Wizbell walked through the long castle corridors, his steps echoing softly between walls adorned with tapestries and ancient stained glass. He murmured quietly to himself, reviewing the instructions he had memorized. His gaze moved attentively over every corner, following almost imperceptible symbols embedded in the walls—details that only a trained or informed eye could identify.
As he advanced, his magic faintly pulsed beneath his skin, confirming he was on the right path, that the hidden signals were recognizing him as an invited guest. The castle itself seemed to be measuring his presence, approving him step by step.
"Seven steps… turn right… spiral column… hidden passage behind Clover's bust…" he muttered, adjusting his route.
When he reached the indicated spot, he stopped in front of a smooth stone wall. He knew that for anyone else, it would be just that: a wall. But for him, who had been formally invited, the magic sustaining the illusion recognized him.
The surface flickered faintly, as if it were breathing, and began to fade, revealing a dark threshold beyond. It wasn't a visible door. It wasn't a common entrance. Only those who were invited could pass. No one else.
Without hesitation, Wizbell crossed the barrier.
On the other side of the false wall, in a simple yet perfectly ordered room, Rogue Star was waiting. Her posture was relaxed, almost casual, but her amber eyes remained fixed on the entrance, her tail barely twitching in a nervous tic. She had been waiting for this day for far too long.
She didn't show it openly, but inside, she was excited.
She watched him appear, first as a silhouette emerging from the magical veil, then fully, his figure outlined under the dim light of the room. And for a moment, Rogue simply observed him.
He looked so much like his father.
Not just in facial features or posture, but in something deeper: that focused gaze, that meticulous way of reading details… although, where his father had held rigidity and an almost academic seriousness, in Wizbell there was a different looseness. A boundless, almost childlike curiosity for the mechanisms behind the magic itself.
As his eyes explored the false wall he had just crossed, barely hiding his interest, Rogue allowed herself the faintest, imperceptible smile. He didn't hide his fascination behind a cold façade, like his father used to. That trait was identical, and yet profoundly different.
Their eyes met. And it was then that Rogue spoke, her tone measured but carrying an unspoken familiarity:
"So… we finally meet officially." She gave a slight nod. "Welcome, nephew."
The word threw him off.
Wizbell furrowed his brow slightly, a faint line of confusion forming on his forehead. He didn't know who she was. He had never seen her before. He couldn't recall her face or her voice, not a single name to tie her to his life. She was a complete stranger.
And yet, she called him 'nephew' with the confidence of someone speaking from a shared history he didn't know.
He didn't argue. He didn't correct. He didn't ask.
He simply nodded.
Because, at that moment, he didn't know what he was supposed to say. He had no context. Just a new face, a new figure… and a word he had no place for in his memory.
He walked beside her, his mind slowly circling that word, searching in vain for any reference that might give it meaning.
The room they had been in was nothing special: merely an entrance, a discreet filter to the true heart of the place. As they advanced down a long corridor, at the other end, the activity multiplied.
There were more ponies working: some reviewing scrolls, others speaking in hushed tones, several manipulating magical artifacts under enchanted isolation spheres. Everything was protected. Every conversation, every document, every floating diagram on the desks was wrapped in privacy spells so dense that the very magic repelled him as he approached, gently pushing Wizbell's magical perception away.
He couldn't read anything. He couldn't hear anything. The knowledge here was sealed, reserved only for those with authorized access.
Rogue didn't seem concerned by any of it. She walked confidently, greeting one or two agents with a slight nod, until she stopped in front of a simple door—unmarked, undecorated, yet radiating an odd sense of calm.
An agent approached silently, handing her a small metal key dangling from a short cord. After delivering it, he withdrew without a word.
Rogue raised the key in front of Wizbell, turning it between her hooves with a faint smile.
"The room is… special," she said, a mysterious glint in her eyes. "You'll see why."
She inserted the key into the lock.
The door opened with a soft click, revealing a circular room with smooth walls, no windows, no decoration at all. It was barely lit by a gentle light that seemed to emanate from the ceiling itself. There were no furnishings, no visible symbols. Only emptiness—so simple it felt almost unsettling.
Wizbell stepped inside, his eyes scanning the space carefully. It was hard to imagine anything important happening here.
Rogue Star followed him in and closed the door behind them.
"Because of time constraints," she began explaining as she walked a few steps ahead, "the high command authorized the use of this room. It was also a direct request from the princess." She turned to him with a slight smile. "Apparently, she didn't want this training to interfere with her… tea hours with her apprentice."
Wizbell raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised, but said nothing. He simply watched her with growing interest.
"This room is special," Rogue continued, now more serious. "Its basic function is to simulate a time alteration, similar to dream domains. In here, one hour equals four outside these walls. It's a space designed for intensive training… without cutting into official work hours."
Wizbell tilted his head, curious, his gaze returning to the plain walls.
"But how does it activate…?" he began to ask, genuine intrigue in his voice. "If it's just a regular room…"
He didn't finish.
A sudden surge of magic struck him from all directions, as if an invisible pressure had fallen over his body—crushing, filling, disorienting him all at once. He stumbled back, eyes shut tight as a jolt of energy ran down his spine.
When he opened them… the world had changed.
He was no longer in the room.
He was standing on a vast green meadow, rippling under a gentle breeze. The sky was clear, cloudless, nearly perfect. The scent of freshly cut grass hung in the air. His magical sense instinctively scanned the surroundings… and found no walls where he'd felt them before.
Nothing. No limits. No edges.
He was… free.
Or at least, it seemed that way.
His breath still trembled faintly from the initial shock when a voice sounded right beside him.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Wizbell flinched. He spun around quickly… and there was Rogue, standing calmly, smiling.
She hadn't been there a second ago. There had been no sound, no sign of her arrival. She simply appeared.
A chill ran down his spine. There was something unsettling about feeling someone emerge from nothing, so close, without warning.
Rogue chuckled softly at his reaction.
"Relax, it won't be the last time that happens here." Her tone turned firmer. "This room doesn't just distort time. It can also recreate entire spaces… and tailor them to the training you need."
She began walking slowly across the meadow, never taking her eyes off him.
"Your talent calls for a different kind of training, Wizbell." Her voice carried more weight now, a sense of responsibility. "That's why the use of the Special Dream Chamber was approved. Not everyone gets access. It's… a privilege, but also a commitment."
Wizbell nodded slowly, absorbing every word as he followed beside her. His mind was already drawing connections, comparing details with the documents he had received days ago. It was a lot to process… and yet, he felt he still knew nothing.
Rogue stopped beside a large rock and climbed onto it, looking down at him from a slightly elevated, almost symbolic position.
"Before we begin," she said, "you need to understand the context. What WARDS is. What it stands for. And why it exists."
Wizbell sat down on the grass, his ears angled toward her, attentive.
"WARDS isn't just an agency. It's not simply a group for surveillance or containment. It's… a living barrier. A wall between Equestria and what lurks beyond." She sighed, letting the wind play with her indigo-blue mane. "It was founded centuries ago, when Grogar unleashed his monsters… especially those capable of copying appearances. They changed form, infiltrated, corrupted from within."
Her gaze darkened slightly.
"And even though Grogar was defeated… his creatures didn't disappear. They evolved. Learned. Adapted. Some became more than mere imitators. Others… became worse."
Wizbell listened in silence, each word dropping like a stone into the lake of his mind. This wasn't in the public books. This… was the truth under Celestia's shadow.
And in that instant, he knew, without Rogue needing to say it… that he had just crossed a threshold from which there was no return.
As Rogue spoke, shadows began forming behind her.
At first they were vague, simple dark smudges on the meadow's horizon… but little by little they shaped into silhouettes, monstrous, twisted, grotesque figures. Some with gnarled horns, others with torn wings, impossible fangs, soulless glowing eyes. They seemed projected by the very earth, as if the story she told was coming alive behind her voice.
"It was a dark era," Rogue continued, her gaze locked on Wizbell, though she didn't ignore the shadows accompanying her. "Grogar's monsters didn't just destroy… they infiltrated, disguised themselves, blended in with us. Paranoia was their weapon as much as their claws."
Wizbell swallowed, his eyes fixed on the black forms undulating behind her, almost hypnotic in their silent dance.
"That's when a group of ponies…" Rogue went on, her voice lowering slightly, "decided to stop waiting. They chose to face them directly. Not just to resist. Not just to defend. To contain. Neutralize. Eliminate. Over time, that coordinated effort became the organization you now know as WARDS. And they weren't alone… one of the sisters helped formalize it, gave it structure."
The shadows seemed to stir, like a silent choir behind her story. Some moved like beasts. Others, like abstract, indescribable shapes.
But then, Wizbell caught a different silhouette among them… a tall, thinner figure, with proportions that didn't belong to a any creature of this world.
His heart skipped a beat.
It was human.
Just for a second. Just a fleeting moment. But he saw it, there, among the shadows. Like a witness buried in time, like an echo of something that didn't belong.
His body tensed, unable to fully process what he was seeing.
Rogue didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she did, but chose not to stop.
"In desperate times," she said, her tone heavy with gravity, "desperate solutions were needed. And those solutions… forged ponies strong enough to face them. The organization dedicated itself to training them. Preparing them. Teaching them… until those threats ceased to be. Or didn't return. Because we learned… to eradicate them."
She turned slightly toward him, her gaze evaluating.
"Tell me, Wizbell… have you ever seen a wendigo?"
He shook his head slowly, still processing the human figure he'd seen among the others.
Rogue gave a faint, satisfied smile.
"That's the best proof that our work has been effective." Her indigo-blue mane fluttered in the breeze. "They've become a story… a myth."
The shadows began to fade slowly behind her, dissolving like smoke carried away by the wind.
Wizbell watched them until the last one vanished on the horizon, but the human figure remained engraved in his mind… more vivid than any of the others.
The final shadow disappeared into the horizon, carried by a gentle wind, and with it, the ominous atmosphere seemed to slowly dissipate. Rogue let out a brief sigh, stepping down from the rock as her gaze refocused on Wizbell.
"Well," she said, stretching lightly, "that was your quick history lesson. Now, let's get to the important part."
Wizbell watched her closely, still mentally going over everything he had heard… and everything he had seen. The human silhouette among the shadows still lingered, hovering at the edges of his mind like a silent warning. Something that didn't fit. Something that shouldn't have been there.
But he said nothing.
It wasn't the time.
Rogue clicked her hooves together, pulling his attention back.
"We need to record your profile," she explained professionally. "The reports we've received, your academic record—they're not enough. We need to evaluate you… directly. See how you work under pressure, how your reflexes respond, how your magic reacts when you don't have time to think."
Wizbell nodded slowly.
"Tests?" he asked, though the answer was obvious.
"Tests," Rogue confirmed, a half-smile on her face. "They're necessary to create a training plan suited to you. I'm not going to train you like anyone else. That'd be a waste… and honestly, it wouldn't be enough."
She turned, walking toward the center of the meadow, where a circle of glowing lines began to materialize in the grass, marking the evaluation area.
"Don't worry," she added. "We'll start simple: physical conditioning."
Wizbell raised an eyebrow, slightly skeptical.
"Physical conditioning… here?" He glanced around—just grass, sky, and wind.
"This place is more adaptable than it looks," Rogue said, giving him a playful wink. "Trust me."
At her signal, the meadow shifted. The terrain transformed: hills rose, obstacles emerged from the ground, poles, ropes, walls… a full obstacle course, like something out of military training.
Wizbell exhaled slowly, immediately recognizing the patterns. His father had designed similar exercises when he was a colt, though never this large or complex.
He stopped at the edge of the course and began to stretch his front and back legs, preparing his body.
From her position, Rogue watched him silently.
Her gaze scanned his figure with a critical eye, as if measuring invisible proportions. He wasn't scrawny, as one might expect from a typical scholar; his body had muscle where it needed to, without excess, without ostentation. Just enough. Compact. Functional.
A physique built not to impress, but to endure. To last.
That told her something.
His personal training hadn't been merely academic. There was practice behind it, routine, discipline enough not to neglect what others might have dismissed as secondary.
Rogue gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible, no words needed.
"Not bad," she finally said, her tone neutral, more informative than praising. "Let's see how that translates… into movement."
Wizbell simply nodded, focusing. His breathing steadied. His mind emptied of everything except the next step.
The training wasn't new. But now… now it mattered.
Wizbell completed the physical test at a steady pace, without hesitation or unnecessary pauses. His final time was… acceptable. Not outstanding, not poor. Right where it was expected to be… though, for Rogue, it was clear he could use a bit more physical training. It wouldn't hurt.
She nodded to herself.
"Good," she said, not giving him time to catch his breath. "Let's move on to the next."
She clicked her hooves, and the meadow faded. The ground leveled out, the hills sank, the walls vanished, replaced by a flat, open, clean field, perfect for target practice.
Around him, floating targets began to appear, some moving smoothly, others following erratic, unpredictable paths, all slowly orbiting around Wizbell, who stood at the center of the field.
The unicorn studied them for a few seconds, his eyes measuring distances, patterns, rhythms.
"What do I hit them with?" he asked, eyes fixed forward, his mind already analyzing variables.
Rogue simply shrugged, uninterested.
"As long as they explode, I don't care."
Her dry, casual answer hung in the air like an offhand challenge. With that, she simply sat aside, waiting for the show.
Wizbell let out a resigned huff, his horn beginning to glow. Five consecutive shots fired in perfect sequence, immediately destroying the nearest targets. Barely a second later, he had found his rhythm.
His body rotated precisely, his magic flowing like a controlled torrent. Four… five… four… five… maintaining a steady rhythm, each shot hitting true, clean, precise.
But soon, the targets moved beyond his magical sensing range. He could no longer simply "feel" them. He had to adapt his strategy, use peripheral vision, anticipate trajectories.
And yet, he didn't stop. He didn't hesitate. He didn't falter.
His speed increased. His precision sharpened.
Rogue narrowed her eyes, watching. There was a natural efficiency in those movements, a rhythm that didn't come from formal training alone. It was… something else.
When the last targets finally burst into flashes of light, Wizbell lowered his horn, breathing only slightly heavier.
"Good practice," he muttered to himself with a faint smile. "Guess those '6-in-1' games with Dad paid off…"
Rogue raised an eyebrow.
"6-in-1…?"
Then it clicked.
Willstone.
That stubborn, structured, inflexible Willstone.
"Of course he didn't want to bring him here…" Rogue thought, bringing a hoof to her face, exhausted. "But he literally trained him for this… without meaning to."
She sighed.
"Approved," she announced, almost exasperated. "Let's move on to the next test."
The scene didn't change. Only, in front of Wizbell, an object appeared: a black, floating cube, covered in lines of energy vibrating in complex patterns.
Wizbell recognized it immediately.
'Demonic cube…' he thought, with a shiver and a flicker of nostalgia.
Rogue stepped forward, smiling proudly.
"Behold," she said, almost ceremonially, "the magical training artifact. Adaptive levels, progressive difficulty, each phase more infernal than the last. Designed to push your magical control to the brink of collapse."
As she spoke, her words became a distant echo to Wizbell.
The unicorn had already stepped forward.
"Is the timer ready?" he asked, adjusting his stance, his horn pulsing softly.
Rogue, distracted by her explanation of the cube's marvels, simply nodded without looking.
"It starts as soon as it's activated…"
She didn't finish.
Wizbell launched at the cube like an excited colt, his magic enveloping it in a golden flash. The first level fell in 2.34 seconds.
Rogue blinked.
The second level was already complete.
By the time her mind processed what she was seeing, Wizbell was already tackling the final Professional level, his horn emitting a complex sequence of pulses as he manipulated the cube with impossible dexterity.
When the cube finally shut off, emitting a green success light, the floating timer displayed: 1 minute, 57.89 seconds.
Rogue stood completely still.
Her left eye began to twitch.
"THE KID JUST COMPLETED A LEVEL EVERY 13 SECONDS."
Her jaw clenched.
"This… this makes no sense. WILLSTONE, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU TEACH HIM!?"
Wizbell stepped away from the cube, a slight frown on his face.
"Tch. Not my best time."
Rogue just stared at him.
In silence.
While her eye tic continued.
Rogue took a deep breath. Her amber eyes never left Wizbell, who still seemed annoyed by his "bad record." Something between curiosity, exasperation, and a flicker of excitement stirred inside her.
"Alright, little genius…" she murmured to herself, almost amused, almost irritated.
Without wasting time, she discreetly manipulated a control panel only she could see, hidden among the energy lines of the environment. With a few quick movements, she increased the difficulty of the next test. A lot. More than any manual would have recommended.
"Let's see what you do now…"
She turned to him, wearing a neutral, professional smile.
"The next test is simple," she explained. "Several magic circles will appear. You have three seconds to interrupt them at their most vulnerable point before they complete their function."
Wizbell tilted his head, a slow smile forming on his lips.
'This actually sounded fun'
He straightened up, his horn giving a faint pulse as he closed his eyes, sensing his surroundings attentively. His breathing steadied, his posture lowering slightly, like a predator waiting for its prey to move.
Rogue watched him. She said nothing.
She just waited for the exact moment when Wizbell was ready.
Then she activated the test.
In an instant, three magical circles materialized around Wizbell, each glowing with different patterns, spinning lines, symbols lighting up, accumulating energy.
Whatever they were about to do… he definitely wasn't going to like it.
But as soon as they appeared, one of them exploded. The second disintegrated into a shower of particles before completing its sequence. And the third…
The third began to glow gold.
Rogue's eyes widened slightly.
Wizbell hadn't just interrupted it. He was invading it.
His magic penetrated the circle, displacing the original energy, replacing the foreign runes with his own. The golden line advanced, like roots overtaking foreign soil, gradually pushing out the original magic until its influence was erased.
In seconds, the spell wasn't just interrupted: it was conquered.
Wizbell smiled, proud of himself.
"Stay with me…" he murmured to himself, manipulating the now completely his magic circle like a new toy.
The process repeated with the next circles. One after another, not merely blocked, but absorbed, reprogrammed, controlled.
Rogue could only watch. Her expression shifted from surprise, to disbelief… and finally to resignation.
"I'm calling this done."
She sighed.
Her head began to ache.
"I need a super coffee… loaded with sugar… or this is going to kill me," she thought, pressing her temples.
"Alright, test complete," she announced, defeated, emotionless.
As Wizbell deactivated the last conquered circle, Rogue let her shoulders drop, exhaling long and slow.
"This isn't fair…" She looked up at the illusory sky of the room.
"No chance to shine, to show what I can do… I didn't even dare suggest a demonstration… why bother?"
Her mind replayed every sign. Every trace of his father was there, visible in every gesture, every spell, every move. She could perfectly picture Willstone putting his son through ridiculous games, absurd exercises, impossible challenges…
"Of course… if both are magic fanatics… this is what you get: a super colt."
She closed her eyes.
"And to think he doesn't scare me only because he still lacks experience and deeper knowledge… because he's still young… but he's this close to being just as dangerous as his father."
She remembered the other "super rookie" they had evaluated some time ago.
"This generation is insane…"
While she was lost in thought, Wizbell approached, taking advantage of the rare moment of silence.
"May I ask something…?" he said, his usual serious tone intact. "Why did you call me nephew?"
Rogue snapped back to reality, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah… that." She looked him over for a moment. "For you, Aunt Rogue. None of that weird formal stuff, got it?"
Wizbell blinked, confused, but nodded.
Rogue puffed out her chest, smiling proudly.
"I was your father's apprentice," she explained. "But more importantly… I was his matchmaker." Her eyes sparkled, her grin widening. "Thanks to me, they met. Thanks to me, they collided. Thanks to me, they crossed paths."
She placed a hoof over her chest, triumphant.
"So basically… you exist because of me!"
Wizbell could only stare at her… unsure whether to thank her or be concerned.
Rogue simply laughed to herself, relishing that small moment of personal victory.