"Good moments..." Rogue murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper, a faint smile crossing her face. "There aren't always many... but it's good to remember them."
Her voice sounded different—softer, just for a moment. As if a memory had caught up to her without warning. But the pause didn't last long.
"Alright, enough of that!" She shook her head and returned to her usual tone. "Time for action. You've rested enough. Now, let's move into a real simulation... let's see."
With precise movements, Rogue summoned her notebook once again. She held it afloat with her magic, flipping quickly through the pages, eyes scanning notes in search of something specific. She didn't say what it was, but the focus in her expression made it clear: it mattered.
I took advantage of the brief silence. I leaned back slightly and skimmed through the reports she'd left open earlier. Unlike Rogue's guidance—concise and focused—the documents were filled with hypothetical questions:
"What would happen if the creature doesn't react as expected?"
"What would happen if the sealed space absorbs surrounding energy?"
"What would happen if the containment team fails?"
Each scenario seemed more improbable and terrible than the last. But they were all real. Mistakes that had already happened. Prices someone had paid.
Reading them didn't feel like studying magic. It felt like reviewing tragedies.
Then, I heard the soft thud of her notebook closing. Rogue had found what she was looking for.
"Alright. Get up, apprentice... and keep your mind sharp. This time, the variables won't be so controlled."
The environment changed again.
I now stood in an open area, surrounded by a sea of trees so tall it felt like the entire forest had risen like a living mural around us. Sunlight still shone from above, but it barely filtered through the towering canopy. The shade on the ground was thick, not from magic, but from sheer natural density.
It was... uncomfortable.
Not because of fear, but because of the unknown. The vegetation didn't look like anything I had seen in the city. I had observed the trees outside Canterlot from the castle towers, but none were as grotesquely tall or wide as these.
Maybe... I thought, as my eyes scanned the twisted trunks and impossible branches, without ponies to cut them down, without roads to halt their growth, without magic stations to regulate the climate or the land... and with the world's magic flowing freely, these trees had grown without limits.
Just a hypothesis, of course. But I couldn't ignore the faint magical residue I sensed in the bark—like an ancient signature I couldn't recognize. It wasn't unicorn magic I was used to... nor anything I could easily classify.
"Just Everfree trees," Rogue said with a slight smile, noticing how distracted I was. "You should focus more on that."
She nodded toward the center of the clearing.
There, suspended in the air, a small black sphere floated unsteadily. Its surface trembled, almost as if it were trying to split. For a moment, it stretched and split like two drops of water in zero gravity, then fused again. The cycle repeated several times, pulsing, throbbing with a strange rhythm.
And then it grew.
It rose above my height effortlessly, expanding in the air as if space itself was stretching around it. Slowly, the sphere stabilized, taking on an oval shape and forming a shimmering purple frame, lined with starlike patterns spinning in unknown formations.
A portal.
Not just any portal. Not one I'd seen in academy books or basic simulations.
This one was different.
I didn't fully understand how it had opened or what spell had created it. In fact, the strangest part... was that I felt no magic coming from it. Quite the opposite. The portal was absorbing the magic around it. Drawing it in slowly but constantly, as if the very air was being funneled into its core.
And yet, the forest didn't react. The ambient magic remained just as dense, just as wild. As if that loss meant nothing against the enormity of what surrounded us. A magical ecosystem without end, too vast to be disturbed by a single anomaly.
That's when I saw it.
A limb emerged through the portal first. Long. Thin. Its skin barely covering sinewy muscles that moved with unnatural rhythm.
Then, the rest of the body followed.
A quadrupedal creature, distorted in proportion, with a head that resembled—but failed to fully mimic—some kind of animal. Twisted, grotesque fangs. A long tongue hanging loosely to the side. Its gait was uneven, but not clumsy. It moved with purpose. It understood the space.
Its head was encased in some form of exoskeleton, and where eyes should have been, there were only dark voids. No pupils. No reflection. Just darkness.
And yet, I knew it was looking at me.
From the moment it crossed the threshold, I felt its attention pierce through me like an invisible needle.
The creature straightened its chest, making itself look bigger, more threatening. It tilted its head, almost curiously.
But not toward the forest. Not toward Rogue.
Only at me.
It ignored the mare who had summoned it, as if she didn't even exist. Its full attention was locked onto me, analyzing, calculating. As if it were trying to understand what exactly stood before its eyeless gaze.
Its movements were slow, deliberate...
Until they weren't.
Its body tensed, and before I could fully grasp what was happening—
The blow hit me like lightning.
The creature had been gathering power in its legs since the moment it emerged. The shifts in its posture, the movement of its head, the puffed chest... all of it had been a trick. A distraction. One it had used many times before: draw focus with the grotesque, the impossible, the inhuman.
————————
In the blink of an eye, the creature shot toward him.
A direct leap. A precise move. A trap.
But Wizbell's eyes followed it. A step behind, yes… but his magical sense never lost sight of it. He felt the distortion in the air before the leap. The rupture of energy when the creature pushed off with its legs. The shift in flow as its body crossed the distance.
That was what saved him.
The blow landed with brutality, slamming into his side.
But the magic shield —triggered more by instinct than intent— held up against the impact. The spell wasn't elegant, nor perfect… but it did its job.
Wizbell's eyes jolted fiercely as the charge hit him. There was no time to form a complete defense. Only reaction. Magic funneled to a single point, just in time.
A reflex.
More animal than technical.
————————
At that moment, Rogue was gone. She had vanished from the scene as if she had never been there. And with her absence, the room —the simulation, the environment, whatever it was— changed completely.
It no longer felt like a supervised setting.
It felt real.
Like in a dream, where you forget you're dreaming. Even in lucid ones, that line sometimes blurs. The same thing happened here. The thin barrier between test and real danger vanished the instant the blow struck Wizbell's body.
The sense of controlled safety disappeared.
His mind and instinct —as if they were one— chose a path few would even consider in such moments, let alone a pony. A creature of peaceful nature. Friendly. Civilized.
But Wizbell was not a typical pony.
He was launched by the attack, his body bouncing and rolling uncontrollably across the ground. There was no way to stop the inertia until the force of the impact dissipated and his body —though aching— still responded.
He got up. Unsteady. Breathing raggedly.
And the creature was already on him.
Surprised, perhaps, by his survival. Or maybe just determined to finish the job. It didn't hesitate to strike again. This time, its claw was raised, aimed directly at his eye, ready to plunge without mercy.
But it didn't land.
The magic pulse burst forth at the same moment Wizbell let out a cry of fury, staring straight at the creature, defiant. It was a brutal wave, formless, with no specific spell behind it — just power unleashed by sheer will to survive.
His breath was erratic and unsteady, like his stance. He could barely stay on his hooves, but his eyes remained locked onto his enemy.
A hum vibrated through the entire field, warping the air with its echo.
The creature was hurled backward violently, but unlike Wizbell, it twisted midair to force a crash landing, trying to bleed off some of the momentum with an instinctive maneuver. Still, the impact was brutal — it skidded across the ground and slammed into one of the Everfree trees. The crash boomed like a dry thunderclap.
And the field fell silent... if only for a moment.
But that moment was enough.
Wizbell regained his clarity the instant the silence wrapped around him. Just a second ago, his only wish had been to make the creature go away… and his magic had answered that wish with brutal honesty.
An impulsive trick. Effective, but costly.
He felt the drain immediately. The throb in his horn. The tug of gathered energy from his marrow. It wasn't sustainable.
He couldn't do that again.
He quickly reviewed his spell repertoire. Basic formation, theoretical drills, elemental applications… nothing useful for this kind of fight. He still had much to learn. His studies were incomplete. His training, ongoing.
And running wasn't an option.
Not with a creature like this.
Its explosive speed crushed any hope of gaining distance.
Maybe if he used Flash… but that spell wouldn't work. Not now.
The ground he'd gain would be a joke compared to the creature's speed. It might save him once… but not again.
Not if the creature adapted.
As his mind raced to analyze, the creature rose with distorted growls. Its body twitched unnaturally—and in an instant, it launched itself again. This time, not in a straight line.
It leapt, zigzagging with unsettling intelligence, breaking patterns to avoid prediction, moving with both power and calculation. It was closing in like a living nightmare.
But the moment it entered Wizbell's magical perception radius, something changed.
The unicorn felt it. Every shift in direction. Every burst of muscle energy. Every intent. His gaze adjusted, his breathing steadied. His magic aligned.
"Telekinesis… is the answer," he murmured to himself, more an affirmation than an idea.
His horn lit up with a steady glow—not overflowing, but focused. Disciplined by necessity.
Around him, several hands of magical energy began to form, invisible to the naked eye but fully present in the magical flow. They were precise, silent... ready.
And the creature, unknowingly, was diving straight into them.
Each magical hand floating around Wizbell was no accident.
They were the result of years taming his power. Hours of frustration. Days of effort. Weeks of failed repetition. Discipline made tangible, in that instant, when he needed it most.
His magic was more than ready.
The creature made a powerful leap to close the distance. It was already in his range.
It could already taste its prey.
Without hesitation, it launched into the final jump, ready to strike… but then, something invisible struck its neck, yanking it mid-air with a brutal tug that knocked the wind out of it.
More impacts followed, unseen, wrapping around its body. One after another, magical hands lifted it from the ground in a blink, forcing it to float before it could react. There was no defense. No evasion.
Only the sudden sensation of being trapped.
In that moment, its hollow black eyes locked onto the unicorn with fury.
Wizbell stared back.
Steady.
Focused.
There was no confusion now. No awe. Only cold determination and a stable stance he hadn't shown before.
The creature understood.
It had been tricked by its prey.
And that enraged it.
A guttural scream burst from its throat as it twisted, trying to tear apart the magical restraints holding it midair.
It gathered magic wildly, trying to lash out with an energy surge to disrupt Wizbell's control. A chaotic blast, like a beast kicking at the walls of its cage. But Wizbell sensed it coming.
He sensed everything.
Every pressure wave. Every flicker of resistance. Every clumsy thrust trying to squeeze through weak points in his spell. But Wizbell didn't reinforce it. He didn't fight back.
He let the creature waste its energy, knowing every failed attempt left it weaker.
But this wasn't a victory.
Not yet.
Both stood at a midpoint. A tense truce, upheld by magic and willpower.
Wizbell had to find a way to end it. To seal it, scatter it, destroy it… something.
The creature only needed one opening.
A moment of distraction.
One second of vulnerability to finish the job.
And they both knew it.
"Think… think…" Wizbell's voice was barely a whisper—an internal echo between ragged breaths.
His eyes swept across the suspended creature, scanning each part in desperate urgency. His magical gift—that sixth sense that sometimes felt like a curse—fed him unfiltered information:
Four hearts.
A twisted magic core floating among them like a parasite… or a battery.
A segmented skeletal structure, built not to protect but to resist bending and breaking.
Muscles pulsing out of sync, as if each part of the body obeyed a different rhythm.
It was horrific, yes. But also logical.
Built with a purpose: to survive and to hunt.
And the more he studied it, the clearer it became.
The creature was adapting. Each new attempt to break free was more efficient, more targeted. Its muscles no longer thrashed at random—they now contracted with precision, probing the weak points in the telekinetic hands holding it. Its grin—grotesque and jagged like a torn wound—widened.
It understood.
The creature knew exactly what was happening. It knew Wizbell was reaching his limit.
And it didn't try to escape.
It didn't need to.
It was just waiting.
Waiting for the exact moment.
That split second when the unicorn faltered.
That narrow space between one spell depleted… and the next not yet cast.
And it was counting it down, eyes locked on him.
Wizbell swallowed hard.
He couldn't wait any longer. He had to act.
And then, like a lightning bolt cutting through confusion, the idea struck him.
A memory.
A concept.
An attack not of this world.
Destructive.
Raw.
Designed to break, to tear without mercy.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't subtle. But it would work.
Wizbell let out a breath—not of relief, but of resolve. His eyes stopped searching, and his magic began to move with new purpose.
He gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what was coming. The price of releasing that kind of magic. The cost of breaking the balance.
But he had no choice.
His horn began to glow, and with it, magic gathered in a raw and violent swirl, forming a dense, unstable sphere at the tip. A concentration of power that defied the teachings of control and elegance. This was the opposite. Pure instinct, funneled through a spell copied from a world not his own.
And in that moment, his grip on the creature snapped.
The telekinetic hands vanished like smoke. The creature grinned the moment it felt freedom. Its grotesque tongue slid between its fangs as it descended, savoring the fall like a prelude to the final hunt. It knew what it was going to do. It knew it could kill him.
It landed with a deformed grace, crouched like a predator that had played too long with its prey. Its hind legs coiled with power. Its eyes—if they could still be called that—locked on Wizbell with delight.
And then, it struck.
The creature, having pulled back its arm, unleashed it with brutal speed, straight toward the unicorn's eyes, which stared back with defiance… and determination.
An expression it meant to shatter.
A deep, hollow laugh rose from the creature's gut as it watched, in sadistic glee, its claw inching toward the unicorn's face.
But then…
A flash blinded it.
A white blink engulfed everything.
And for an instant, it thought it saw two unicorns before it.
It looked down, confused, at its outstretched arm. The attack had missed. It had only grazed the unicorn's cheek.
It looked forward again.
Two.
No…
Not two. It was the same one. Only now, its vision had been forcibly split.
....
..
.
Back to Wizbell: the moment he released control, he didn't hesitate. He couldn't risk holding both. Control and attack. That was an invitation to failure. To magical rebound. To death.
So he channeled all his power into one action.
His magic circle spun at an unnatural speed. Magic surged violently through his body, like a flooded river still obeying its course. A sphere of energy formed with surgical precision, so dense it warped the air around it.
And then the word came to him, clear as a key. As a sentence:
[Cero]
The shot wasn't a burst.
It was a cut.
A beam of pure magic, straight as a lance of light, fired from the compressed sphere of power that floated before him, just as the creature appeared in front of him.
The creature's body split in two clean halves, separated by a perfect line. It died in midair, mid-attack, sliced before it ever touched the ground.
Both halves landed to Wizbell's sides, dragged by the momentum of their failed strike.
A drop of blood slid down his cheek; the wound had only just started to bleed.
As if the world itself was slow to accept what had just happened.
Silence.
————————
Rogue watched from within the magical distortion of the room, hidden in the folds of the enchantment that veiled the space. The chamber was designed to adapt, to freeze just before the final blow. Everything was carefully planned. Direct supervision. Total control.
The script was clear.
Wizbell was to be pushed to the edge—not to win, but to understand. To feel the reality of being a Warden. To face the inevitable. To know when there is no escape.
When the creature made its final strike, the simulation would halt automatically. The lesson would be brutal, but safe. Unforgettable. Everything was within protocol.
Until it wasn't.
Sweat trailed down her neck when she saw the impossible.
Wizbell broke the cycle.
It wasn't a defensive spell. Nor evasive. Nor one taught by instructors. It was something entirely new, born from nowhere… and made to destroy.
A sphere of compressed magic, released as a beam. Precise. Lethal.
A magic they'd never taught him.
She didn't recognize the formula, the structure, the construct. Nothing from the Academy's repertoire came close. And the way he executed it…
It wasn't by chance.
This wasn't an accident.
It was a natural response to the threat. An instinct.
Rogue watched in silence, her face frozen as the creature disintegrated before Wizbell—no blood, no body, no shadow. Only black ash in the air, like all things that didn't belong to this world.
And Wizbell still stood. Breathing hard. Watching. Not afraid. Not confused… just processing.
That was not the mind of an ordinary pony.
That was a Variant.
One born ready to face the abyss.
And they hadn't seen it coming.
That was a Variant.
The conclusion crossed Rogue's mind like a hushed whisper, but she couldn't stop it. The channeled aggression, the capacity for lethal decisions under pressure, the mastery of unknown magical forms…
It all fit.
And yet, Wizbell wasn't a Variant. No record. No emotional markers. No signs of instability. He hadn't been classified.
And still, there he was, standing in the middle of the field, breath ragged, eyes fixed on where the creature had vanished… as if already calculating the next move.
Wizbell might not notice it—but she did. That smile. Subtle. Barely tugging at the corner of his muzzle. A smile of satisfaction… of adrenaline after a good fight.
A smile she had seen before.
Many times.
Always in them.
Rogue frowned but said nothing. No records. No history. No warnings.
Did they misjudge him?
Or did they simply not know him at all?
The doubt stayed with her for a moment. Then, she buried it.
This wasn't the time.
The training had to continue. The questions, for now, would go unanswered.
————————
My lungs ached.
Each breath reminded me of the blow that had knocked the air out of me minutes before. My right side burned with every inhale, like an invisible splinter had lodged itself deep inside. I snorted—more annoyed at myself than at the pain.
I got distracted. I knew it. And I knew how dangerous that was.
But… I wasn't ready. Not for that abrupt shift. From calmly studying protocols to fighting for my life against something that didn't belong in this world. How was anyone supposed to adapt like that?
Then a thought hit me like lightning:
"Wait… this is a simulation."
The ground still trembled beneath my hooves. The air was thick with residual magic from the spell I'd cast. But something inside me—maybe my magical sense, maybe just my mind coming back online—started reconnecting to reality.
This isn't real. Not entirely.
I looked around again.
The forest was still there.
The sky still hung overhead.
The creature… was gone.
But Rogue wasn't there.
I couldn't sense her. Not visually. Not magically. As if she had vanished with the creature.
"Rogue?" I asked quietly, receiving no immediate answer.
I turned, alert, pulse still wild from everything that had happened. And then, with a soft pop of magical distortion, she appeared a few meters behind me. Calm. With her usual expression… though her eyes said something else.
"You've got surprises, kid," Rogue said, materializing with that half-sarcastic, half-genuine tone she used when something truly surprised her. "Well, I hope now you understand how serious our job is."
She took a few calm steps toward me.
"That was just a simulation of what a Rank D creature can do. One with no magical control, barely beginning to adapt to our world's energy."
I stood still. Nodded silently.
But in my mind… something dropped like a stone, slotting into place.
That was a Rank D creature.
Not B.
Not A.
D.
One of the lowest ranks in the interdimensional threat system… and it almost killed me.
"I think that wraps up your first day of training," Rogue went on, like nothing had happened. "This trip's been intense, so… here!"
She tossed something with her magic, and I had to react fast to catch it. A bundle of five thick books dropped in front of me, bound by an enchanted protection band. Something glowed faintly on top.
"You can study those while getting treated," she said without pausing. "Some medics will be here shortly to patch you up."
"Note: only someone with a Warden badge can read those books," she added with a casual gesture. "That's the one on top of the purple book. Don't lose it."
And with that, she walked away, as if she hadn't just seen me unleash unauthorized magic. As if it was just another step in the training.
A door appeared in the middle of the field, blinking into existence. Four unicorns in medical coats entered with practiced precision, ready to assist me. They barely spoke. Everything was choreographed.
The scenery shifted again.
The field vanished, replaced by the clean lights of a field hospital. Cots. Energy panels. Instruments floating silently.
I let them work on me.
I was exhausted—physically and mentally. But while the medics did their job, my eyes returned to the badge.
A shield.
Two crossed swords.
And a single open eye at the top, etched in fine magical detail.
I lifted it carefully.
The badge.
As I stared at it, my mind returned to the battle, piece by piece, in no particular order. Moments passed like scattered fragments: the impact, the movement, the creature, the spell… the pressure.
An incomplete puzzle I tried to piece together in silence, trying to understand what worked, what failed, what was just instinct.
I didn't speak. I didn't move. I just thought.
I could still feel the magic spinning faintly inside me—like embers beneath ash.