The fillies entered the schoolhouse from every corner of the garden, like a small overflowing river returning to its natural course. They took their seats at the little tables, still buzzing with the energy of recess. Some settled down immediately, others giggled and argued over who would sit with whom, but in the end, they all found their place. There were laughs, whispers... and furtive glances cast in my direction.
I counted them with my eyes. Over thirty. Thirty-four, to be exact… fillies. Many shared desks; others sat alone, their forehooves neatly placed on the desk, waiting for what was to come.
An insignificant number compared to the packed classrooms of my childhood, but enough to create a subtle pressure. Thirty-four pairs of curious, attentive eyes. Some looked at me with admiration; others with that mix of boldness, mischief, and innocence that only a filly can have.
To many of them, this would be just another class. To me, it was a testing ground.
Miss Cheerilee signaled to me from her desk, tidying up some papers with her usual kindness. Then she turned to her students with a calm smile.
"Attention, girls. As I mentioned before, today we have a very special guest teacher. His name is Wizbell Star, and he will be your new magic tutor. Starting today, he'll be joining us regularly from ten to twelve, to teach you about the magical world unicorns can discover through study, patience, and practice."
A soft murmur spread among the desks. Some fillies straightened up; others smiled with barely contained excitement.
"He also studied in Canterlot and has been through many adventures," Cheerilee continued, casting me a knowing glance, as if she knew exactly how many of those adventures could —or couldn't— be spoken about out loud. "So please, give him a warm welcome."
She barely waited a second, and as if she'd cast a synchrony spell, all their voices rang out in unison:
"Welcome, Professor Wizbell!"
I nodded calmly, just a slight dip of my head. I wasn't there to impress. Only to teach.
Or so I kept telling myself.
"Delighted to meet such curious souls," I began, projecting my voice without raising it. "I'd love to teach magic to all of you… as some of you already asked during recess, magic exists in each of you, and in everything around you. But what we'll study here —at least for now— is a very specific kind of magic: unicorn spellcraft."
Several little ears perked up. A few heads tilted, confused by the term.
"And while I know that may sound unfair… it's simply because it's the only path I know well. Teaching magic isn't like telling a story or showing a flower. If I make a mistake, if I guide you wrong, it could put you in danger. So, for now, I can only offer practical lessons to your unicorn classmates, because that's the path I've walked with my own hooves."
I paused. I wanted them to understand this wasn't favoritism, but responsibility.
"That doesn't mean that those of you —who don't have a horn— are outside the magical world. On the contrary. Some of the most amazing abilities I've seen don't come from spells, but from ponies who understand the world through their hearts, through harmony… or even through their own hooves. But that's another class, and another teacher."
The murmur that followed was brief, restrained, almost vibrant. It didn't distract me.
"So, if you can," I said calmly, voice steady and smooth, "those of you with horns… come with me. It's time to be guided into the astral."
The fillies stood up one by one, some more confidently than others, their gazes settling on me with a mixture of anticipation and mild confusion. There was no rush in their steps, but there was a contained energy, like they didn't know whether this was a formal lesson or a spontaneous adventure.
One of them, a light lilac filly with curly mane, spoke up in a clear and honest tone:
"Should we bring our stuff?"
I shook my head gently, offering a small smile.
"No. I already have everything you'll need with me. You can store your things in your backpacks or leave them in your desks if you prefer. We won't be using them today."
That seemed to put them at ease. Some returned briefly to their desks to awkwardly organize their supplies, while others just shoved notebooks and pencils into the compartment beneath the seat with a hoof.
A bespectacled filly struggled to close her backpack, fighting with a stubborn zipper, until a classmate helped with a gentle tug of magic. I smiled inwardly. Spellcraft hadn't even started, but the gestures of support were already present.
Once they were all ready, I turned around and walked toward the side exit of the classroom, where the garden air was already drifting in with the rustle of ponies and leaves.
"Follow me," was all I said, without looking back.
And they did.
Little hooves echoed softly against the wooden floor as they walked. Some whispered to each other, others stayed quiet, focused. Once outside, their steps instinctively slowed. They already knew the stone structure that served as my classroom, but now they looked at it with new eyes.
Today, they weren't here to play under its shadow. They were here to cross its threshold as apprentices.
Once inside, I walked slowly to the blackboard and my desk. The fillies paused just at the entrance, huddled together as if crossing the threshold was more solemn than it really was. They watched me in silence, waiting for a cue.
"Come in," I said with a calm tone. "Pick any seat you like."
The command seemed to break the spell. They quickly dispersed, trotting nervously and excitedly to the enchanted stone desks. Some looked around in barely-contained awe, others went straight for the nearest seat as if afraid someone would take it from them.
Then it happened: one by one, they realized the desks adjusted to their size. The seats lowered or rose as soon as they touched them; the backrest molded to their shape, and the height of the table adjusted precisely to their posture.
I saw one of the smallest fillies —a tiny unicorn with a light coat and short mane— widen her eyes in surprise as her desk lowered slightly to meet her. Nearby, a taller filly giggled when her seat stretched and tilted to better support her back.
I said nothing. I let them marvel. That reaction was part of the lesson, even if they didn't know it yet.
Meanwhile, I stood quietly beside the main desk, mentally going over where to start. I had no books, no manuals, no beginner wands. Just myself, and the way magic spoke to me.
And now, I had to teach them to listen to it too.
I shouldn't teach them anything overly complex.
They were fillies. Fillies who barely knew what magic could do… but not how it did it. They didn't know how to control it, didn't know how to feel it. What little they knew came from what their parents showed them at home: a light spell to brighten a room, a spark when sneezing, a clumsy levitation that barely lifted a pencil before losing focus.
That wasn't teaching. It was demonstration. An unintentional legacy.
I'd have to start from the very base… not of knowledge, but of connection. I couldn't treat them as advanced students of magic, not even as formal apprentices. I had to assume that, technically speaking, they were civilians. What I taught had to be functional, clear, and above all, safe.
And that came with many limitations.
No rune matrices. No deep channeling. Definitely no structural manipulation or reverse-magic exercises.
Just the essentials.
How to recognize your own magic.
How to let it flow without forcing it.
And how to listen without fear.
I looked at the fillies in front of me. They were already seated. Some were tapping gently on the enchanted desks with their hooves, as if expecting something to activate. Others looked at me with wide eyes, as if waiting for me to summon a constellation or lift off in a cloud of lights.
But there would be no spectacle. Just a question.
"Let's start with this, girls," I said as I approached the blackboard. "Raise your hoof if you know… what is magic? Let's start simple."
Silence fell immediately. Some looked at each other. A few raised an eyebrow, as if the question were either too obvious or, worse, too complicated to answer aloud.
While they hesitated —or waited— I began to draw on the board with an enchanted chalk, tracing clean lines with automatic precision. First, a six-pointed star, like the one seen on many cutie marks tied to the arcane: a symbol of potential, spark, beginning.
Then, the number seven.
Next, a simple circle with a horizontal line through the center: an elemental magical structure, the most basic representation of balance and flow.
Finally, three pony silhouettes: an earth pony standing firmly on all fours; a pegasus with wings proudly extended; and a unicorn, its horn highlighted with a bright mark from the same chalk.
I turned to them calmly.
"There are no wrong answers. I just want to know what you think magic is."
My voice didn't aim to pressure them, but to give them permission to think.
One filly shyly raised her hoof.
"Is it like… glowing energy?"
Another, more confident, added:
"My dad says magic is what unicorns use to move things without touching them."
"And to cook faster!" shouted another from the back, causing a few giggles.
I nodded at each comment, without correcting or judging.
"All of that might be true," I replied. "But that's what magic does. Not necessarily what it is."
I touched the number seven with the chalk.
"This number doesn't represent just one thing. It's a magical number. It appears in different places, repeats in many forms, and still… magic follows it, surrounds it, clings to it like it recognizes it."
I slowly traced its outline with the chalk.
"It doesn't matter if it's used in a seal, a rune pattern, or an ancient tale. It always shows up again. And not because it has power in itself… but because magic chose it. Because it's… magical."
Some of the fillies tilted their heads, as if trying to find the hidden trick in such a simple number.
"Today, you don't need to understand why. Just remember that sometimes, the magical doesn't need to be explained… it just needs to be recognized."
Then, I pointed at the divided circle.
"This shape represents magical flow. How it moves, how it balances. Every spell, no matter how simple, passes through this cycle."
And finally, I pointed at the three pony figures.
"Magic doesn't belong only to unicorns. Every tribe has its way of connecting to it. Pegasi through the wind, earth ponies through the ground… and you, through the arcane."
I paused, letting the words float in the air for a moment. Some fillies furrowed their brows in thought. Others just stared at the board, as if realizing the drawings weren't just decorations.
"But before you cast anything, before you move a leaf with your mind or light up a room, you must first know your own spark. Yours, not your parents', not the ones from storybooks."
I took a short pause.
"Today we're not going to cast spells. We're going to search for that first connection. Because there is no magic… without a bond."
"We're going to look inside yourselves to find what ties you to magic."
I walked slowly in front of the board, letting my words settle like a gentle breeze in the enchanted air of the classroom.
"In my case, it's desire. Curiosity. That deep need to understand magic, to touch it, to play with it. That longing is so strong… magic answers me."
A soft golden aura began to radiate from my horn, effortlessly, with no concrete form. It was like liquid light, pulsing gently around me.
I didn't say anything for a moment. I just let them see it.
"But it wasn't always like this," I continued in a quiet voice. "In fact… when I was a colt, I couldn't move magic with a thought, like I do now. I couldn't move anything at all."
I noticed a few surprised expressions. One filly raised her eyebrows slightly. Another clutched her desk, as if unsure she'd heard me right.
"My connection to magic… didn't exist. Not fully. I'm a special case. I never used magic until I was eight years old. Not even a spark, not even a forced flicker. It was like I was disconnected from something everypony else took for granted."
I took a deep breath, not from exhaustion, but as a narrative pause.
"One ordinary day, one afternoon like any other, I found a magic book. A simple, illustrated one —the kind most adults dismiss as bedtime stories for foals. But I was fascinated. Not by what it said… but by what it promised. Amazed, I tried to replicate one of its 'tricks.'"
I made air quotes with my front hooves.
"I didn't do it to prove I was a unicorn. Or to impress anyone. I did it because I wanted it to be real with all my heart. Because, for the first time, I wanted to do magic."
Several fillies were now watching me with a different kind of attention. No longer the kind that waits for fireworks, but the kind that begins to suspect a secret is hidden in the words.
"Magic, however… isn't obedient. It doesn't like to be controlled. It's capricious, rebellious. It often ignores those who try to force it, and even more so those who just want to show off that they can use it."
I paused again.
"That's why so many first attempts fail. Because magic doesn't let itself be controlled… it lets itself be invited."
I let the silence linger for a moment, giving that phrase space to breathe.
"But that… is only true while the magic isn't truly yours."
I walked slowly to one edge of the blackboard and gently touched the unicorn figure with the tip of the chalk.
"Everything changes when your connection to magic grows. When it becomes part of you, when it's no longer something you use, but something you are."
The golden aura around my horn slowly faded until it vanished.
"Over time, if that connection becomes strong, authentic… your magic won't wait for a command. Sometimes, a pure wish is enough for it to appear on its own."
I stopped in front of them, watching their attentive faces.
"And when that happens… you don't always notice right away."
I stepped a little closer, lowering my voice as if sharing a secret.
"Maybe it's already happened to you… or maybe it will. That moment when a cup is about to fall… a cup that's very important to you, or to someone you care about. And you don't think, you don't plan… you just feel that it shouldn't break."
I paused briefly, noticing how a few fillies widened their eyes, as if the scene was oddly specific.
"And then it happens. The cup stops. It floats in midair, caught in an aura you don't remember casting."
I saw one of them move her lips silently, remembering something.
"That was your magic. Not because you knew a spell… but because the desire was so strong, so pure, that the magic responded. It didn't need a formula, or a rune, or a command. Just need."
I turned back to the blackboard and, with a smooth stroke, drew a new, smaller star next to the first one.
"And that will be our first step. Learning to recognize that desire, that inner spark… and then nurturing it."
"And it doesn't have to be a grand bond. It doesn't have to change destinies or move stars."
My voice softened, though it stayed firm.
"Sometimes, something as simple as I like this, or this is fun, or even this is who I am… is enough."
A few fillies blinked, surprised by the honesty in that statement.
"What matters isn't how big your reason is… but that it's real. Acknowledge it. Use it to guide your magic. It doesn't matter if your wish is to learn how to lift a leaf without it trembling… or to draw with light just because it makes you smile. If it's yours, if it's genuine… then magic will listen."
I walked slowly between the desks as I spoke.
"And if you haven't felt it yet… if you don't know what that desire is, or if you haven't found what connects you… that's okay."
I saw a few faces relax, as if they'd just been given permission not to have all the answers.
"There are adult unicorns who use magic every day… without trouble. They lift things, light up rooms, do everyday tasks. But not all of them understand magic. Not all of them hear it. And that's why they can't go beyond the simple, the mundane."
I returned to the front of the classroom, beside the board, and gently set the chalk down on the edge of the desk.
"And if that's enough for you… if that's the life you want… that's okay. Everyone has their own path."
My gaze swept across the room again, meeting the eyes of several silent fillies.
"But if any of you want more… if you want magic not just to obey you, but to accompany you… then you first have to find why you want to use magic."
"Well…" I murmured with a slight smile as I returned to the center of the room. "I may have gotten a little carried away with the philosophy."
A few nervous giggles rippled through the group, though none dared say it out loud.
"I hope something sticks. But that's enough theory for now. Let's start with the first activity of the day."
I turned toward the desk and, with a gentle flick of my aura, levitated a small wooden box. I opened it carefully, and from inside, colorful balloons began to float out, rising slowly one by one as the fillies' eyes lit up.
"It's a simple game: inflate a balloon."
Several fillies immediately sat up straighter in their seats, eyes wide. The earlier solemnity vanished in an instant. Even the quietest ones, who had been absorbed in my words, perked up with excitement at the promise of play.
"But," I added in a slightly more playful tone, "you'll do it using magic."
That detail caught them off guard. They looked at each other. Some furrowed their brows, others raised their eyebrows. One or two already had their tongues out, ready to blow with their mouths, but quickly lowered their heads.
"How are we supposed to inflate it with magic?" one asked, with a mix of doubt and genuine curiosity.
"It's simple, really," I replied, letting a blue balloon float gently in front of me. "You just need to push your magic… from your horn into the balloon. No formulas. No spells. Just will."
Several ears perked up, alert.
"And to motivate you a little more…" I pulled out a small transparent jar and opened it delicately.
A rich, sweet scent filled the air instantly, so strong even the enchanted atmosphere of the classroom seemed to make space for it. Inside were candies wrapped in shiny paper, glimmering like edible gemstones.
"I'll give one of these sweets to whoever inflates the biggest balloon."
That was all they needed to hear.
A spark of excitement swept through the room. Doubt turned into eagerness. Hooves rose, horns began to glow with small flickering sparks, and more than one filly was already scanning for her balloon like she was about to enter a grand contest.
Some, however, still looked unsure. They glanced at their horns, then at the balloon, then at me… as if afraid that trying might make the balloon fly away or pop in their faces.
I took a few steps forward, voice calm:
"It doesn't matter if it doesn't work the first time. There's no rush. Just try. Remember what I told you… it's not about power, it's about desire. The balloon will inflate if you truly want to see it inflate."
"Let me get everything ready so you can begin," I said, as I crouched slightly and touched the floor with the tip of my hoof.
With a simple magical impulse, fragments of rock rose from the ground, molded by my spellcraft as if they were soft clay. Each piece was transformed into a small rounded stone base, with a central nozzle that held the balloon perfectly by its opening.
From the fillies' perspective, it probably looked like I was just attaching the balloon to the stone. But in truth, while I worked, I was carving an internal enchantment into each base.
A seal, responsive to the user's magic.
When it detected the foal's magical flow, the seal would channel it into the balloon and convert it into the pressure needed to inflate it. It would also automatically seal the opening so the magical air wouldn't escape, and as a safety measure, included a discharge function: if the pressure exceeded what the balloon material could handle, the enchantment would open a small magical valve to release the excess, preventing it from bursting.
A simple but effective protection. I didn't want any accidents.
"All set," I announced, placing the finished bases in front of each filly. "You just need to connect the balloon to the base. The rest… is up to you."
The fillies stared at the pieces in awe, as if they had just witnessed a sleight of hoof, even though to me it was basic technical work.
"When you're ready, point your horn at the balloon and channel your energy into it. It doesn't matter if it's just a flicker or a clumsy push. What matters is that you try."
I paused briefly.
"Remember… it's not strength. It's desire."
Soon, the whole classroom fell into a new kind of silence. Not the silence of attention… but of concentration.
The fillies began trying to channel their magic, each in their own way. Some closed their eyes tightly, others scrunched their brows, as if trying to squeeze the magic out. Faint sparks began to flicker in the air, and occasionally, a balloon would tremble, inflating slowly… only to deflate just as quickly due to excess energy.
The more experienced ones —probably those who already played with magic at home or had attentive unicorn parents— managed to inflate their balloons with relative ease… at first.
But their excitement betrayed them.
Within seconds, several saw their balloons deflate abruptly. The protective enchantment had done its job: the pressure exceeded the limit, and the seal released the magical air before the balloon could pop. The surprise and frustration on their faces were instant.
The younger ones, on the other hoof, couldn't even get their balloons to move. That wasn't unexpected. Their horns barely glowed, if at all. Some pushed too hard, others had no idea how to start. The result was the same: nothing.
And at the front row of the classroom… there she was.
Sweetie Belle.
Her horn flickered with a dim, uneven glow. It wasn't a lack of magic —I could see that clearly. It was a lack of confidence. Her desire was there, yes, but buried under a haze of doubt. Her intent wasn't pure or focused… it was hesitant.
And magic doesn't respond well to insecurity.
What should've flowed naturally… simply didn't. Her balloon didn't move. It only wobbled slightly, as if waiting for permission to obey.
Sweetie pressed her lips together tightly, hooves resting on the desk, and tried again. Another spark. Another flicker. Nothing else.
She wasn't the only one, but her expression said more than all the others combined.
Not frustration.
Not anger.
But… sadness. Quiet, swallowed. Like someone starting to wonder if maybe… they're just not good enough.
The class went on. The room buzzed quietly with small failed attempts, modest achievements, and raw magic… but I didn't stop watching her.
Because in her, more than in any other, the spark was there.
She just didn't know how to light it yet.
Her self-doubt reminded me of an old friend.
The root of that insecurity must have been different —another childhood, other voices, other comparisons— but the result was the same: a weak connection to magic. Magic that was present, but unresponsive because it didn't feel welcome.
I decided to start with her. Not because she was the only one who needed help… but because she was the one hiding it most behind a restrained smile.
I approached with quiet steps, careful not to disturb the classroom's focused silence, and stopped beside her. Sweetie Belle didn't even look up. Her horn still glowed faintly, like a firefly about to fade.
"Take a breath, Sweetie."
My voice was low, direct. Just enough so only she could hear it.
"Calm your thoughts. Don't overthink it."
I saw her tense slightly, uncertain. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Let me help you. Close your eyes."
She did so carefully, like she was afraid of losing the little control she felt she had.
"Straighten your posture. Don't hunch over. Feel your body grounded on the floor."
I watched as her shoulders adjusted, her breathing becoming more conscious.
"Now… imagine a dark world. Not a scary place. Just… empty. Silent."
I noticed a subtle twitch in her brow. She was visualizing —or at least trying to.
"In that place… look for a light. Any light. Maybe it's small, weak, unstable. That light will be your magic."
The flickering of her horn seemed to stabilize a bit.
"It might be hard to see. Every time you get close… it slips away. Do you see it?"
Sweetie nodded with the slightest motion, her eyes still closed. Her breathing had deepened.
"That's normal," I continued. "Magic doesn't like being forced… but it likes being recognized. Don't chase it. Invite it. Stay close. Don't run after it—let it come to you."
A faint hum began to build in her horn. It wasn't strong, but it was steady.
"Now… just ask it for one thing. Nothing big. Nothing complicated. Just… to listen to you. A word, an emotion, an image. Something sincere. And then… let it flow."
"Accompany it," I whispered. "Follow that light all the way to where you think your horn is."
Sweetie Belle remained silent, eyes closed, her face calm but tense with concentration.
"It might move slowly. Don't worry… that's normal."
I saw her breathing deepen, becoming more rhythmic.
"Just let the magic explore. Let it find its own way, guided by your intention. Don't drag it. Don't push it. Let it feel."
A soft glimmer pulsed at the tip of her horn, barely visible to the eye—yet enough for me to notice.
"When it reaches your horn… you'll feel it. A soft warmth, like a gentle ember lighting up right there."
She gave the tiniest nod, still focused.
"And when you feel it… push. Very slowly. Without moving. As if your horn were stretching forward—not from your forehead, but from the wish that lives behind your eyes."
I saw a change in her expression, just a hint… but enough.
"In that place… watch the magic move away. Don't follow it. Just keep the channel open. Let it flow."
And then, it happened.
It wasn't sudden, or bright, or loud.
But the balloon in front of her began to inflate. Very slowly. First, just a pulse, like a breath. Then another. And another.
Sweetie Belle didn't say a word. But her smile did.
It wasn't wide, or childish, or dramatic. It was small, just a flicker of light on the edge of her lips, like someone who had just discovered a secret only she could understand.
And I saw it too.
Not just the balloon inflating—but the connection.
Her magic… had finally decided to listen.
I could feel it as well. With each push, her energy carved its way through weak magical circuits, barely used. Young paths, clumsy, still in formation. Delicate, like roots just beginning to grow in unexplored soil.
It wasn't just Sweetie.
I could feel the same thing in all the other fillies. The same kind of subtle resistance, of structural stiffness from lack of use. It wasn't a flaw. It was normal. They were young. Their bodies were just beginning to learn how to let magic pass without blocking it, without scattering it like harmless heat.
But with Sweetie… the difference was in the effort. In the emotional clarity. In the decision to try, despite the fear.
And that made all the difference.
I didn't need to tell her she had done well.
She knew it. Her calm smile said everything.
So I moved on to those who still needed guidance.
Many of them had no trouble getting the magic to respond… but didn't know what to do with it. They could feel it, stir it, push it inside themselves like a bottled-up emotion… and yet, they couldn't direct it to its destination.
It was a common thing. More than they'd like to admit.
Inexperience made them shake their magic without aim, like a wild current trapped in a body that didn't know how to hold it. With no clear intent, no emotional guidance, all they did was burn through energy.
And their inner pathways—those unpolished juvenile magical circuits—didn't help. Without practice, without training, their channels were narrow, scattered. The magic leaked out before it could reach the horn. It dissipated like steam into their chest, their legs, their back… everywhere but where it needed to go.
I watched them try again and again, frustrated. Not because they lacked power, but because they didn't understand what they were doing wrong.
But that was also part of the learning process.
And I was here for that.
I walked to one, then another. I corrected postures, offered simpler mental images. I spoke to them quietly, guiding them step by step like I had with Sweetie. I asked them not to imagine the balloon, not even the magic itself, but the desire for something to happen. To trust in that impulse more than in technique.
And when they finally succeeded—even if it was just a flicker, a barely noticeable puff into the balloon—their eyes lit up as if they had conjured a miracle.
And in a way… they had.
When they all returned to their seats with their candies—happily munching, sharing laughs, or simply hugging their balloons like tiny trophies—I knew it was the perfect time for the next step.
Now that they'd had fun… I could harness that joy to guide them a little further.
"Alright," I said as I stepped back to the front. "Now that you've learned how to make your magic move… let's try something new. The first basic magic for foals."
Several fillies straightened their posture with renewed attention, while others, still savoring their prizes, just looked at me with curiosity.
"It won't be telekinesis," I clarified right away. "That'll come later."
Some looked a bit disappointed for a second but stayed quiet.
"What we'll try now is… lighting up your horns. Becoming a source of light."
A soft murmur spread through the room, like a ripple of surprise.
"It might seem simple, but it requires more control than you think. And I need you to learn it because tomorrow we'll play another game, one where this skill will be important."
A couple of fillies exchanged sly smiles, already imagining themselves exploring a magical cave or hunting for glowing treasures.
"So, to practice without pressure… we'll do something more relaxed."
With a small twist of my magic, I levitated a set of illustrated sheets that unfolded like an enchanted deck. They floated around the classroom until one landed on each desk.
"These are the pictures you'll get to color," I explained with a faint smile, while magical projections of the drawings briefly shimmered in the air.
A round house with flowers. A castle among the clouds. A princess with huge eyes and curly hair. Canterlot in a cartoonish style. Piles of candy. Fluffy bunnies. Sleepy cats. Smiling puppies. Even a few familiar characters from children's comics—with big eyes and exaggerated poses—that drew giggles of recognition from more than one.
The classroom atmosphere softened. The fillies welcomed the change with no resistance. After the mental effort of the balloon exercise, this was a gentle way to keep learning… while still playing.
"To color them… you'll need to light up your horns," I explained, as the illustrated pages settled on their desks. "If you succeed, the color will project from you onto the paper."
The fillies looked at me with bright eyes, more excited than tense now.
"If you can't do it yet, it's okay," I added with a calm smile. "You can still draw with your hooves. What matters is that you try. And that you relax."
A few let out a sigh of relief. Others were already focusing on their horns with renewed energy.
"Oh, and if you mess up the color… you can erase it. With your magic."
That got even more of their attention.
"You just have to tell the magic to erase that color. But be careful…" I lowered my voice in a conspiratorial tone, "if you're not precise, it might erase more than you wanted."
A few giggles slipped out from the rows.
The room settled into a calm rhythm. There was no more competition, no pressure. Just a quiet game, bathed in soft light and wobbly magic.
The fillies embraced the shift naturally. After the mental work of the balloon exercise, this was a kind way to keep learning… without losing the fun.
Floating colors began to appear. Some were vibrant, others faint. There were clumsy strokes, spinning circles, and stains that spread like they had a mind of their own. But all of it was part of the lesson.
They were using their magic.
By the time class was almost over, many of the fillies were still coloring with small smiles, their horns flickering more steadily than before. Some had found their rhythm; others, though still struggling with focus or intensity, looked calm… and content.
I stepped to the front once more, letting my voice gently drift through the color-filled atmosphere.
"You can take the drawing home," I announced, watching their eyes light up at once. "The magic that keeps it active will last about three days, so you'll have time to keep practicing or just play with the colors whenever you want."
Several began carefully storing their sheets, as if they were small treasures.
"And before you go… a little homework."
All horns perked up immediately, eyes locked on me.
"I want you to take your balloons too. At home, you'll need to inflate them with your magic at least three times, until they deflate on their own. It doesn't have to be all at once—you can rest between tries."
Some fillies nodded with conviction, others still seemed a bit unsure.
"And if any of you manages to inflate it more than five times… there'll be a prize."
A ripple of excitement ran through the classroom—subtle, but genuine. Even the shyest ones seemed to perk up at that last line.
"Remember: it's not about competing. It's about getting to know yourselves. If the magic responds… listen to it."
The school bell rang just then, sharp and metallic, swinging on the rope Miss Cheerilee tugged with practiced ease. It was the signal for the final break of the day—that brief moment of freedom before saying goodbye to the classroom.
"Alright, that's the end of class," I said, letting my tone ease once again. "You're free to go play, and when the break ends, head back to Miss Cheerilee."
Hooves began to move immediately. Murmurs turned into laughter and galloping. I took the chance to walk over to the teacher, ready to wrap things up.
"So… what's next?"
"Finish the last hour, which flies by, assign homework, take roll to see if everyone came…" she replied with a calm smile, pulling a small rolled-up document from her saddlebag. "Here, I forgot to give you this earlier, but you were so focused on teaching I didn't want to interrupt."
I didn't get to take the paper.
"Professor Wizbell!" they all shouted in unison.
They swarmed me like a small stampede of colors and energy, their eyes gleaming with clearly aesthetic intentions.
"Come on, profee…" Sweetie Belle cooed, using that overly sweet tone loaded with theatrical innocence as she looked up at me with her big puppy eyes.
The other fillies weren't far behind. One after another, they began copying that expression, as if it were some kind of collective magical manipulation technique.
Beyond the circle, I saw Scootaloo slowly rolling away on her scooter. She rolled her eyes dramatically and muttered something I couldn't quite catch—probably a complaint about all the fuss.
Then she kicked off and disappeared down the dirt path, as if the scene before her was just too sugary for her taste.
I sighed. Too late to run.
"Alright… but no knots, please."
Laughter burst out—sweet and chaotic—and out of nowhere they started pulling out brushes, flowers, and colorful ribbons as if they'd been waiting for this moment all morning. They came closer with aesthetic promises on their lips, talking about braids, bows, and styles that would make me look "adorable, but classy."
There was no escape.
Somewhere out there, Scootaloo was probably still rolling her eyes.
Forced to sit down—because they couldn't reach my rebellious mane otherwise—I accepted my fate with calm resignation.
Well… this game wasn't exactly new.
Bonny always played hairdresser whenever she could, so I was used to it. Only now there were more hooves, more flowers, more ribbons… and more unnecessary comments about how cute I'd look with sparkles.
I let them work their magic. Let them have their fun.
I wasn't about to fight off a stampede of fillies armed with brushes.
They half-argued among themselves about whether I should get a full flower crown or just a modest bloom stylishly tucked into my mane. I didn't get involved. I closed my eyes for a moment—not for inner peace, but to make sure everything around me was still in order.
My magic remained extended, subtle, like a safety net.
If I sensed a filly tripping while horsing around, I caught her with a quick telekinetic flash and gently set her back down. Most of them thanked me with laughter… at first.
Eventually, they started doing it on purpose.
Scootaloo, without the slightest hint of guilt, jumped off a tree.
These foals…
In the end, I found myself surrounded by eight fillies arguing over how to style my mane. Teams were formed. Technical debates erupted over side braids versus loose strands.
Six other fillies flew through the air, suspended by my telekinesis, spinning like part of a magical acrobatic show.
Scootaloo, of course, was enjoying herself way too much. She circled us on her scooter, cheering the others on like this was some professional competition.
Others pretended to walk on the moon, moving slowly and gracefully through an area with reduced gravity that I'd altered just to see what would happen.
I had become, unintentionally, the surprise toy chest for this group of fillies.
It wasn't annoying. In fact, it was fun watching their nonsense, their absurd games, their strange ideas come to life.
To make things even more interesting, I altered the ground's elasticity in certain spots. Now they bounced like they were on a magical trampoline.
At least it cut down on their tendency to throw themselves into danger. Now they were busy with slightly safer activities… if you could call bouncing and floating meters off the ground "safe."
When break ended and the final bell rang, they returned to Miss Cheerilee amid laughter and gentle shoves. I was left sitting in the middle of the chaos, my mane thoroughly "styled."
I ended up with a sleek mane… smelling strongly of flowers.
They kept trying to add more decorations, as if my head were some seasonal centerpiece. I also had a few braids. Or maybe dreads. I don't really know the difference. All I know is they itched a little from how tightly they'd been done.
I sighed.
Teaching came with… aesthetic costs.
With not much else to do, I decided to stay and watch Miss Cheerilee's class. I wanted to see how she handled all the fillies… something she honestly made look easy.
They were doing writing exercises. Simple phrases, names, drawings with big, colorful letters. Miss Cheerilee already knew how to handle each of them—how to keep their attention without raising her voice, and how to adapt activities based on their age.
I settled into a corner, observing quietly as many of them struggled to write with their mouths or hooves. Some were surprisingly good at it—especially two earth fillies who seemed to have mastered that magical trick of precision with their forelegs.
They reminded me of Pinkie Pie and her decorated invitations. Does she do those with her hoof too?
"Shh—Hey! Wizbell! Help me!"
A little voice from the corner broke my focus. It was Scootaloo, frowning at a workbook filled with half-completed stories. She had to fill in the blanks with the correct letter.
She was stuck between a B or a V. And it was clear this was a serious struggle.
To the rest of the world, I just smiled.
But Scootaloo heard the answer in a barely audible whisper. She nodded back with a discreet grin, like she'd just solved the universe's greatest mystery.
Class went on without a hitch.
Sweetie Belle read aloud with a natural sweetness, no stumbles or hesitation. Her voice was clear and melodic, like reading and singing came from the same place in her.
And at the far end of the room, Big Mac's younger sister was buried in an advanced math book. Not the kind you see in grade school—real advanced. She was jotting down notes in a notebook with a seriousness that didn't quite match her age.
That was definitely a surprise.
I guess she's a seed of brilliance. What she does with it… that'll be up to her.
The class went on peacefully until it ended completely. I stayed with Miss Cheerilee to wait with the fillies as their parents began arriving one by one.
What I didn't expect, though, was that it wasn't just parents who showed up.
From a safe distance, away from the noise, I spotted Flash, Rainbow Dash, and Stella watching me. The smiles on their faces were anything but subtle… pure, radiant mockery, glowing with delight at my expense.
Rarity appeared through the crowd with her usual natural grace, walking over with a light step. Sweetie Belle saw her and ran toward her, jumping up briefly before stopping with a proud smile.
"Rarity, Rarity! He's my new magic teacher!"
Rarity gave me a warm yet analytical look, like she'd already expected to find me there.
"A pleasure, Professor Bell. Congratulations on the position," she said with a smile that felt rehearsed, yet sincere. "With the rumor spreading for weeks about the search for a good teacher… and the spot being vacant, it wasn't hard to guess who'd get it. I'm glad it was you."
"Thanks…" I replied, unsure if that was a compliment or just a very public deduction.
"And thank you for taking care of my sister. I'm happy to see her enjoying her classes. Although…" Rarity narrowed her eyes, examining my decorated mane more closely. "It seems you also served as a model."
"Not on purpose," I muttered.
Twilight wasn't far off, watching with a half-smile. Spike, without shame, was laughing directly in my face.
And Applejack… well, her reaction was genuine.
She paused for a moment when she came to pick up her sister, looking me up and down as if to make sure I wasn't part of a school play.
"Are you the teacher?" she asked eventually.
I shrugged, then gave a slight smile.
"Now I make sure others don't blow things up with magic… and guide them down the right path of the arcane. My new job."
She blinked wide-eyed, then gave me a big smile and a hearty pat on the shoulder.
"Well that's mighty fine! Always good when a pony's got a trade. Just hope you take care of my little sis during class or whenever you're keepin' an eye on things. She's real curious… and that sometimes ends with little accidents. Hey!"
That last word came when she saw Apple Bloom trying to climb a bench to reach a forgotten backpack.
"Heh… don't worry," I assured her, glancing sideways at the scene. "All I see is untamed brilliance. It's normal at her age… Maybe she just needs a space where that cleverness can be put to good use."
Applejack walked firmly toward her sister, who was far too focused on retrieving her backpack to notice she was already being picked up. She didn't even realize we'd been talking.
That's when Flash decided to walk over.
Without even trying to hide it, he stood in front of me with a smile that screamed trouble.
"Well, well… a masterpiece," he said, holding back laughter as he inspected my flower-decorated mane. "This definitely screams: I'm an approachable teacher."
Rainbow Dash and Spike didn't take long to join in. They started circling me like fashion critics at a runway show.
"Is this academic glamour?" Rainbow asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or did you join some fancy gardening club?"
"We could press you and make a magical bouquet out of your head," added Spike with a mischievous grin, leaning in to sniff one of the flowers. "You smell like spring, professor."
I sighed.
"I earned it for good behavior… or maybe for surrendering to the majority."
"Pretty sure it's the second one," Flash said, laughing. "Knowing you… I'm not surprised."
"And to think you decided to become a teacher, huh?"
"Yeah, suddenly you're a magic professor," added Rainbow with a half-smile. "Why didn't they ask me?"
The real interruption came right after.
"Yeah, why didn't they ask me?" Twilight cut in, walking toward the group with a firm step. Her gaze locked onto me with that unique intensity only she could manage. "I mean, if it's about teaching magic—"
"Well…" I started, not rushing, "the truth is, it all came down to me not having a formal job. I was living off my research. The mayor—or maybe the whole town—needed a pony with magical knowledge. There were two options: you, and obviously me. But the difference is, you're already Ponyville's librarian."
Twilight didn't answer right away. She just narrowed her eyes.
"Sounds more," Pinkie suddenly chimed in, popping in from who-knows-where, "like they just want you to touch grass."
I fell silent.
"Yes, yes! You never leave your house, and you don't let me hide my party supplies there," she added, puffing her cheeks in mock annoyance. "You have no idea when I might throw a party nearby—or inside your house! And if I need streamers or balloons and I can't get them because a certain magical pony won't let me in, well, that's a problem."
She raised a hoof dramatically, like she was testifying before a jury.
"Therefore, I think it's a good thing. You'll get to breathe fresh air—not the kind sealed and purified by those weird magic scribbles and arcane graffiti on your walls. And you'll be around fillies! So you can be happier!"
And without warning, she lifted a small unicorn filly that had been standing beside her.
"Look! Look how she looks at you! So happy."
She placed the filly right in front of me with a huge grin. The filly barely reached my chest, but upon seeing me, she waved a tiny hoof… then clung to my sweater, clearly trying to avoid being lifted again by Pinkie.
"Look! Look how she looks at you! So happy!" Pinkie repeated, her voice full of glee.
he little unicorn looked up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She clung tighter to my sweater and smiled radiantly.
"I love you, Star-sensei."
I froze.
I knew there was a version of Japan here…
...but I didn't expect to run into a fan of that stuff.
Or maybe… is she a foreign filly?
I chose not to respond right away. I just nodded with a neutral smile, trying not to think too hard about how I'd just been promoted from "local teacher" to "anime character."
I gave the filly a gentle pat to calm her down, and she instantly ran off, cheerful, following her mother—who gave me a respectful nod and a warm smile before leaving.
I sighed.
"Pinkie… you can't… just tone it down…" I paused, staring at her, exhausted. "No, never mind. Take this and go be happy over there."
I pulled a muffin from my pocket. It was still warm thanks to a small preservation enchantment. I handed it to the pink hyperactive beast, who received it like a sacred cosmic blessing. I grabbed a watermelon candy from the same pocket for myself. I had to survive this somehow.
"Yum! Warm and fluffy!" Pinkie cheered.
"Yeah, in the end, it was a direct request from the mayor… and also from Celestia herself," I finally said, returning to the topic. "And like Pinkie said earlier, that was one of the reasons."
"Tch." Flash clicked his tongue and handed a few bits to Pinkie, who puffed out her chest proudly. Apparently, they'd made a bet. Of course they had.
"I believe it…" Twilight murmured, tilting her head. "You've barely left the house more than three times these past two weeks."
I shrugged, not even trying to deny it.
"That was fun. See you, girls. And thanks, Wizbell, for the laughs." Flash gave me a genuine smile and started walking away.
Rainbow Dash followed immediately.
"Yeah! I'm off to do awesome stuff! The day's just getting started!"
And just like that, they left, as if the morning chaos hadn't touched them.
Everyone else slowly dispersed.
Except for two.
Stella was still sitting in the distance, eating a peach like she had no intention of leaving anytime soon. And Twilight… Twilight clearly had something to say.
She hadn't joined in the teasing. She didn't laugh. She barely commented at all. But that intense stare she'd been throwing at me for a while now… it was different. Focused. Sharp. Too intense.
Not normal.
She finally approached, slow and composed. Still not saying a word, but her eyes were already asking the questions.
She straightened up suddenly, like she was bracing to cast a spell. And then she blurted it all out, fast and clumsy, as if afraid the question might come out wrong if she waited too long:
"So… you, this morning… and Lyra… What exactly were you doing earlier today at the café in the shopping district?"