Once the runes were stabilized and the corrections from Celestia, Miss Maple, and my dad were neatly compiled into my notebook, I sat at my desk, staring at the almost-final version of the rewritten spell. My notes, half organized and half chaotic like my own thoughts, sprawled out across the desk like the blueprints of a magical engine about to be ignited.
I had finally managed to recreate the primary magic circle—the major one—of the summoning spell. It was the one that truly mattered. Even though the original spell required two circles—the main module and the secondary one—I now understood that the main circle held the core functions. All of my research had led to this.
Dad stood beside me, eyes gleaming with the same excitement I felt, scanning the corrected formulas and ancient runes written across the various parchments and scrolls. The ones Celestia had sent me after our meeting. Some were annotated in my own hoofwriting, others in his.
"You know," he said, tapping the parchment lightly, "Turner Flow might've been a genius, but her rune layout was... a disaster."
"Well, she did write it while possibly being stalked by a Wendigo," I replied with a grin. "Not exactly ideal conditions for rune structuring."
"Fair point," he chuckled. "Still, for someone improvising on the run, she pulled off something incredible."
I nodded, then leaned forward to show him my notes.
"Look here, Dad," I said, eyes wide with excitement. "I finally interpreted the three lines of the main circle. The first one detects the object, the second links it to the secondary circle stored in the object... and the third—this one is the tricky part—it reacts differently depending on the situation. If there's a direct line and no obstacle, it pulls the object. If something's in the way, it completes a teleportation."
"Right," he said, then paused with a thoughtful look. "But that raises a big question. How does the spell know what object you're thinking of? I mean, how does it identify the ball, that book, or this scroll as the one you want?"
I blinked, surprised—and impressed—by the question.
"I've been wondering the same thing," I admitted. "That's where the real mystery is. It must have some way to inspect the caster's thoughts. Like… a tag, but mental. There's barely any literature on that. The only field that's exploring something similar is magical medicine, and even that's in its infancy."
Dad let out a low whistle. "So the spell has to dip into your thoughts just enough to extract intent… That's way beyond normal enchantment theory."
"Exactly. It's like a proto-form of mind-inspection magic, but not invasive. It just reads the imprint of desire or intent."
He smiled, then murmured, "Monstrous talent..."
"Huh?"
"Turner Flow. She must've had a terrifyingly sharp mind. Probably shaped by what she lived through. Like they say—hard times make strong ponies."
I nodded, my voice low. "And desperate ones make breakthroughs."
He patted my back and gestured toward the toy chest in the corner. "Well then, Professor Wizbell, how about we test your work with something safe?"
I blinked. "You mean... now?"
"Sure. You've got the circle, you've got the theory. Let's see if it works with something small and light. Something that won't explode if it goes wrong."
We both turned to the toy chest.
"The rubber ball?" I suggested.
"Perfect," he said with a nod. "If it breaks, no big deal. And the worst it could do is bounce aggressively."
I placed the ball in the designated corner of my room, not too close, not too far. Then I marked it with the secondary circle. A simple rune glowed briefly over the surface before fading into invisibility.
Dad tilted his head. "No complex symbols?"
"Maybe it's because of the spell's simplicity... or maybe it just doesn't need more for such a basic item."
We backed up a few steps, keeping a safe distance. I took a deep breath, focusing on the spell.
"Okay... here goes—"
"Wizbeeeell! Willstone! Lunch is ready!" came my mother's voice from downstairs.
I flinched mid-casting. "Ugh... not now..."
"You promised you'd come down on time, young colt!" she added a second later, voice sharper.
Dad gave me a knowing smile. "Don't test your mother's patience. Not these days."
"But I almost had it!"
"Magic will still be here after lunch. Your mom's temper? Maybe not."
I sighed in defeat. "Fine…"
He laughed, throwing a foreleg around my shoulders guiding me out of the room. "C'mon, Doctor Spellcraft. Let's refuel before the big test."
Breakfast felt special that morning. Maybe it was the aroma of cinnamon oat toast or the homemade jam, but I knew it wasn't the food that made me smile. It was the excitement bubbling inside me. I could still feel the spell pulsing at the tip of my horn.
"So?" Mom asked as she handed me a mug of hot chocolate. "How's your big spell going?"
I looked at Dad, and he gave me a small smile, like giving me permission. I sat up straighter and pulled a clean napkin from the center of the table.
"I can show you," I said, unable to hide my excitement anymore.
I focused a bit of magic. My horn glowed with a soft golden hue, and within seconds, a simple rune appeared on the cloth. It pulsed gently… then faded away.
"There. Now it's marked. I used the secondary circle of the spell for that. If I cast the summoning later, it'll know exactly which object to bring."
Mom stayed quiet for a moment, then suddenly pulled me into a hug so tight I almost spilled my mug.
"Mi pequeño maguito!!!" she said, squeezing me and planting a kiss on my cheek. "Would you look at that! You're doing real magic. Sweetheart, I'm so proud."
"Mom… it's just a napkin…" I mumbled, half-embarrassed, though I couldn't help but laugh.
"It's your napkin now," Dad added with amusement. "Legally bound by the laws of sorcery."
After breakfast, I nearly dashed upstairs. Dad followed me, trying hard to look composed. I heard Mom laugh behind him.
"Try not to look so desperate, dear."
"I'm perfectly calm," he replied, adjusting his posture like a noble in a parade. But the moment he turned the corner, he sped up.
Once in my room, the ball was still in its place. Everything was exactly how we had left it. I focused, activated the magic circle, and the spell flowed as it should. The ball vanished from its spot and reappeared right in front of me with a soft pop.
We both stood silently for a split second.
"It worked!" I shouted.
"Clean. Stable," Dad said, grinning like a colt. "Let's try other objects."
We tested blocks, plushies, a couple of light books—always avoiding anything fragile or dangerous. We took notes on size, weight, and magic consumption. Then, to push it further, Dad created a magical barrier between me and the objects.
I cast the spell again. This time, the objects weren't dragged—they were summoned. Instantly teleported.
"It switches to summoning mode when there's an obstacle," he noted. "Consumes more magic, but not too much."
I closed my eyes. I could feel it. A slight tug in the air, like a subtle hum. Not intense, but definitely there. And I noticed something else too... a kind of friction, like the magic was moving through a rough tunnel.
"These runes... they're too old," I murmured. "They flow, but not elegantly."
I opened my eyes suddenly.
"I can do more than just use this spell. I can improve it. I don't just want to replicate it. I want to truly understand it, optimize it. There are modern runes that do the same with less effort. And there are redundancies I could simplify."
Dad looked at me with a proud glint in his eyes that didn't need words.
"I like that. Let's do it."
After hours surrounded by books, scrolls, and scribbled papers, Dad and I sketched something resembling a new version of the spell. It was more a collection of ideas—a prototype. Some modern runes here, a simplification there, a theory on redirecting magical flow. It looked neat on parchment.
But it didn't work.
Or rather, it worked badly.
The object appeared, yes, but with a noticeable delay, and a strange vibration lingered in the air. The magical structure felt brittle, like it could unravel with one wrong thought. Worst of all was the "dry pull" sensation in my horn, like something had been forced.
I sat down, tired. I stared at the diagrams, the calculations, the arrows linking parts of the spell. We had built connections, speculated... but that was all. I didn't really understand how each part functioned.
"All of this..." I sighed. "Is just a shallow copy. I'm interpreting what I feel from the magic, but I don't truly know what these formulas mean. I can't change what I don't understand."
Dad said nothing for a moment. I thought he'd tell me I was pushing myself too hard. But no. He simply nodded calmly.
"That's part of the process, son. Knowing you don't know everything yet. And wanting to learn. —He stepped closer and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.— You've got the magical sensitivity to notice what others miss. What you need is time... study… and patience."
"I guess I can't remake a high-level spell in one night," I said with a tired smile.
"If you did, I'd have to sign you up to teach at the magical university tomorrow," he joked.
We both laughed, and that helped me relax a bit. Then he stood up.
"I'll have to leave you for now. Got a pile of office work waiting," he muttered with a grimace. "But I'm glad we shared this."
"Thanks, Dad… for everything."
"Always. And remember: it's not just about casting the spell. It's about understanding it. Making it yours takes time. And you'll get there."
I watched him leave the room, leaving me surrounded by notes, sketches, and possibilities. I hadn't mastered the spell yet. But now I had a new goal: to understand it completely. Every line. Every formula. Every reaction.
Not to copy it.
To transform it.
Once Dad left the room, the silence felt thick. I stared at the prototype outline. The lines were neatly drawn. The concepts seemed solid. But the most critical part remained almost entirely a mystery.
The real wall wasn't energy, or unstable runes, or even magical instability. It was something else… the part of the spell that interacted directly with my mind.
How did the spell know which object I wanted? How did it identify the idea of that object and link it to an invisible tag? How exactly did that mental tag work when I marked something using the secondary circle?
Yes, I managed to replicate it. But it was intuition. That magical sensitivity that lets me feel when something "clicks." It was like holding a key without knowing how it was forged. I could use it—but not understand it.
The theory behind that mind-magic connection was nearly nonexistent. Just some branches in medical fields—emotional diagnostics, mental stability links, magical trauma control... but nothing about intentional tagging. Nothing about how a formula reads a thought to define a physical target.
I closed my eyes and pictured the spell activating again. I visualized the marked napkin. That mark—that magical "tag"—wasn't visible… but it was tied to a specific thought. A mental image. The spell responded to that. A memory, an idea, a directed intent.
The problem was, I didn't know how. Or which part of the formula did that work. I couldn't improve what I didn't understand.
I stepped away from the desk. I paced around the room, letting my magic float in the air like it might pick up a clue from the vibration around me.
Frustrating.
I didn't want to just cast the spell. I wanted to know how it worked. Every part. Every decision. Every hidden instruction in those rune lines.
Turner Flow, how did you do it? How did you create something like this in the middle of chaos, without access to what we have today?
Maybe that's why you succeeded. Because you had to. Because when there's no path… you invent one.
I took a deep breath. Outside, daylight was still coming through the window. Hours ahead of me, and I wasn't going to sit idle.
I had to study more. I had to find a way to learn about mind magic—even if I had to ask Miss Maple or Princess Celestia herself.
I wasn't going to give up.
Because this wasn't just an old spell.
It was the beginning of something much bigger.
Now that I had the green light to send letters to Princess Celestia whenever I wanted—her exact words during our last meeting—I couldn't waste the opportunity. Miss Maple was right: if I was going to ask questions, they had to be good. Clear. Direct. With a purpose.
So I started scribbling a draft. The key questions went straight to the heart of the problem: Which runes interact with the caster's thoughts? Is there a modern classification for intent-driven magic? What are the ethical boundaries of manipulating the link between thought and summoning?
And then the secondary ones: How do you measure the consistency of a mental tag? Can intention be anchored to an object without a physical circle? Can similar tags cause confusion?
While I wrote energetically, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Mom peeked in through the door.
"Sweetheart, your dad and I have to go. Last-minute meeting."
Dad walked behind her, adjusting his cloak with a grumpy face.
"What's the point of retiring as a WARDEN if they still call you every time something weird happens?" he grumbled while fastening his neck clasp.
"Honey, if you weren't the best for this kind of case, they wouldn't call you," Mom said, her voice more amused than comforting.
Then she looked at me and winked.
"Cadance will come to watch over you."
I raised an eyebrow with playful suspicion.
"To watch over me or to spy on me?"
"Both," she replied with a light laugh, kissing me quickly on the forehead. "Behave. And no dangerous spells while we're gone. Not a single one, Wizbell!"
"Not a single one! I promise."
With a swirl of steps and swirling capes, they vanished down the hall. I heard the front door close, and suddenly, the house was filled with… interesting silence.
I stretched, setting aside the parchment of questions. I'd have time to refine them later.
"It's been a while since I went downstairs..." I thought, glancing at the door to my room.
And then I smiled.
Using Flash felt like stretching from the inside. In a magical blink, I appeared in the living room, reappearing in a shimmer of light before the couch. I hadn't used it in weeks. It felt good.
I flopped onto the cushions and, with the excitement of reuniting with an old friend, pulled out the demon cube.
Difficulty level 2. No longer a challenge for me. I'd conquered it after several sleepless nights immersed in its shifting logic. Now I wanted perfection—to beat my own record.
Five minutes. That was the goal.
But not just fast. Clean. Precise. Not a single wrong rotation. That's why I reset it to level 1. I was going to master every layer, every transition. I was going to flow with the cube.
I focused. The cube turned under my magic. One click. Another. Smooth transition. Reverse spin. I felt the magic responding to the rhythm of my intent. This was more than a game. It was control, focus… magical harmony.
I was so immersed, I didn't hear the doorbell or the hoofsteps. Just the familiar voice:
"Are you practicing again!?"
I turned—and there was Twilight Sparkle, walking in with Cadance, her own cube floating beside her.
"Twilight!" I grinned, straightening up as my cube gently floated down. "You're still into this too?"
"Of course!" she said brightly. "How did you get so much control? I saw you solve level 2 with the same ease an adult unicorn uses for double levitations. I'm impressed."
I felt my cheeks heat up. I didn't expect that—but I couldn't deny I liked hearing it.
"I've practiced… a lot. I guess I got lost in the levels."
Twilight sat beside me, rotating her cube midair.
"Wanna race?"
"Level 1?"
"Level 2. Let's see if you can break that record… but with a witness."
Both cubes floated in front of us. We counted down quietly. Three, two, one…
Cadance's POV
From the couch, I watched with growing fascination. Ever since we left Twilight's house that morning, something had intrigued me… and it wasn't minor.
Twilight had left without a single book.
None.
Not one.
Instead, she took that strange cube. Small, glowing, with an active magical surface. She held it the whole way as if it were incredibly valuable. She didn't examine it like she usually would with a new artifact. She manipulated it. Played with it.
But every time I tried to ask what it was, she'd just say "you'll see," or smile evasively. Nothing more.
And now, here we were. In Wizbell's living room. And I finally understood.
That cube wasn't just a toy. It was a magical focus tool. A training system for mind and magic so precise it left me speechless.
I watched Wizbell solve it with surprising fluidity. Every turn was clean, as if he wasn't thinking about the movements—just feeling them. Twilight kept up, and the air between them was charged with excitement and focus. Like a magical duel… but silent. Elegant.
"So this is what it's for…" I thought, reclining a bit. "It's not a combat artifact. It's a test. A way to measure control, precision… pure magical discipline."
My eyes moved between them, analyzing. They were different, yes. Twilight was structured, methodical. Wizbell, more intuitive—magical in a different sense. But they challenged each other, measured each other… and enjoyed it.
I couldn't help but smile.
"Tia's two protégés," I thought. "And both with so much potential it's dizzying to even imagine."
I kept watching them with playful interest as they competed, almost without blinking—as if I were witnessing a choreographed dance between two brilliant minds. Maybe I was here to watch over them…
…but I was starting to enjoy it way more than I expected.