The walk to the bazaar wasn't long, but by this hour the town was already beginning to fully wake up. The sky, clear just a short while ago, now held a few fluffy clouds drifting about rather erratically. When I looked up, it didn't take long to spot Rainbow Dash and Flash Storm maneuvering in the air, pushing the clouds around and bumping into each other like turning weather control into a competition was standard procedure.
They both looked busy. Although, knowing them, "busy" probably meant "having a race that happens to clear the sky."
I didn't interrupt. I just looked up and gave a nod. Flash returned the gesture with a quick smile before flipping through another cloud in an unnecessarily showy roll. Rainbow Dash yelled something that vaguely sounded like "legit cheating!" but they kept up their aerial choreography without losing altitude.
I kept walking, crossing the town square. The smell of freshly baked bread was beginning to drift through the air, and my stomach reacted with a small pang of anticipation.
That's when I ran into Applejack, just dragging her cart full of apples toward the center of town.
"Hey! Mornin'!" she called out cheerfully, waving a hoof when our eyes met.
I approached at a calm pace and fell in step beside her, walking alongside on the still-cool morning path.
"That's some strength…" I commented, glancing at the cart. "It's packed to the brim. They all look big, juicy… and polished?"
Applejack smiled with a touch of pride.
"Course they are. If it's gonna be sold, it's gotta look good first," she said firmly.
"Honestly, I thought you'd already have your stall set up. I usually see you pass by my place much earlier."
"That'd be the usual, yeah," she admitted with a short sigh. "But Big Mac's been feelin' under the weather lately, so I had to take my little sister to school this mornin'. Then I went back to finish up the harvest. Just now bringin' the goods in."
"I see. Sounds like a busy morning."
"A little," she said with a shrug. "But nothin' a good day's work can't fix. And you? Shouldn't you still be holed up in that magic lab of yours?"
I gave her a sidelong look—but not without a small smile.
"'Holed up' is one way to put it. 'Isolated,' maybe. 'Protected from flying pastries,' definitely."
"That reminds me," Applejack added with an amused look, "Pinkie Pie says no matter what cupcake or confetti she throws, she can't get in. Says you've got seals, traps, or worse… and that you're probably hidin' all sorts of fun stuff in there."
"Just a mirror that sticks its tongue out if you stare too long," I replied flatly. "I made it when I got bored. Just messing around with illusion magic."
Applejack looked at me like I'd just said I use a meteorite as a paperweight.
"Well, that's one way to have fun, I guess."
"That's why it's good to get out," she added with a kind smile. "So you can spend time with others and chase off that boredom. And if you ever get that bored again, you're welcome at Sweet Apple Acres. There's always something to do to keep boredom away… even if it's just haulin' apple sacks 'til you forget about mirrors that stick out their tongues."
"Sometimes work helps clear your head," she went on, glancing sidelong at my back. "Also wouldn't mind seein' if those muscles of yours actually do anything… or if they're just for show."
She bumped my shoulder playfully, not maliciously—but with enough strength to make me stumble half a step.
"Tsk… it's posture magic," I answered dryly. "They're just there so ponies don't worry about me."
Applejack laughed heartily, clearly pleased.
"Well, if you ever feel up to it, there's always work on the farm. I mean it, Wizbell. Not everything worth doin' comes with a spell."
I nodded, and though I didn't say anything, that phrase lingered in my head.
I walked beside Applejack until we reached her usual stall—a rustic but solid wooden structure with an orange canopy I'd seen endure rain and wind without even flinching.
The cart was still full to the brim, and though Applejack didn't say it out loud, it was clear that doing all of it alone would be slow… and potentially dangerous if a crate slipped.
Before she could open her mouth to say anything, I was already channeling my magic.
"Let me help," I said simply.
"Oh, that's not really nec—"
The words didn't even finish. The crates began floating one by one, sorting themselves by size, color, and apple type. Some spun in the air to present their shiniest side, and the baskets lined up along the counter as if guided by an invisible choreography.
Applejack watched in silence, one brow raised and a small smile she didn't bother to hide.
"Well now… you could sell tickets for a live setup show."
"Technically, this falls under 'elemental telekinesis with aesthetic tuning,' but… yeah. Works for fruit displays too."
Once everything was in place, I released the spell gently. The crates landed with perfect precision, not a single wobble.
Applejack stepped up, checking that nothing had been knocked around.
"Not bad," she said, nodding. "Quick, clean, and not a single apple out of place. I like your style."
Without another word, she dipped her muzzle into one of the crates and pulled out two shiny apples. She offered them to me without a word.
"Here. For the help."
"You didn't have to," I replied, though I took the apples with my magic anyway.
"I sure did," she countered firmly. "At Sweet Apple Acres, we pay for help with apples. Family tradition."
"Then thank you," I said, storing them in a compartment of my bag where Stella couldn't reach them without permission.
A soft little whine echoed from inside.
"Was that an apple? Give me half, Wiz…"
"No," I replied flatly, not even looking.
Applejack let out a small chuckle.
"Take care, alright? And good luck with whatever it is you're gearing up for."
I nodded.
"See you around."
Not even a minute later, ponies began approaching Applejack's stall. It seemed like all it took was seeing her set up for the town's routine to kick into full swing. In seconds, she was already greeting ponies and handing out apples with her usual vibrant energy.
I continued on, leaving behind the rising murmur of buyers, and focused on the floating list spinning slowly in front of me. Enchanted chalk. Paper sheets. Minor crystals. Auto-writing quills. Nothing unusual, but definitely specific.
I walked through the bazaar's rows, mentally noting where each thing was sold. As I moved along, I felt a subtle shift in my bag. Nothing drastic, but definitely suspicious.
I slid my magic inward without even looking.
"Stella…" I said flatly as a light magical tug recovered the apple she'd tried to sneak from the hidden compartment. "It hasn't even been ten minutes."
"It was just half! The shiny side! For inspiration!" she protested in her high-pitched voice from inside the bag, like an unappreciated artist caught in the act of culinary larceny.
"Inspiration doesn't include stealing supplies."
After collecting everything I needed from several traveling vendors—some more organized than others—I stored the materials neatly into compartments inside my magic bag, protected by floating and cushioning enchantments. Nothing out of the ordinary.
With the list complete, I headed to a milkshake stand at the edge of the bazaar. The sign, slightly crooked but bright, advertised exotic and classic flavors, all topped with whipped cream and sprinkles. I stepped up to the counter.
"One extra-large banana milkshake… and one strawberry with grapes to go," I said clearly.
They didn't take long. As soon as I had both shakes, I made my way to one of the tables shaded by a large umbrella. I sat under the cover, letting the cool comfort of the shade wrap around me while I placed my milkshake on the table.
As expected, Stella had already begun stretching her front legs out of the magic bag, flailing them like she was trapped in a fruit-deprived pit of despair.
"Here we go…" I muttered, floating her shake toward her.
She grabbed it with both forelegs from inside the bag and only then let out a short, satisfied meow.
"Thanks."
She didn't lift her head. Just a soft swirl of stardust drifted up from the edge of the bag—clear sign she was extremely busy enjoying herself.
Meanwhile, I took a long sip of my own, letting the sweet taste of banana cool my thoughts just a little.
And there, in that relative calm, my mind wandered back to the school.
How should I start the class?
How would the foals react?
What if one of them hit me with a wild spell?
What if they were all worse than Stella?
I was mid-spiral in that parade of scenarios when something snapped me right out of it.
A tight hug wrapped around me like a magical net of pure energy.
"WIZYYYYYY!"
It nearly knocked me out of my chair. The milkshake wobbled, Stella squeaked something about "safe zone compromised!" and my magic bag trembled from pure structural indignation.
But, by some combination of reflexes, passive stabilization magic, and personal cosmic chaos, I managed to stay in place. Barely.
Lyra was shaking me like she needed to confirm I was real and not some magic-induced hallucination from sugar overload.
"I can't believe you're out here, drinking a milkshake like a functional pony!" she exclaimed. "And in the shade, too!"
"It's a regular table," I said, adjusting the milkshake to make sure it didn't meet an untimely end.
"Lies! You don't do regular things, Wizy. You do weird, complicated things that are sometimes illegal in certain kingdoms," she added with a huge grin before plopping herself down without asking.
Before I could react, she launched her usual barrage of questions with the precision of a tracking spell.
"How have you been? Are you eating properly? Sleeping at all? Taking baths? Still living like a lab hermit? Did you know Pinkie has a bet going that one day you'll walk out covered in cobwebs? Why don't you come out more? How's your mental health? How's your skin?"
I blinked.
"I'm… functional," I said.
"Aha," she scoffed. "That answers nothing. I swear, if I pass by your house one day and hear an explosion and find you turned into a statue by accident, I won't even be surprised. I'll just scream."
"I've been fine. Researching. Living. Breathing."
"Eating?" she stared at me like that was the real test.
"More or less."
"Wizy…!" she said, half scolding, half affectionate.
"And you," I deflected before she could try and force broccoli up my nose, "where have you been hiding?"
"Rehearsals! Concerts! A quartet competition where someone fainted from a flute note! And a party where instruments were used as weapons! I wanted to visit you, but I couldn't find a moment! I'm sorry! I missed you, you grumpy little library hermit!"
She ended that with a light tap on my shoulder, followed by a genuine smile. Then she took a sip from my milkshake without asking.
Lyra took another sip—this time from her own milkshake, which apparently she'd gotten at some point without me noticing—and narrowed her eyes at me like she was investigating a cosmic mystery.
"So… why'd you come out? What made my introverted, grumpy, and adorably reclusive Wizy leave his magical, ultra-cozy cave—which I'm sure it is, knowing you?"
"First," I said, raising an eyebrow, "it's not a cave. It's a laboratory. Big difference."
"Uh-huh. Does it have an integrated kitchen, climate control, a private library, and self-making beds?"
"And an automatic tea dispenser by time slot," I added proudly.
"Then it's a luxury cave," she concluded with a mischievous grin.
I sighed, but didn't deny it.
"I came out because I needed supplies. Basic stuff."
"'Basic' like…?"
"Paper. Chalk. Low-grade crystals. Crayons."
Lyra narrowed her eyes.
"That sounds suspiciously educational."
"Because it's for teaching," I finally said, with the calm of someone dropping a magic bomb and staying to watch the blast. "I'll be the new magic teacher at the school here in Ponyville."
Lyra nearly choked on her milkshake.
She coughed once, then again, and smacked her chest with a hoof while trying to catch her breath.
"You what?!"
I didn't answer. I just looked at her with a raised eyebrow while taking another sip of my drink, as if I'd just mentioned the weather was nice.
She glanced up at the sky as if looking for divine confirmation or a giant floating sign that read "Wizbell Star, new magic teacher," then looked back at me with eyes shining like she'd just received the best news of the week.
"Really?! Seriously, seriously?! You, teaching?!"
She let out an excited giggle. "I knew this would happen someday! You've always given magical lectures even when no one asked! And now it's official!"
"They weren't lectures," I corrected with feigned annoyance. "They were fundamental explanations to correct alarming conceptual errors."
"Exactly! That! Academically aggressive magic sermons!"
Stella peeked out from the edge of the bag, licking milkshake off her whiskers.
"I say by day three he's drawing magical circles in crayon and giving out impossible homework."
"I won't give impossible homework… just demanding ones," I corrected gently.
Lyra smacked the table enthusiastically, like she'd just won a bet that only existed in her head.
"This is going to be amazing! Those foals don't know how lucky they are! When do you start?"
"Soon. Very soon. I just need to deliver the signed letter to the mayor."
"Want me to come with? That way you won't chicken out at the last minute!" she joked, standing up with the energy of a small hurricane.
"I'm just going to Town Hall, Lyra. Not on a diplomatic mission."
"Every job's a mission if you add some flair to it!"
I stared at her in silence for a moment.
"You had sugar this morning, didn't you?"
"No…"
Her eyes drifted subtly to the left for a few seconds. Then she looked back at her milkshake… then at mine.
"Well, yes."
I nodded, saying nothing more.
Stella let out a purring snicker from the bag.
"Emotional fructose overload detected."
"It's natural energy!" Lyra shot back with a shameless grin. "Besides, someone has to balance out your constant aura of 'elegant exhaustion.'"
"It's not exhaustion, it's control."
"Right, right. Control—with dark circles."
I lifted my milkshake in a silent toast.
She mimicked the gesture.
And for a moment… it felt like being back in those days when questions were simple, conversations were long, and the world—though strange—felt a bit more manageable with someone close by.
I took another sip and, without looking directly at her, asked with genuine curiosity:
"Did the spells we worked on at school help? For your concerts, I mean."
Lyra lowered her milkshake for a moment, surprised by the question, like she hadn't expected me to remember something so specific.
"The acoustic spells? And the directional echo amplification one?"
I nodded.
"Of course!" she replied immediately, excited. "They were a total success! The echo one was a bit tricky to calibrate at first," she said, miming the act of tuning an invisible string with her hooves, "but once it worked… wow! In a closed space, it sounded like we were performing in a massive theater. And it was just a warehouse converted into a stage!"
"It's a formula very sensitive to humidity," I commented, unable to stop myself.
"Yes! We figured that out when one of the musicians was sweating too much and the echo bounced weird," she laughed. "But it was amazing. Thanks for that, Wizy. I didn't say it before because… well, I've been running around like crazy, and you live in full ghost mode."
"Efficient mode, you mean."
"World-hiding mode," she corrected, laughing. "But yes, I used them. And everyone was impressed. Someone even asked if I had a professional unicorn working for me… and I said no."
"Thanks…" I said, though I wasn't exactly sure what I was thanking her for.
"You're welcome. Just remember that when you become famous as the best teacher in the world, I was your unofficial music-spell student before anyone else."
I smiled a little. Just a bit.
Lyra finished the last sip of her milkshake with a satisfied sigh and gave me that look—an odd mix of excitement and mischief that only she could pull off without being overwhelming.
"Well… even though I really, really want to stick around and see how you handle this whole teaching thing," she said, tapping the table, "especially how you plan to manage hyperactive, curious fillies..."
She paused dramatically and pointed a hoof at me like passing judgment.
"I want to see that miracle with my own eyes."
"It's a structured and well-planned job," I replied, though even to me, it sounded like a lie.
"Uh-huh, sure," she laughed. "But I have to get to Manehattan for a concert this afternoon. And if I don't leave now, I'll show up late with no time to rehearse with the orchestra. And you know what happens if I start without tuning!"
"The flute explodes?"
"The conductor explodes!" she corrected with a dramatic gesture.
She floated her suitcase to her side and began to back away, but then stopped, lowered her gaze for a moment, and smiled softly.
"See you later, Wizzy. And I might show up to one of your classes, so don't kick me out when I do. I want to see you explain what an etheric overload is without putting the foals to sleep."
She threw herself into a quick but tight hug—warm, like the old days. And before I could respond, she spun around and trotted off, her suitcase floating behind her, swaying like it was waving goodbye too.
"Don't blow anything up without me!" she shouted without looking back.
"I'll try…" I murmured, more to myself than to her.
And there I stayed, alone again beneath the umbrella, with a half-finished milkshake, a completed list, and a letter in my bag waiting to be delivered.