rest of his life. And he couldn’t afford to mess it up. He just couldn’t.

Peering over the translucent green headrest of his aged and wooden seat, which groaned in protest nearly as much as the heavy, suited stallion beside him, he looked out of the large, rounded window to his left. It was slightly ajar, rattling in its pane, and the breeze of the roaring wind sifting through the fibres of his golden locks was refreshing. Trees, hundreds of them in a single line, all spaced out at equal measure, blended into one green streak as the train continued to ascend the base of the mountain at a great speed. Behind them, rolling hills and miles of bountiful fields, all freshly ploughed. He poked his nose through the gap in the window, and sniffed. The smell of hay was overpowering, and the almost tangible taste of wheat settled on his tongue. Away in the distance, he thought he saw the urban sprawl of his hometown. Or maybe it was Baltimare. The tracks had merged, after all. Whatever the case, he was glad to be out of the city, even if it were only for a while. Despite the sweet tastes and aromatic smells, there was a bitter acidic stench at the back of his throat, and a clogging of phlegm. Coughing, he exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes. It would all be over soon, he thought. Sure, he was worried now, but he had no reason to be. He knew he was talented. There was nothing they could throw at him that he couldn’t handle. He was gifted, he told himself, again and again. He was gifted.

The train approached a tunnel, cut into the side of the mountain face, like a gaping mouth ready to swallow the locomotive whole. The colt pulled his head back inside, and closed the window. He felt his stomach tightening, in ghastly knots. He had no reason to worry. He was being silly.

Suddenly, the entire cherry-blossom carriage was plunged into perpetual darkness, if only for a moment.

He was gifted.

Every sound was intensified during this brief window of blackness. The clang of the wheels hurtling along the tracks became deafening, the shill wail of compressed air, the open and close of one of the carriage doors and the stiff squeaky wheel of a service trolley.

He saw it for the first time when they came through the other side of the tunnel; it was, after all, very hard to miss. Towering over the highest peaks of the tallest mountaintops was the capital city of Canterlot, the life and soul of the Equestrian nation, etched into the craggy mountainside itself. Illustrious golden-tipped spires, slender and ivory in appearance, shot upwards and speared the atmosphere, as though yearning for the bright and full sun. The water was very clear, the colt noticed: rivers of the shimmering liquid poured over the lilac-granite cliffsides and gushed noisily down the side of the tallest mountain, filtering through the nooks and cracks as it continued its ever-flowing descent, down, down, feeding into a stream that ran off into the distance to what looked like a small, low lying town. As the grand city drew nearer and nearer, the little unicorn grew bolder and bolder.

Yes. He was gifted. That deep, tightening feeling in the pit of his stomach? That wasn’t fear. That was determination.

The conductor’s voice came crackling through the train’s intercom with a bout of overlaying static. “This train will be arriving at Canterlot Central shortly,” came the low, masculine droll, followed by a muffled “Thank you for choosing Equestria Express.”

“How do you feel, champ?” The question came from a lean, brandeis-blue stallion in the gangway. He twiddled at his dirty fair moustache, one eyebrow raised. The colt hadn’t heard him approach, but little could be heard over the metallic clanking of metal on metal.

“Good,” the little one replied, “Fine. Good-fine. I’m fine.” He gave a troubled smile, and sighed. “I mean, I feel a little nervous.”

“Starfire, if you weren’t a little worried, we’d be worried.” The elder brushed his son’s cheek, and leaned in close, right in to Starfire’s ear. “But your mother and I, we’re… we’re proud as punch. And we’re rooting for you. Not that you need two little old fuddy-duddies like us willing you on, cramping your style, or whatever you young’ens say these days.”

This sparked a smile. His father always thought he was older than he really was. As did Starfire. “Yeah… I’m gifted.” The message was more a reassurance than a reply, but the stallion standing by his chair dropped his warm smile for all of a moment.

“Hey now, let’s not get cocky.” But then the smile was back. “I know you’re a big magic ma-hoff, but let’s try to keep that head of yours small enough to fit through the door.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… be yourself, champ. Remember that. Be yourself.”

“I’ll try my best not to become somepony else, dad, but I’m not making promises.”

“Always with the smart mouth, aren’t you? My little magician.”

The colt rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Dad, nobody calls them magicians anymore.”

Throwing up his hooves in defence, the moustached stallion chuckled. “I’m ol’ fashioned. Sue me.”

“You’ll need a good lawyer.”

The train’s brakes were applied and the momentum slowly dwindled, the chugging and clanking of the locomotive fading like a dying cough and all at once the train was still. The doors opened, afternoon sunlight streaming into the gangway, and every creature on board began their mad rush to the exits. “Canterlot Central Station,” the conductor’s voice repeated. “End of the line. Than-“ His voice was drowned out by the hustle and bustle and scraping of hooves on metallic sheet flooring. Nobody had time to listen here in the big city. They were much too busy.

They likely had much to accomplish.

Mother, father and child stepped out onto the crowded platform, almost carried away by the living current of motion in the sea of faces. The first thing that Starfire became aware of was the noise; so loud and droning that all the little sounds merged into one unanimous hum that was strangely so prevalent that it challenged the natural dual lordship of silence and nothingness. Noise was silence here, of that he was certain. The air itself was lightly scented here; it smelt vaguely of flowers, but which species, he did not know, and freshly baked hot-cross buns, carried on the wind from some disembodied bakery. His father smacked his lips instinctively… owning a coffee shop and baking the steaming treats every day for as long as he had been married had not dulled his tastes for the pleasantries. Starfire allowed himself another hearty sniff: it was decided that the air here was nicer than that of Fillydelphia, and his lungs felt fresh with discovery.

A station clock, prominently large, silently chimed the hour, on the hour, as the train behind them pulled eagerly away from the platform, circling back from whence it come, shaking the panes of glass of the station building.

“Starfire,” began the colt’s mother, “Your exam isn’t for another hour.” She was a stern faced mare, Starfire’s mother, a pink-coated unicorn with short brown hair, tied into a neat bun. It brought out the emphasis in her eyes, which had a studious but warm quality, akin to a log fire, neatly tidied behind her opaque circular spectacles. She tried to hide the hesitation in her voice and was very apt at it. “What say we go get some ice cream?”

The triple-choc vanilla scoop sundae surprise that followed was heavenly and timeless, thick and creamy and just right. Clanging spoon against bowl, the young Starfire smiled sweetly to his own disproportioned reflection in the metal, and inserted the instrument into his eager mouth once more. His mother knew the best ice cream shops in Canterlot; she lived here, once upon a time, before she met her husband and had to give up her teaching career to help out around the family café in smoggy Fillydelphia, and to raise a foal to the best of her ability. In truth, she was content.

But that didn’t mean that she was content with Starfire’s fantasies.

They were trying to be as discreet as possible, but he still heard them. He always did. His parents had begun to argue a lot more often than they had been before, before he had told them of his dearest wish to enroll in Celestia’s school for Gifted Unicorns, and he hadn’t the faintest clue why. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t see the correlation between the two events.

“You’ve filled his head with nonsense,” came his mother’s hushed voice from somewhere behind him. She still retained her thick Canterlot accent even after being apart from her hometown for so long.

“Nonsense?” His father’s native Fillydelphian voice combated hers, “Sugar, I’ve given th’boy a dream!”

“Don’t call me that, Hot Cross. And you know as well as I do that it’s a silly pipe dream.” She glanced back over at her son to make sure his head was not swivelled and ears pricked, listening intently. His head remained un-swivelled, facing forwards and down, into his bowl of ice cream. “You already know how I feel on the matter.”

“And if it were up to you…” He paused. “Oh, err, strawberry crunch, please. Two scoo- no, make it three scoops, please. Well, of course I want jimmies on top. Anything for you, ma’dear?” She declined, and he waited until the clerk walked into the back room. He continued. “The kid’s good at magic, probably takes it after me,” the earth pony stallion jested, probing at his barren forehead. “If I were a unicorn and had his talents, well... I’d go for it. Dream big an’ all.”

The stallion’s loving wife pulled one of her trademark frowns, and wrinkled her nose. He always found that attractively cute when they first met, and he still couldn’t help but exhale deeply when she did it now. “Dreaming big is fine, but this is preposterous,” she hissed as quietly as she managed, “You’ve seen how low the statistics are, how low the pass rate into this academy is. Starfire’s a great magic user for his age, but the math just doesn’t add up in his favour. Now, if he were to look at training to become a teach…”

Starfire’s father would hear no more of it. “To heck with your statistics and to heck with your teaching. Pah!” Feigning a half-spit, he furrowed his brow and shook his head as though his life depended on it. “I want our son to be a stallion who they write about in the history books o’tomorrow, not some third-rate foalsitter. We both know he’s better than that, and more to the point, he knows he’s better than that. I believe in him. I believe he can do this, my dear Magic.”

She tried to be angry with him, to slap him, but her hoof fell around his shoulder instead and she followed into a hug. “I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“He won’t. He’s gifted.”

Starfire savoured every mouthful of his ice-cream.

He wished it would last forever and ever.

“You can’t wait around forever,” Starfire’s father tore him from his blissful trance, “It’s time.”

The colt wearily glanced up at the ornate reception room clock; both regal hands were at 12 noon. He felt the knot in his stomach twist into unimaginable proportions. His head felt light and airy, his hooves heavy and hard. Exhaling with more false gusto than he could muster, he set down the comic book he had been reading on the plain white reception room table and rose to his hooves, the lemon yellow couch creaking as he did so. “Yes. I guess I’d better go then.”

“We can go with you, you know.”

“Naw,” he casually shrugged as though the sentiment meant nothing to him, “I’m fine. I’m a big colt. I can do this on my own.”

Dad leaned back against the creamy décor. He twitched his facial hair and puffed out his chest. “You young’ins grow up so darned fast these days. Best of luck. Do me proud.”

Starfire nodded. He didn’t know whether that was his dad’s way of wishing him luck, or demanding that he succeed. He hoped it was the first, and hoped he’d accomplish the latter.

The double doors leading into the exam hall were stately and imposing, a sinister shade of pale blue, so polished he could see his reflection in them. There were other faces amongst his; the faces of the other potential students in the waiting room, all five turned in his direction, watching his exit, and his entrance. A sixth face floated in between them.

Her magic caressed his chin and squeezed his cheeks. She turned his head to face her. “You still have ice cream around your mouth,” his mother cooed, wiping away the evidence with a silken handkerchief, “There. All better.” She looked him up and down once, twice, and then embraced him in a hug. Starfire’s mouth fell agape. Her breath felt warm on his face, her accented voice soft in his alert ear. “I… good luck.”

At that moment, he could have taken on a dragon.

The little colt strode into the auditorium as tall as a king. His eyes watered, but he no longer felt afraid. All other eyes were on him as the doors creaked shut and clicked tight. His body shook. Determination. Glory. Destiny.

“Name?” The question came from one of the professors from the back of the room, a black haired stallion, his horn parting the middle of his mane and his face stern and disinterested. Starfire gave his name.

The four orange seats the lecturers sat upon squeaked in union, and the shuffling of papers and documents commenced. “Ah, yes. One moment, please.” A yellow mare looked down at the boy from behind rounded spectacles, and gave her best impression of a smile. Starfire knew she wasn’t well versed in the art of cheer. He nodded in understanding, and turned towards the back wall.

A blackboard rested between two full length purple windows on the celadon green wall, its surface scratched with arcane symbols and dusty algorithms. He understood the basics of the top row of calculations. The diagrams drawn further down were lost to him. They would come to him in time, surely. He was a quick learner.

“Remind us,” the fair-haired examiner began, his voice lacking any unique definable characteristics, as straight as the beige tie around his neck. “How old you are?”

Starfire answered their query. They thanked him, and mumbled amongst themselves. They were trying to be as discreet as possible, but he still heard them. He could always hear them. “He’s tall. For his age, that is,” the mare with the fringe murmured.

“He’s still a little older than the other applicants we’ve examined today,” replied the bespectacled one, “Besides, you cannot scope magical talent on height and age.”

High-collar flipped a page over and narrowed his eyes at the script. “Well,” he nudged Centre-Parting, “I think he looks the part. He’s got the mannerisms about him. Look at his face. He’s almost as solemn as you.”

Centre-parting’s face remained as anticipated. “I would really rather like to see him in action before I spend another word on the matter. Is everything in place?”

“So I believe.”

“Very well,” the scholar clapped his gravel-coated hooves together, and the sound buzzed around the hall in a frenzy, “Wheel it in.”

Starfire couldn’t see the entity who opened the doors at the far side of the auditorium, but he heard his grunt muffled under the metallic ringing squeak of the loose trolley wheels. The cart itself was bronze and dimly shone in the artificial light, but there was a rustiness to the edges, as though it had seen plenty of prior service. Atop it sat a rigid blue cloth, veiling and concealing whatever lay underneath. Starfire gave the trolley a steely glare. This was it.

His destiny had just arrived.

And all it took was the grand unveiling.

A rather short, stout, cider-bellied earth pony took an exaggerated stride out from behind the cart, and gave a quick, half-sarcastic bow. His janitor’s cap slid over his old, heavy eyes, and cast a shadow on his scruffy, greying moustache. His voice was unimpressive, and strangely accent-less. “Good luck, young wizard.” With a gesture only half as grand as himself, he whipped the cloth free and let it sink gently to the ground. Then, with a semi-serious bow, he left, whistling a non-tune.

“Master Starfire, we’d simply like you to do the following…”

A standard common-or-garden light bulb, the glass a milky-white transparency, sat upright on a smoothed wooden block, perched like a mother bird guarding her eggs. The student regarded the object for a moment, his head cocked and eyes trained.

“…the lightbulb on the cart before you is an ordinary, standardized Equestrian incandescent light. Solid glass bulb. Carbon filament. 30 swatz with a 13.5lthe. Standard fare. Mr Starfire, all we require to further your education within this establishment is for you to cause the bulb in question to illuminate by means of electric heat combustion via the carbon filament, using your own magical ability, without any additional aid…”

The barely feminine, robotic voice droned away in Starfire’s inattentive ears. He never broke eye contact with the solitary bulb, so cold and dark and... small. Inside, he was screaming with joy. This was his entry exam? An illumination spell? Pah, he’d been casting more complex spells in his sleep for years! The unicorn’s top lip quivered, just slightly, with anticipation, and he had to strangle back an ecstatic smile. Oh, he was going to ace this exam with flying colours.

“…representative of your final mark. Do you understand, Mr Starfire?”

Starfire’s eyes flashed as he gave the higher-ups a single nod. “For sure.”

The examiners exchanged cautious sideward glances. For the first time, they all felt a smidge of unanimous unease. “Quite. You may begin in your own time, Starfire.”

The colt could see his own reflection in the bulb as he stared it down, stretched and plump and strangely distorted, but still his reflection. His future. His destiny. He saw scholarships and scrolls, great tomes and steaks of magic, mana pools and laughing fools and the blue sky alight with black mortarboards, his name in books for eons. Starfire. Starfire. His spells and designs would be woven into the Equestrian psyche for all of time afterwards. He could make a difference. His destiny would shine so bright.

As bright as a light, as bright as a star.

All he had to do was use his magic to lig- no.

No.

This couldn’t be it, surely.

This couldn’t be the exam. The real exam.

This was far too easy.

He scrunched his lips narrowed his eyes. The visage faded.

“In your own time, Mr Starfire,” the voice repeated. The scratch of quill on paper.

What were they planning? Was this a test in itself?

“Mr Starfire, is everyth-“

“Yeah, yeah,” the blue unicorn snapped back, waving a nonchalant hoof in the general direction of his tutors. “I’ll do it in a minute. Piece of cake.”

He heard more quills being dragged along parchment. He heard their barely audible grunts, and their breathless mutterings.

What did they want from him?

He knew they didn’t want him to merely light a bulb. That was foal’s play. No, they wanted him to do something else, something spectacular, but what?

What, what, what?

He exhaled, slowly. He had to search for answers, for the light.

The light masked by the façade.

Yes.

That was it, his North Star.

He reapplied his lost smirk. He was so very smart.

The young unicorn lowered his head, closed his eyes, and concentrated. His felt his magic channel through his entire body, starting with a tingling sensation in his hooves, like the tickle of a feather. This electric tingle rose up his legs and into his stomach, along the length of his spine and ending at his unicorn horn. It was there that his magic gathered and compiled itself, forming a ball of gas that gave off little slithers of flame. All this happened in less than a second. Licks of fire enwrapped his horn, and he shivered pleasurably. His eyes sparkled. Oh, how very good casting magic felt… how very good he was at casting magic, for that matter.

Smiling all the while, growing wilder by the second, he felt the inferno spiral from his horn and envelop the bulb. It disintegrated in a second, glass melting away into smoke under the intense heat and pooling in molten gloops over the sides of the trolly. Steam rose like the wispy vapour of Tatrarus itself.

Twisting his head to the side, his sunset-illuminated blond mane brushing over his eyes, he strained for his voice to be heard above the sizzling and popping and roaring of inextinguishable heat, “See? I get it! Improving on design! Heat and light, multiplied, tenfold, practicality and efficiency!” He laughed, high and shrill, maniacal, a forebodingly pleased chortle.

The examiners stood up. Their faces told it all: they were in awe, waving their hooves to and fro, cheering. Even whilst keeping his ever-flowing beam steady, he allowed himself the liberty of a cocky, contented sigh. He was so in.

“Stop! Stop!”

“Cease at on-“

“Stop!”

“-Ou must stop immed-“

The orders took him aback. His peers were not cheering; they were yelling. Their faces were etched not with awe, but urgency. They did not clap, or wave in persuasion, but to grab his attention, to cease his efforts.

They wanted him to stop.

And yet he didn’t, he… couldn’t.

“Cease at once, Mr Starfire!” The professor with the fair hair barked over the continuous intolerable sound of belting flames. He cupped his mouth, and bellowed once more. “Cease your actions!”

“The examination,” glasses mare screeched, her voice all but drowned in the echo of fire, “Is over!” She held up her notepad, a bold red F scrawled over three-quarters of the page. She pointed to it with haste. “You failed, I’m afraid to say! Cease your magic, and,” her voice shook, “Please leave… the auditorium via the doors you came in! Thank you for your participation, and goo-“

“No!” The colt’s scream cracked, at that moment sounding no older than the youngest of foals. His magical stream dipped, his concentration broken. It wasn’t disappointment that oozed from his upturned mouth and wobbling chin, it was his genuine confusion. His saucer-like eyes, leaking with disorientation, were glued to the single scarlet letter that dominated the score sheet, the dizzyingly blurry red clawing into his mind. He couldn’t believe it.

He refused to believe it.

“No!” He shouted again, this time with more meaning, his youthful voice now deep and commanding. His eyes hurt. His brain felt too tight, all of a sudden. “No! You…” his chest heaved, his breath quickened, his teeth clenched. “You listen to me! I’ve worked too long, and too hard…”

“Your assessment is over, Mr Starfire. We’re afraid,” the examiner gulped, her words dry, “That your application was unsuccessful and…”

“You are NOT failing me!” Starfire screeched, spittle and impropriety angrily spat from his quivering muzzle. “You hear me?” His head twitched erratically, his pupils dilated, and his horn fizzled and popped. The board of examiners sank into their seats. In any other circumstance, they would have removed the troublesome non-student by force, but something was holding them back. The colt’s eyes… they spoke volumes of fury, and rage, and fire. “You can’t just… just destroy my entire future like this! What sort of respectable academy is this, that when a pupil with obvious superior talent… who thinks outside of the box… it’s not fair!” Tears streamed freely as golden electrical impulses sparked from his horn. The academics’ anxiety reached its peak.

“Sir, we’re sorry, but would you ple…”

“SHUT UP!” Starfire’s outburst was sharp, and violent. Hyperventilating, the unicorn clutched at his temples and repeated the stark command again and again, rising in an urgent and panicked, infernal crescendo. His entire world was falling apart.

“SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!”

His head was in a vice, getting tighter and tighter and tighter. He felt nothing from the neck down. Weightless. His horn clenched. He screamed. Whether it was in anger, or in pain, or both, he did not quite himself know.

Starfire knew not what happened after that particular moment. His entire body tingled, his stomach churning volcanically. The light made his eyes gush. He squeezed them closer together, tighter. Heat surrounded him. His horn felt like it was being ripped from his skull, violently. A sharp ringing in his ears deafened him. The ground collapsed from under him. He fell, and lay still.

An eternity passed in silence. It was beautifully calming, serine, almost.

Almost.

Starfire, choking down nausea, struggled to his feathery hooves, his head pounding to a phantastical inner drumbeat, and peeled open his sticky eyes.

The auditorium had been hit by some force of a vengeful god. Shattered rafters hung languidly from the cracked periwinkle ceiling, some laced with flame. At the back of the room, where the models and displays lay dismembered, the once colourful astrology chart was burning to embers; the stars were on fire. A gaping hole in the wall spooled sunlight into the otherwise dim and dingy scene, birdsong and distant laughter dancing along the beaming rays. Past the rows of toppled chairs, savagely ripped from their grounded metal supports and strewn messily about the slopped floor by some divine wrath, and through the thick, creamy smoke, pungent and slate and soupy, three disoriented academics stirred, coughing and hacking in a most unprofessional manner as ash invaded their lungs.

The forth, however, made not a sound. She lay slumped over the singed back rest of her seat, her body twisted into an unnatural shape, wisps of vapour gently wafting from her slightly blackened stomach as she occasionally twitched and spasmed. Her eyes stretched as wide as her mouth. She still clutched the results sheet in her trembling hoof. A perfectly circular hole, burnt around the smooth edges, had eradicated any trace of the colt’s final mark. Her head jittered, fell back, and lay still. Her glasses dropped to the floor, and the crack echoed throughout the examination hall.

And then the screaming began.

The chorus of howling wails pierced Starfire’s ears, but they did not flinch. He neither smiled, nor frowned. Whatever mask he adorned, he wore its inequine shapes naturally, comfortably. He teetered like a swaying statue. This wasn’t real, surely. Surely not so.

The two unicorn guards seemingly popped into existence from nowhere, for he heard no door open and no door close, conjured from but his crimes, and he felt their firm hooves cup him under the forearms, one at each side of his perfectly still body. Tugging with a numbing, electrical force, they hoisted the still staring Starfire skyward, and then onto his hind legs. His paralyzed head falling back, the student saw the faces of his captors, grey faces firm and unflinching, yet somewhat uneasy and glimmering with the faintest hint of fear. The guards tried to mirror his robotic gaze. “That’s it,” the silver haired campus security stallion muttered, half in disbelief, as they dragged him backwards, towards the heavy double doors from whence he had entered. “With us. Come on.”

His comrade bit his lip, his face a little hazy, and murmured something incomprehensible. The other nodded. The screaming prevailed. The ringing was unending. That horrible, incessant ringing that seemed to expand from Starfire’s skull, like the universe itself. The feathers of a Corinthian helmet tickled his snout. He felt sleepy.

Feeling less like a pony and more like a ragdoll, the colt was dragged back into the monotone waiting room, showing no signs of a struggle, the remaining sounds of distress fading as the doors swung shut. Thin cracks, like divides in the earth, ran along the top of the creamy walls now, and the decorative clock hung at an awkward angle, both hands frozen in time. Pressed against the far wall sat the five other potential candidates, a sea of staring eyes and gaping mouths, looking on at the colt’s forced removal from the exam room with all the morbidly excited curiosity that only an innocent child can muster, drawing their attention from the horn of the limp detainee, to his flank, and then, with even wider, more morbidly excited eyes, back to his horn. There was a unified eagerness, invigoration, arousal about them and their semi-smiles. Not in fear, or in malice, but in… something… they looked on at him, and before he was whisked from the old academy building altogether, two more inverted forms hovered into his upside-down view, struggling to match the speed of their son in transit.

His father’s face was aflutter was a thousand emotions, mouth hanging open under his mousey moustache, and the jovial creases on his forehead were visible etches of defeat. Oh, how Starfire expected him to look disappointed, angry even… but there was no wind or fire in the earth pony's squinted eyes, but something else, like uneasiness, no… terror. He was scared. The adults were scared. He was calling Starfire’s name, again and again and again, with rapid urgency. Tears.

But his mother’s face swooped in to the foreground of his vision. She said something, but the words were lost on him. Her nonchalance was nothing new. Unlike her emotionally distressed husband, the unicorn’s expression was slate, the pink fur under her chin seemingly darker than usual from the colt’s present angle. She chewed her lip a little, and flicked her tight fringe. She made no effort to intervene on the guards, opting instead to shake her head, take her betrothed by the shoulder and sigh, as clear as day, so robotically with only the faintest ember of sadness, “I told you so. I did tell you so.”

Mother always knew best, after all.

He winced as he felt asphalt scrape his sensitive back. The unicorn rolled dazedly over to the campus grass, silky and prickly, coughing, as the doors closed for good. One parent rushed to his aid. The other strolled.

He was so woozy. He felt so weak. He felt stronger than he ever had in his entire life.

Silly boy. Foolish boy.

Starfire knew his faults now. He was so oblivious before. His eyes had been opened. All it took was the end of his future. All it took was failure.

He was headstrong. He was delusional.

He was confident. He was insecure.

He was brave. He was timid.

He was charming. He was deceitful.

He could be better. He would be better.

He began to bawl.

Never again. Never, ever.

He’d take all those traits, all that he was, those leftovers, and lock them away in the back of his mind. Let them burden him no more.

He’d take them, and separate them.

He’d lock them all away.