Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No one quite knows when or why it began.

Scientists have theories, of course—genetic mutations, cosmic radiation, evolutionary leaps—but none have been proven conclusively. The phenomenon simply started appearing about seventy years ago: children born with extraordinary abilities that defied explanation. A girl who could manipulate fire with her thoughts. A boy who could lift objects ten times his size. A teenager who could heal wounds with a touch.

These abilities manifested differently in each person, typically appearing during puberty, though occasionally emerging in early childhood or even infancy. Each power seemed uniquely tied to the individual, as if expressing some core aspect of their being. As these gifted individuals became more common, society needed terminology to describe them. The powers became known as "marks," for the curious emblems that often appeared somewhere on the bearer's body when their abilities first manifested—symbols representing their unique gift. Those born with these abilities became known as "the Marked Ones."

Some used their gifts for personal gain, others for the greater good. And as with any power, there were those who chose destruction. But for every villain that arose, heroes emerged to meet them.

None shone brighter than Invictus.

"Look, Mom! He's winning! He's winning!"

five-year-old Flash Sentry lay sprawled on his stomach on the living room carpet, chin propped on his hands, amber eyes wide with awe as he watched the live news broadcast. His golden-orange skin seemed to glow in the light of the television, and his spiky blue hair—the exact same shade as the hero on the screen—quivered with excitement.

On the television, a man in a gleaming white and gold costume soared through the air, launching himself at a towering reptilian creature that was demolishing downtown Canterlot. The monster—some kind of interdimensional kaiju that had torn through a portal near the harbor—roared as Invictus delivered a punishing blow to its scaled head.

"He certainly is," Star Lance replied from the couch, a gentle smile playing across her lips as she cradled Flash's younger brother, First Base, in her arms. The baby suckled contentedly at his bottle, his eyes—light blue like his father's—occasionally darting to the flashing images on the screen.

Star Lance was a vision of ethereal beauty, with her flowing dark blue hair cascading down her back like a midnight waterfall. Her light blue skin had an almost luminescent quality to it, especially when she smiled, and her violet eyes held a depth of wisdom and compassion that had first captured her husband's heart. Though not a Marked One herself, she possessed a quiet strength that grounded their extraordinary family.

"I wonder if we'll need to run his cape through the special washing machine again," she mused aloud, eyeing the pristine white fabric billowing behind Invictus as he dodged the monster's thrashing tail. "Last time he battled one of those creatures, the slime took three cycles to come out."

Flash tore his gaze away from the screen long enough to look back at his mother. "Do you think Dad will be late for dinner again?" he asked, trying not to sound disappointed. It wouldn't be the first time their family meal had been postponed because of superhero emergencies.

On the screen, Invictus had gained the upper hand. With a tremendous display of strength, he lifted the creature—easily the size of a five-story building—and hurled it away from the populated area toward the abandoned quarry outside the city. The camera struggled to keep up as Invictus streaked across the sky in pursuit, a brilliant white comet against the blue.

The footage cut to a helicopter view just in time to capture Invictus delivering a final, decisive blow. The monster collapsed, defeated, and the crowd that had gathered at a safe distance erupted in cheers. Invictus hovered above the fallen creature, his powerful physique silhouetted against the setting sun. He raised a hand to acknowledge the crowd, his wedding band catching the light as he waved.

Star Lance smiled knowingly. "I have a feeling he definitely won't be late tonight."

As if on cue, the broadcast showed Invictus bidding farewell to the emergency responders before launching himself into the sky, becoming a rapidly diminishing speck on the horizon.

Exactly seventeen seconds later—Flash counted—a loud thud shook the backyard.

The kitchen door swung open, and there he stood: Invictus, hero of Canterlot, defender of the innocent, and Flash's father. His legendary white and gold costume was splattered from collar to boots with viscous green slime. Despite this, his presence filled the room with an almost tangible energy. He stood tall—impossibly tall in Flash's young eyes—with broad shoulders and a confident stance that spoke of someone who had saved the world more times than most people had changed their socks.

The resemblance between father and his older son was striking. They shared the same golden-orange skin, the same electric blue hair—though Stormstride's (as that the hero's real name)  was cut shorter and complemented by a neatly trimmed beard of the same color. His light blue eyes—a trait passed down to his younger son—twinkled with good humor despite the exhaustion evident in the fine lines around them.

"I hope I'm not late for dinner," he said, grinning sheepishly as a glob of green slime dripped from his elbow onto the tile floor.

Star Lance rose gracefully from the couch, baby First Base secure in her arms, and crossed the room to her husband. Standing on tiptoe—for even in her tallness she was dwarfed by his heroic stature—she pressed a loving kiss to his lips, seemingly unbothered by the monster residue.

"You'll just need to wash up," she said, her violet eyes dancing with affection. "We were about to start without you."

"Dad! Dad!" Flash scrambled to his feet and raced across the room. "You beat the bad monster! I saw you on TV! You were amazing!"

Stormstride crouched down, his arms opening wide as Flash launched himself forward. He caught his son mid-leap and hoisted him effortlessly into the air, careful to keep the slime away from the boy's clothes.

"I certainly did, sport.” Stormstride repeated, his voice deep and warm. ”But you know what? Superheroes like me always have to keep their guard up." His expression grew momentarily serious. "Because evil never sleeps, Flash. Remember that."

Flash nodded solemnly, absorbing his father's words like gospel.

"Now," Stormstride continued, lowering Flash back to the ground, "let me get cleaned up so we can have a proper family dinner. And then maybe—" he winked conspiratorially "—I'll tell you about the time I fought THREE kaiju at once."

Flash's eyes widened to saucers. "Three? Really?"

"Really really," his father confirmed. "But dinner first. Even superheroes need their vegetables."

Eleven years later the kitchen table felt emptier, even with three people gathered around it.

"Open it already!" First Base urged, practically bouncing in his seat. At eleven, he was all gangly limbs and boundless energy, his skin a shade of orange darker than Flash's, but with the same light blue eyes as their father—a constant reminder of what they'd lost.

Flash stared at the envelope before him, the gold embossed seal of Canterlot's Academy for the Super-Gifted gleaming under the kitchen lights. His fingers traced the edge but didn't move to break the seal.

"Sweetheart," Star Lance said softly, reaching across to squeeze his hand. The years had been kind to her; her dark blue hair was now streaked with elegant strands of silver, and fine lines around her violet eyes spoke of both laughter and tears. She still carried herself with the same quiet dignity, though there was a protective fierceness about her now that hadn't been there before. "Whatever it says, we're proud of you."

First Base rolled his eyes. "It's obviously an acceptance, idiot. They don't send fancy envelopes for rejections."

"Language," Star Lance warned, though there was no heat in it.

Flash took a deep breath and tore open the envelope. The paper inside was heavy, expensive—the kind used for important proclamations. His eyes scanned the flowing script, pausing at the words that would determine his future.

"I got in," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up, a complicated mix of emotions playing across his features. "I actually got in."

The kitchen erupted in cheers. First Base whooped, pumping his fist in the air, while Star Lance rose from her chair, tears of joy sparkling in her violet eyes. She wrapped her arms around Flash, pulling him close.

"Oh, my brilliant boy," she murmured into his hair. "Of course you did."

But as she pulled back, she noticed the distant look in her son's eyes—a look she recognized all too well. Her expression softened with understanding.

"You're thinking about your father," she said. Not a question.

Flash nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "He would have been..." he started, but couldn't finish.

"Proud," Star Lance supplied firmly. "So incredibly proud, Flash. Just as I am." She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. "He wouldn't want you to despair over what happened. You know that. He'd want you to celebrate this achievement."

Flash nodded again, more convincingly this time. His mother was right, of course. His father had always told him to look forward, not back. To be a hero meant facing the future with courage, no matter what.

And now he was heading to Canterlot's Academy—the most prestigious institution for young Marked Ones in the country. The same hallowed halls his father had walked as a student before becoming the greatest hero the world had ever known.

The irony wasn't lost on Flash.

Him. Flash Sentry. The son of Invictus. Enrolled in a school for the super-gifted.

Despite being completely, utterly markless.

He stared down at his hands—ordinary hands that couldn't lift buildings, couldn't generate energy or control minds or do any of the extraordinary things his future classmates could do. Hands that, despite years of wishing and hoping and praying, had never manifested any special ability whatsoever.

The legacy of the great Invictus, and he couldn't even make a spark.

"I know what you're thinking," Star Lance said, her voice cutting through his thoughts. "And you're wrong. They didn't accept you because of your father's name. They accepted you because of who you are."

Flash wanted to believe her. He really did. But as his gaze drifted to the empty chair at the head of the table—the chair that had remained empty for three years now—he couldn't help but wonder:

How could he possibly live up to the legacy of a father who had given everything to protect the world, when he didn't have a single power to his name?

Chapter Text

Flash shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing down the road for what felt like the hundredth time. The bus was late—or maybe his watch was fast. Either way, the anticipation was making his stomach churn more than it already was. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, filled with brand-new notebooks, pens, and textbooks on "Introduction to Heroics" and "Ethics of Superpowered Intervention"—books everyone else would probably find elementary.

His mind drifted to the letter of acceptance tucked into his jacket pocket. He'd read it so many times over the past week that the creases were starting to wear thin. Still, part of him expected someone from the Academy to call and say there had been a mistake, that they'd confused him with another Flash Sentry—one who actually had powers.

"Yo, Flash! Thought that was you!"

The familiar voice pulled him from his spiral of anxiety. Flash turned to see Soarin jogging toward him, his blue hair windswept as always, a wide grin plastered across his face. His light blue skin seemed to glow in the morning sunlight, and his Canterlot Academy jacket—already emblazoned with the emblem for Wind Manipulation—hung loosely over his athletic frame.

"Soarin," Flash greeted, his tension momentarily forgotten as he bumped fists with his childhood friend. "You're taking the bus? I figured you'd just... you know, fly there."

Soarin laughed, dropping his duffel bag on the bench. "Thought about it, but Mom said it wouldn't make a good first impression to show up all sweaty and windblown." He ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Plus, I wanted the full first-day experience, you know? Riding with the other freshmen and all that."

Flash nodded, trying to match Soarin's enthusiasm. It was hard not to like Soarin—he'd always been the kind of guy who lit up a room just by walking into it, even before his powers manifested.

"Man, can you believe we're finally going?" Soarin continued, practically bouncing on his heels. "I've been waiting for this since I was five."

Five. That's when Soarin's mark had first appeared—during a kindergarten playground game of tag. The other kids had cornered him, and in his desperation to escape, he'd created a gust of wind strong enough to knock them all backward. By twelve, he'd figured out how to manipulate air currents to lift himself off the ground. By fourteen, he was soaring through the clouds like he'd been born with wings.

Flash had been happy for his friend, truly. Had cheered him on during those first wobbly flight attempts. Had bandaged Soarin's knees when he'd crash-landed in Flash's backyard. Had listened patiently to all his excited theories about air density and current manipulation. But there had always been that twinge of something darker beneath his support—a feeling he wasn't proud of.

Jealousy.

"So..." Soarin began, his tone shifting to something more careful. "Any changes? You know, over the summer?"

Flash shook his head, not meeting his friend's eyes. "Nope. Still boring old regular me."

Soarin clapped a hand on Flash's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "Hey, it'll come. Some people are late bloomers, right? And even if it doesn't—which I'm not saying will happen—there are plenty of heroes who don't have natural marks. Look at Iron Strike or Techno Savant."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly a genius inventor either," Flash replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Can't build myself a technologically advanced suit when I barely passed regular physics."

"You don't know what kind of hero you'll be yet," Soarin insisted. "That's what the Academy is for—to help us figure it out."

Before Flash could respond, the distinctive hum of an approaching vehicle caught their attention. Around the corner came a bus—but not the typical city transport Flash had been expecting. This vehicle was sleek and silver, with tinted windows and the Canterlot Academy crest emblazoned on its side.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of them, its doors sliding open with a soft pneumatic hiss. In the driver's seat sat a man in his forties with light orange skin and a shaggy mop of green hair and beard. He wore a simple uniform with the Academy insignia and held a clipboard in one hand.

"Flash Sentry and Soarin Skies?" he asked, peering down at them from behind mirrored sunglasses.

"That's us," Soarin confirmed, grabbing his bag.

The driver nodded, making a check on his clipboard. "Find a seat. We've got three more stops before heading to campus."

Flash followed Soarin onto the bus, immediately aware of the curious glances from the other students already aboard. Some he recognized vaguely from middle school or around town, but most were strangers. Each face held the same mix of excitement and nervousness that churned in his own gut.

Most of the front and middle seats were taken, so they made their way toward the back. Flash noticed an empty row next to a boy with light gamboge skin and a mass of brown curly hair that seemed to defy gravity. He wore a yellow polo shirt and had an easy grin that widened as they approached.

"Mind if we join you?" Flash asked, gesturing to the empty space.

"Not at all, my friends! Plenty of room in this establishment!" the boy replied with an exaggerated formal accent before breaking into laughter. "I'm Cheese Sandwich. Freshman. Future hero extraordinaire. Current holder of the 'most fun at parties' title three years running."

"Flash Sentry," Flash introduced himself as he settled into the seat, deliberately leaving out any mention of his father. "And this is Soarin."

"Sweet to meet you both," Cheese said, offering a fist bump to each of them. "First year too, huh? Gotta say, I'm pretty stoked. Been practicing my superhero landing pose all summer." He demonstrated by striking an overly dramatic crouch, one fist planted on the floor of the bus.

Soarin laughed. "You'll break your knees doing that. Terrible on the joints."

The ice broken, they fell into easy conversation as the bus continued its route, picking up a few more students at each stop. Flash found himself relaxing slightly in the presence of Cheese's infectious enthusiasm and Soarin's familiar company.

"So what about you guys? Family business?" Cheese asked, leaning forward. "My folks have been making dairy products for generations. Cheese, butter, yogurt—hence the name, although the irony is I'm actually lactose intolerant." He grinned at his own joke.

"My parents are both commercial pilots," Soarin offered. "Mom flies international routes, and Dad does domestic. White Wing and Tippy Tappy—they met in flight school."

"And you?" Cheese directed the question to Flash.

"My mom's in real estate," Flash said, deliberately keeping it simple. "Star Lance Realty, if you've seen the signs around town."

He left out his father entirely. It wasn't exactly a secret who his dad had been—most people in Canterlot knew the story of Invictus—but he'd learned that mentioning it immediately changed how people saw him. They either expected him to be just as powerful or viewed him with pitying eyes when they realized he wasn't.

"What about marks?" Cheese asked, wiggling his eyebrows. "I'm basically like rubber. Super elasticity, bounce back from anything." He stretched his arm to an impossible length to grab a pencil that had rolled under the seat in front of them, his limb extending like taffy before snapping back to normal proportions.

"That's pretty cool," Flash admitted. "I, uh... I'd rather not talk about mine right now."

If Cheese found this odd, he didn't show it. He simply shrugged and turned to Soarin.

"Wind manipulation," Soarin said with pride. "I can fly under the right conditions, create gusts, even make small cyclones if I concentrate hard enough."

"Sweet!" Cheese exclaimed. "Bet that comes in handy when you're running late."

Their conversation was interrupted as the bus suddenly veered off the main road, heading down what appeared to be a maintenance path that Flash had never noticed before, despite having lived in Canterlot his entire life.

"Uh, is this the right way?" someone near the front called out nervously.

"Is that the Academy?" another voice joked as they approached what looked like an abandoned lot surrounded by a chain-link fence. "Man, the brochures were way misleading."

A few snickers rippled through the bus, but the driver remained silent, guiding the vehicle through a gate that opened automatically at their approach. Once inside, he brought the bus to a complete stop in the middle of the empty lot.

"Everybody stay seated," he instructed, his first words since they'd boarded.

Flash was about to ask what was happening when a strange sensation washed over him. It began as a tingling in his fingertips, then spread rapidly throughout his body. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he felt as though his very molecules were losing cohesion, melting into the students around him. Beside him, Soarin gasped, and Cheese let out a startled "Whoa!"

The entire bus seemed to be reshaping itself, the walls becoming fluid, the floor rippling beneath their feet. Flash's stomach lurched as reality itself appeared to fold inward, compressing time and space into a single disorienting moment.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, the sensation passed.

"We have arrived at our destination," the driver announced calmly, as if nothing unusual had just occurred. "Please collect your belongings and exit in an orderly fashion."

Flash blinked rapidly, trying to reorient himself. Through the windows, he could see that they were no longer in the abandoned lot. Instead, the bus had somehow transported them to what appeared to be an island, complete with pristine beaches and lush greenery. And there, rising majestically from the center of the island, was Canterlot's Academy for the Super-Gifted.

The building was massive—far larger than it appeared in the brochures or on the website. Its sprawling campus featured multiple wings that branched out from a central dome, with towers and spires reaching toward the sky. The architecture could best be described as pseudo Greco-Roman, with grand columns and sweeping arches, yet modern elements of glass and steel were seamlessly integrated throughout. The morning sunlight reflected off the golden insignia emblazoned across the main entrance: a stylized shield bearing the Academy's motto, "Potentia cum Responsabilitate" — Power with Responsibility.

"Holy cow," Cheese whispered as they filed off the bus. "That thing's bigger than my entire hometown."

Soarin let out an appreciative whistle. "Makes sense, I guess. It houses both high school and junior high programs."

"If the cafeteria is proportional to the size of this place," Cheese quipped, adjusting his backpack, "I might need to develop super-eating as a secondary power."

Flash stood frozen for a moment, taking in the enormity of it all—not just the physical structure, but what it represented. This was where his father had trained. Where Invictus had first learned to control his tremendous powers, before becoming the greatest hero the world had ever known.

And now Flash was here too, powerless, markless, standing in the long shadow cast by both the Academy and his father's legacy.

"You coming, Flash?" Soarin called, already several paces ahead with Cheese.

Flash took a deep breath and nodded, hurrying to catch up with his friends. As they joined the stream of students moving toward the main entrance, he couldn't help but feel that he was walking into territory where he didn't belong—a feeling that only intensified when he caught snippets of conversation around him, students excitedly discussing their marks and powers.

"I can't wait to practice in a proper training facility," one girl was saying, tiny sparks dancing between her fingertips.

"My dad says the combat simulations are insane," added a boy whose skin seemed to ripple with metallic scales whenever he moved.

Flash pulled his jacket tighter around himself, as if it could somehow shield him from the inevitable questions about his own non-existent powers. Sooner or later, everyone would find out: the son of Invictus had no mark. But for now, at least, he could pretend he belonged.

As they approached the imposing main entrance, Flash straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. Mark or no mark, he was here. And somehow, he would find his place among them.

The main hall of Canterlot Academy was nothing short of breathtaking. Soaring marble columns supported a vaulted ceiling decorated with intricate mosaic patterns that seemed to shimmer and move, depicting famous battles between heroes and villains throughout history. Enormous windows of stained glass cast colorful patterns across the white marble floor, each one illustrating a different aspect of heroism: courage, sacrifice, wisdom, compassion.

Flash found himself walking more slowly than necessary, head tilted back to take in the grandeur. The hall was filling rapidly with students of all ages, their excited chatter echoing off the high ceiling. Freshmen like himself were easy to spot—wide-eyed, clutching orientation packets, and trying not to look as intimidated as they felt.

"Come on," Soarin urged, nudging Flash's arm. "We want to get good seats."

"Yeah," Cheese added, bouncing on his toes to see over the crowd. "I hear Principal Celestia puts on quite a show for the welcome speech. My cousin said last year she made the entire stage transform into a miniature solar system."

They managed to navigate through the throng of students toward the central seating area, securing spots in the middle row with a clear view of the elevated stage. As they settled in, Flash noticed the murals adorning the walls around them—depictions of the Academy's most distinguished alumni.

His breath caught in his throat when his eyes landed on one particular image: a figure in white and gold, soaring above a cityscape, a symbol of hope and protection. Invictus. His father. The painting captured that confident smile perfectly, the one that had always made Flash feel safe as a child. Now it seemed to be judging him, reminding him of everything he wasn't.

He quickly averted his gaze, only to have Soarin follow his line of sight.

"Hey," Soarin whispered, giving Flash's shoulder a supportive squeeze. "You belong here too."

Before Flash could respond, the lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the assembled students. A spotlight illuminated the center of the stage where two figures now stood: Principal Celestia and Vice-Principal Luna.

Principal Celestia was tall and regal, with flowing hair in shades of pastel blue, green, and pink that seemed to ripple with its own inner light. Her skin had a pearlescent sheen to it, and though she was dressed in professional attire—a simple white suit with gold accents—there was no mistaking the power she commanded. This was Daybreaker, once considered the most formidable fire-manipulator in the world, rumored to still hold that title despite her retirement from active heroism.

Beside her stood her sister, Vice-Principal Luna, a study in contrasts with her midnight blue hair and deep blue skin. Where Celestia radiated warmth and light, Luna exuded a cooler, more mysterious energy. Her dark suit was accented with silver, and her eyes—a piercing turquoise—seemed to see through the facade of every student present. As Nightmare Moon, she had once controlled shadows and darkness with unparalleled skill, a power some whispered she still wielded when necessary. 

Principal Celestia stepped forward, and lifted the microphone.

"Welcome, students, to a new year at Canterlot Academy for the Super-Gifted," she began, her voice warm yet commanding. "For our returning students, welcome back. For those joining us for the first time, you stand at the threshold of a journey that will challenge you, transform you, and ultimately prepare you for the responsibilities that come with your extraordinary gifts."

She gestured broadly, and with a graceful movement of her hand, tiny flames appeared in the air around her, coalescing into the shape of the Academy's shield emblem.

"Potentia cum Responsabilitate," she continued. "Power with Responsibility. This is not merely our motto; it is the foundation upon which this institution was built. Your marks make you different, but they do not make you superior. They grant you abilities, but they also burden you with obligation—to protect those without such gifts, to uphold justice, and to embody the highest ideals of heroism."

Vice-Principal Luna stepped forward now, the flames morphing into shadows at her approach. "You will be tested here," she said, her voice lower but no less commanding than her sister's. "Not simply in the mastery of your abilities, but in your character. In the choices you make when faced with adversity. Some of you will fail these tests." Her gaze seemed to linger on certain sections of the audience. "Others will exceed even your own expectations."

The shadows expanded, forming images of students in various training scenarios—combat simulations, rescue operations, ethical dilemmas presented in three-dimensional shadow play above the stage.

"This is not a place for those who seek only glory or recognition," Luna continued. "If that is your goal, you would be better served elsewhere. But if you truly wish to become heroes—to serve, to protect, to inspire—then you have found your home."

Principal Celestia stepped forward once more, the shadows yielding to light as she addressed the assembly again. "Your schedules have been uploaded to your student portals, and your locker assignments are available at the information kiosks throughout the main hallways. Freshman orientation activities will begin immediately after lunch, and classes officially start tomorrow morning."

She paused, her expression softening slightly. "And remember—all of us, even the greatest heroes, began exactly where you are now: full of potential, brimming with questions, and perhaps a little afraid." Her eyes swept over the crowd, and Flash could have sworn they lingered on him for a moment. "Embrace that uncertainty. It is the beginning of wisdom."

With that, she and Luna raised their hands in unison, and the ceiling of the hall transformed into a breathtaking display of cosmic energy—swirling galaxies and shooting stars, a reminder of the vastness of the universe and their place within it.

"Class dismissed," Principal Celestia concluded as the display slowly faded. "And may this year bring out the hero in each of you."

Applause thundered through the hall as the lights came back up. Students began rising from their seats, the excited buzz of conversation resuming at an even higher volume.

"Okay, that was even cooler than my cousin described," Cheese admitted, his eyes still wide with wonder. "Did you see the way they manipulated those elements? No wonder they were top-tier heroes back in the day."

"They still are," Soarin corrected him. "Just because they're educators now doesn't mean they've lost any power. My dad said Principal Celestia once had to step in during a villain attack downtown last year—melted an entire armored tank in seconds flat."

They joined the stream of students heading toward the information kiosks, where upperclassmen were helping distribute locker assignments. After a few minutes of waiting, they each received their electronic key cards and directions to their respective lockers.

"Looks like we're all in the same hallway," Flash noted, studying the small digital map on his key card. "East Wing, Section B."

"Race you there?" Soarin suggested with a grin.

Cheese's body suddenly stretched upward like a periscope, his neck extending a full three feet as he surveyed the crowd. "East Wing is thattaway," he announced, pointing before his body snapped back to normal proportions with a slight twang sound. "And I accept your challenge, wind boy."

Flash shook his head as his two new friends took off, weaving through the crowd with Cheese's elastic limbs giving him a slight advantage in the congested hallway. He followed at a more measured pace, taking the opportunity to observe his new surroundings. The Academy was even more impressive on the inside—every corridor featured displays showcasing student achievements, historical artifacts from famous hero missions, and high-tech training equipment glimpsed through viewing windows.

By the time Flash caught up, Soarin and Cheese were already at their assigned section, but something was clearly amiss. Soarin stood with his arms crossed, facing a trio of students who were lounging against the lockers—specifically, against Soarin's newly assigned locker.

The central figure of the trio had bright red skin that seemed to radiate heat, with spiky orange hair and a protruding lower tooth that gave him a perpetual sneer. He wore a leather jacket despite the warm weather, and his posture screamed confrontation. Flanking him were two equally unfriendly-looking students: one with brown skin and light blue hair, his bulky frame taking up space like he owned it, and another with stark white skin and pink hair who was surveying the hallway with obvious disdain in his pink eyes.

"Excuse me," Soarin was saying as Flash approached, his tone polite but firm. "That's my locker you're leaning on. I need to get in there."

The red-skinned student made a show of looking at the locker number, then at Soarin, before breaking into mocking laughter. "Well, would you look at that, boys? We've got ourselves a freshman who thinks he can tell me where to stand."

"I'm not telling you where to stand," Soarin clarified, still keeping his cool. "I'm just asking if you could move so I can open my locker."

"And I'm telling you to get lost, air-head," the bully responded, not budging an inch. "Find somewhere else to store your sippy cup and blankie."

His two companions snickered at this, the brown-skinned one folding his massive arms across his chest while the white-skinned one smirked.

"Look," Soarin tried again, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I don't want any trouble. It's just my assigned locker, that's all."

"Oooh, he doesn't want any trouble," the red one mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Well, too bad, freshman. Trouble found you anyway."

Flash had seen enough. Stepping forward, he positioned himself beside Soarin, meeting the bully's gaze directly.

"Hey," Flash said, his voice level but challenging. "You having trouble hearing or something? He asked you nicely to move."

The hallway suddenly seemed quieter, other students slowing their pace to watch the confrontation unfold. The red-skinned bully straightened up, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Flash.

"Well, well... another freshman with a death wish." He stepped closer to Flash, the air around him noticeably heating up. "You got a name, hero wannabe?"

"Flash Sentry," he replied without hesitation, refusing to be intimidated despite the growing knot in his stomach. Unlike Soarin, he had no powers to defend himself with if this escalated.

A flicker of recognition passed through the bully's eyes—maybe at the last name, maybe not—but it was quickly replaced by contempt. "Flash, huh? Well, once I'm done with you, there won't be anything left but a wet stain on the floor."

As he spoke, flames erupted from both of his palms, dancing eagerly between his fingers. Behind him, his friends moved into position: the brown-skinned one's hands transformed before their eyes, becoming encased in what looked like solid rock, while the white-skinned one took a deep breath, his chest expanding unnaturally as if preparing to exhale something devastating.

Flash instinctively dropped into a fighting stance—not that it would do much good against three Marked Ones, but he wasn't about to back down. To his left, Soarin's hands began to swirl with currents of visible air, tiny cyclones forming between his fingers. To his right, Cheese Sandwich stretched his limbs into a bizarre battle stance, his normally jovial expression replaced with serious determination.

"None of this is funny anymore, fellas," Cheese warned, his arms elongating slightly in preparation. "Three against three seems fair, but I'm pretty sure the Academy handbook has something to say about hallway brawls on the first day."

The red-skinned bully's flames grew larger, heat radiating off him in waves. "Handbook? Oh, you really are fresh meat. Let me give you your first lesson—"

"Cut it out, Garble."

The commanding voice cut through the tension like a knife. All six teenagers turned to see another student approaching from further down the hallway. He had dark gray skin that seemed to shimmer with barely contained energy, a silver mohawk styled to perfection, and intense yellow eyes that fixed on the red bully—Garble—with obvious contempt.

Garble's flames flickered slightly, but he held his ground. "Or what, Thunderlane? You gonna run and tell the teachers?"

The newcomer—Thunderlane—didn't respond immediately. Instead, he simply stared at Garble, his yellow eyes narrowing slightly. The air in the hallway seemed to change, becoming charged with static electricity. The lights overhead flickered once, twice, and several students nearby stepped back instinctively.

Flash felt the hair on his arms stand on end, and a faint smell of ozone permeated the air. Without a word being spoken, it was abundantly clear that Thunderlane was not someone to be trifled with.

After a tense moment, Garble extinguished the flames in his hands with an annoyed flick of his wrists. "Whatever. We got nothing to gain hanging around fresh meat anyway." He nodded to his cronies. "Come on, Clump, Fizzle. Let's bounce."

The three began to saunter away, but not before Garble deliberately bumped his shoulder against Thunderlane's, hard enough that it would have staggered someone unprepared. Thunderlane didn't move an inch, his expression unchanged as the trio disappeared around a corner.

Only when they were gone did the electrical charge in the air dissipate. Thunderlane turned to Flash, Soarin, and Cheese with an apologetic look.

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice much friendlier now. "Not exactly the welcome committee you were hoping for on your first day, I'm guessing."

"Does that happen often?" Soarin asked, the wind around his hands settling back to normal.

Thunderlane shrugged. "Garble and his crew like to throw their weight around. I've been here since the junior high program, so I'm used to their nonsense, but it sucks that you guys had to deal with it right off the bat."

"Thanks for stepping in," Flash said, extending his hand. "I'm Flash Sentry. This is Soarin and Cheese Sandwich."

Thunderlane accepted the handshake, and Flash noticed a slight static shock when their hands connected—nothing painful, just a reminder of the power contained within the other student.

"What's your—" Soarin began, but was cut off by a sudden announcement over the school's PA system.

"Attention," came Principal Celestia's unmistakable voice. "Would the following students please report to the principal's office immediately: Garble, Clump, Fizzle, Flash Sentry, and Thunderlane. Thank you."

The hallway fell silent for a moment before whispers broke out all around them. Being summoned to the principal's office on the first day couldn't be good—especially when three of the names belonged to the bullies they'd just confronted.

Thunderlane sighed heavily. 

Guess we'd better head to Celestia's office before we add 'tardiness' to whatever trouble we're already in."

Flash nodded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. His first day at the Academy, and he was already being sent to the principal's office. What would his mother say? What would his father have thought?

As they prepared to head toward the administrative wing, Flash's eyes caught on another mural decorating the hallway—a detailed painting of Invictus in flight, his cape billowing behind him as he soared above the clouds. The artist had captured his father's essence perfectly: the determination in his eyes, the compassionate set of his jaw, the unwavering sense of purpose.

Flash quickly looked away, shame washing over him. His father had been a legend here, and now his markless son was being disciplined before classes had even begun. Soarin cast him a knowing glance—the only one among them who understood the weight of that legacy—but thankfully said nothing as they set off down the corridor.

Whatever awaited them in Principal Celestia's office, Flash had a feeling this was just the beginning of what promised to be a very complicated year.

The administrative wing of Canterlot Academy was noticeably quieter than the rest of the school. The marble floors gave way to plush carpeting that muffled footsteps, and the walls were adorned with photographs of graduating classes dating back decades. Flash nervously studied these as he waited his turn outside Principal Celestia's office, trying not to make eye contact with Garble, who sat scowling in a chair across from him.

Thunderlane had already gone in first, followed by each of Garble's cronies. The wait was excruciating. Flash's mind raced with possibilities—would he get detention on his first day? Would they call his mother? Would this go on some permanent record that future hero agencies would see?

The door to Celestia's office opened, and Clump emerged looking thoroughly chastised, his bulk somehow seeming smaller as he shuffled past without meeting anyone's eyes.

"Flash Sentry," called a melodic voice from within. "Please come in."

Taking a deep breath, Flash stood and entered the principal's office. The space was surprisingly warm and inviting—not the stark, intimidating chamber he had imagined. Sunlight streamed through tall windows overlooking the Academy grounds, illuminating walls lined with bookshelves and display cases containing artifacts from Principal Celestia's heroic career: a fragment of meteorite she'd once diverted from the city, a ceremonial key to Canterlot, photographs of her with world leaders and legendary heroes alike.

Principal Celestia herself sat behind a large desk of polished wood, her multi-colored hair seeming to float slightly in an unfelt breeze. Up close, Flash could see faint lines around her eyes—evidence of years spent facing the harshest realities of heroism—but they did nothing to diminish her aura of authority and grace.

"Please, sit down," she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk.

Flash complied, trying not to fidget under her penetrating gaze. On her desk, he noticed a holographic display showing what appeared to be security footage of the hallway confrontation from multiple angles.

"Principal Celestia, I can explain—" he began, but she raised a hand gently to stop him.

"I know everything, Mr. Sentry," she said, her voice calm but firm. "About the confrontation in the hallway."

Flash blinked, surprised. "That... happened pretty fast."

A slight smile touched Celestia's lips. "I have my ways, Mr. Sentry. Very little occurs within these walls without my knowledge."

She gestured toward the holographic display, which showed the moment Flash had stepped forward to confront Garble on Soarin's behalf. "Your intentions were admirable. Standing up for your friend shows courage and loyalty—qualities essential to any hero." Her expression grew more serious. "However, the manner in which you chose to intervene could have escalated the situation dangerously."

Flash straightened in his chair. "I understand, but Soarin tried asking nicely twice, and they were clearly looking for trouble."

"Perhaps," Celestia conceded. "But the proper procedure would have been to alert a teacher or security personnel. We have systems in place to handle such conflicts without resorting to confrontations that could potentially lead to students using their marks against one another."

She leaned forward slightly, her multicolored eyes seeming to see straight through him. "Mr. Sentry, I want to be perfectly clear: regardless of what family you come from, the rules at this Academy apply equally to everyone."

Flash felt his cheeks warm. So she did know who his father was—of course she did. Invictus had been one of the Academy's most celebrated alumni.

"I understand, Principal Celestia," he said quietly. "It won't happen again."

She studied him for a moment longer. "Your father was an exceptional hero, Mr. Sentry. But even he had to learn that heroism isn't just about physical confrontation—it's about wise judgment, de-escalation when possible, and knowing when to seek help."

Flash swallowed hard at the mention of his father. It was one thing to be compared to Invictus by classmates who barely knew him; it was another entirely to have his father's legacy invoked by someone who had actually known him.

"Yes, ma'am," he managed, unsure what else to say.

Celestia's expression softened slightly. "This is merely a warning, Mr. Sentry. A clean slate for your first day. But I hope you'll remember this conversation the next time you find yourself in a similar situation."

"I will," Flash promised, relief washing over him.

"Very well." Celestia nodded, closing the holographic display with a wave of her hand. "You're free to go. I believe you still have time to get settled before orientation activities begin."

Flash stood, gathering his backpack. As he turned to leave, Celestia spoke again.

"And Mr. Sentry?"

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"While I expect you to follow proper protocols in the future," she said, a hint of warmth entering her voice, "I am glad to see that Invictus's son understands that heroism often begins with standing up for others."

Flash nodded, unable to find words to respond to the unexpected praise. With a final respectful nod, he exited the office, closing the door behind him.

In the waiting area, Garble still sat with his arms crossed, a surly expression on his face. He glared as Flash passed, but said nothing. Whatever punishment awaited him was clearly more concerning than continuing their earlier conflict.

As Flash made his way back through the administrative wing, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Relief at escaping serious consequences, lingering anxiety about the inevitable comparisons to his father that would follow him throughout his time here, and a renewed determination to find his place at the Academy—with or without a mark.

He had survived his first crisis at Canterlot's Academy for the Super-Gifted. But as he glanced at a portrait of Invictus hanging among other famous alumni on the wall, he knew the real challenges were only beginning.

Chapter Text

Flash, Soarin, and Cheese Sandwich walked down the halls of Canterlot Academy, trying not to look as nervous as they felt. The school uniforms—navy blue blazers with the school's emblem (a shield with a radiant sun) on the breast pocket, paired with comfortable khaki pants for the boys—were at least flexible enough to move around in easily. Flash had left his blazer unbuttoned over a white shirt, while Soarin wore his sleeves rolled up, and Cheese Sandwich had somehow already personalized his with colorful pins along the lapel.

"Do you think we're in the right wing?" Flash asked, glancing at the room numbers. "This place is huge."

"According to the map, Class 1-A should be right around..." Soarin's words trailed off as they turned the corner and spotted a familiar figure leaning against the wall beside a classroom door.

"Thunderlane?" Flash asked, surprised.

The gray-skinned teenager with silver mohawk looked up, recognition dawning in his eyes. He wore his uniform with a certain casual confidence, the top button undone and a thin silver chain just visible at his collar.

"Hi. You were Flash, right?" he asked, straightening up.

The orange teenager nodded, brushing his blue hair out of his eyes.

Thunderlane then looked at Flash's companions. "And you guys are Cheese Sandwich and Soarin?"

"The one and only," replied the light blue teenager, giving a small salute with two fingers.

"Yup!" Cheese Sandwich grinned widely, his curly brown hair seeming to bounce with his enthusiasm.

Thunderlane nodded, pushing himself off the wall. "As someone who's been in this school longer, I feel kinda obligated to introduce you to the classroom. I know all the people in there."

"That's... really thoughtful. Thanks," said Soarin, exchanging a relieved glance with Flash.

Thunderlane gave them a sign with his head, and all three of them followed him toward the door. As he pushed it open, they got their first good look at their new classroom.

It was weirdly spacious, especially for a class that counted only twelve desks arranged in three rows of four. Large windows lined the far wall, bathing the room in natural light that reflected off the polished wooden floors. At the front stood a sleek electronic whiteboard, and each desk was equipped with a small holographic projector—cutting-edge tech for training the next generation of heroes.

In various poses, the remaining eight students were either sitting or standing while talking. Six girls and two boys, each one with a distinctive appearance that made them stand out even in their uniforms.

There was a boy with golden light skin and semi-long brilliant gamboge hair that fell in stylish waves. His eyes were the color of brilliant pistachio, and he leaned casually against a desk, looking completely at ease.

Next to him stood a girl with a very similar shade of green eyes as well as orange skin, freckles, and blonde hair the color of freshly cut grain tied back in a simple ponytail. She wore the girls' uniform—the same navy blazer but with a plaid skirt instead of pants—with practical flat shoes, and had rolled up her sleeves. The two looked similar enough that the idea of them being related immediately popped into Soarin's mind.

The other boy had beige skin, dark brown hair, and light cobalt blue eyes. His hair was combed backwards similarly to Soarin's, and he wore a wristwatch that looked far more advanced than any regular timepiece.

Among the girls, one stood out immediately with her vibrant purple skin and dark indigo hair with a magenta streak running through it. She wore the standard girls' uniform perfectly pressed and neat, with dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She seemed to be explaining something enthusiastically while gesturing to a holographic diagram floating above her tablet.

Beside her, a girl with butter-yellow skin and long, flowing pink hair that fell past her waist listened attentively. She was wearing the blazer over a modest white turtleneck, and her uniform skirt was slightly longer than the others. She seemed to be the shyest of the group, partially hiding behind her hair.

Another girl with pristine white skin and elegantly styled purple curls was sketching something in a notebook. Her uniform had subtle modifications—a fashionable belt cinching the blazer at the waist and stylish boots instead of the standard shoes. She looked up occasionally to add to the conversation with perfectly timed remarks.

Perhaps the most eye-catching was a girl with vibrant pink skin and even pinker curly hair that somehow managed to look both wild and deliberately styled. Her uniform blazer had been decorated with colorful patches and sparkly pins, and she wore mismatched socks beneath her skirt. She seemed unable to stay still, bouncing slightly even when standing in place.

The final girl had cyan blue skin and rainbow-colored hair in a sporty ponytail. She had her feet propped up on a desk and was leaning back in her chair, looking cool and confident. Her uniform blazer was tied around her waist, revealing a fitted athletic shirt underneath, and she wore shorts beneath her skirt.

All of their eyes turned in the direction of the newcomers as the door opened.

"Everyone," Thunderlane announced, stepping aside to let Flash, Soarin, and Cheese Sandwich into the room, "I want you to meet our newest classmates."

The purple-skinned girl immediately put down her tablet and approached them with an outstretched hand. "Welcome to Canterlot Academy! I'm Twilight Sparkle, class representative. I've prepared orientation packets for each of you with the class schedule, campus map, and study resources." She smiled warmly, then looked more closely at Flash, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh! You look just like—"

"Invictus," Flash finished with a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Are you related?" asked the rainbow-haired girl, suddenly interested as she swung her legs off the desk and stood up.

Flash shifted uncomfortably, aware that everyone was staring. "He's, um, maybe-kinda my dad."

The room went silent for a moment before erupting into excited chatter.

"Your dad is THE Invictus?" The rainbow-haired girl zipped over, moving faster than seemed possible. "The hero who stopped the Cosmic Storm? That's so awesome! I'm Rainbow Dash, by the way."

"Give him some space, Rainbow," chided the white-skinned girl, approaching more gracefully. "Not everyone wants to be immediately associated with their parents, famous or otherwise." She offered Flash a sympathetic smile. "I'm Rarity. Pleasure to meet you."

The pink-haired girl bounced over next, practically vibrating with energy. "I'm Pinkie Pie! This is so exciting! New friends mean we need a PARTY! Do you like parties? I make the best parties! I can do balloons, and streamers, and cake—I make amazing cakes!"

"Pinkie, darling, perhaps let them introduce themselves first?" Rarity suggested gently.

Flash nodded gratefully. "I'm Flash Sentry. Just Flash is fine." He glanced at his friends, silently pleading for them to take over.

"Soarin," said the blue-skinned teen with a casual wave. "Looking forward to training with all of you."

"And I'm Cheese Sandwich!" announced the curly-haired boy with a dramatic bow. "Extraordinary extraordinaire and future party planning professional!" He pulled a small party horn from his pocket and blew it, somehow producing confetti.

Pinkie gasped in delight. "Another party person! This is going to be the best school year EVER!"

The boy with golden skin stepped forward next, offering a friendly smile. "Braeburn's the name. Welcome to the class." His accent had a distinct country twang.

"He's my cousin," added the orange-skinned girl with the blonde ponytail, stepping up beside him. "I'm Applejack. Good to have y'all join us."

The shy yellow-skinned girl whispered something too quiet to hear.

"This is Fluttershy," Twilight introduced for her. "She's a bit reserved at first, but an absolute sweetheart."

"And I'm Time Turner," said the brown-haired boy with the fancy watch, giving them a quick nod. "Looking forward to working with you all."

Cheese Sandwich pulled out another party horn and offered it to Pinkie. "I always come prepared for impromptu celebrations!"

Pinkie squealed in delight and took the horn, the two of them blowing them simultaneously while somehow producing twice as much confetti as should have been possible.

Applejack chuckled, looking at Thunderlane with an amused expression. "Where'd you find these fellas, Thunderlane? They seem like a real interesting bunch."

"Just doing my duty as your friendly neighborhood guide," Thunderlane replied with a grin. "Besides, I ran into them  after power testing yesterday. Figured they'd fit right in with our weird little group."

"Well, now that introductions are out of the way," Twilight began, "let me tell you about our class schedule. We start each day with theory, followed by practical training after lunch. Professor Discord teaches Mark History, and he can be a bit... eccentric, but he's brilliant. Then we have—”

  the classroom door suddenly swung open. A man with grayish-brown skin, silver hair, and piercing blue eyes stepped through. A bushy silver mustache framed his weathered face, and he wore a well-worn stetson that matched his overall cowboy aesthetic rather than what one would expect from a teacher. His denim shirt and leather vest completed the look, with a bolo tie as his only concession to formal attire.

He took a good look at the class, his gaze lingering especially on Flash, Cheese, and Soarin, as if mentally cataloging the new additions.

"G'd mornin' class," he drawled, his voice deep and gravelly. "Mah name's Burnt Oak, and I was assigned as your class's teacher." His accent was so thick it could rival Applejack's and Braeburn's combined. Flash noticed that the two farm-looking students were staring at the teacher with particular interest.

The pink-haired girl's hand shot up immediately, waving with excessive enthusiasm. "What happened to Mr. Cranky Doodle?" she asked, bouncing slightly in her seat.

"Mr. Doodle retired, much to the sadness o' students 'n rest of the faculty," Burnt Oak replied, though his tone suggested he personally didn't share in this supposed collective grief. "Now..."

He focused his attention on the trio of newcomers and pulled out a digital writing pad from his vest pocket. "Your names, gentlemen."

"Soarin Skies," the blue-skinned teen decided to start, standing a bit straighter.

"Marked or markless?" asked Burnt Oak, his finger hovering over the screen.

"Marked," Soarin replied with a hint of pride.

Oak tapped at the screen, noting that down with a nod.

"Cheese Sandwich. Marked," announced the lanky teen with a wide grin, giving a little salute.

Burnt Oak noted that as well, then turned his expectant gaze to Flash.

Flash swallowed hard, feeling a sudden weight of expectation. "Flash Sentry."

Burnt Oak wrote the name down but then waited, his bushy eyebrow raised slightly. When Flash didn't continue, he prompted, "Markless?"

Flash nodded silently, feeling the eyes of the entire class on him.

"Nothin' to be ashamed of," said Burnt Oak with surprising gentleness. "Mr. Turner also has no mark either."

Flash glanced toward his classmate, the boy with the brown hair. "Really?"

"Really," replied Time Turner with an encouraging smile, though something in his eyes seemed to flicker momentarily.

"But..." interjected Oak, his tone shifting to something more serious, "ya will have to put more effort than the rest of the students if you want to succeed in this line of work."

He placed the writing pad on his desk with a definitive click. "So... to refresh mah memory, we'll all have duo brawls t'day."

Flash gulped audibly upon hearing this, a cold feeling spreading through his stomach. First day, and already they were jumping straight into combat.

An hour later, Flash found himself standing in the middle of an impressive circular arena behind the main school building. The space was enormous—easily the size of a football field—with a reinforced glass dome that allowed natural light to flood in while containing any potential... mishaps. The floor was composed of specialized material that could absorb impacts and had subtle drainage channels for water-based powers.

All students had changed into their sports uniforms—lightweight, breathable material in the school colors with their names printed across the back. Flash tugged at his, feeling exposed without the formality of the blazer.

From the sidelines, he had watched several matches already, learning more about his classmates' abilities. Twilight, the purple-haired girl with glasses, had demonstrated surprising control over ice, creating elaborate structures that trapped her opponent. Pinkie Pie, defying all logic, could chew her vibrant pink hair and blow it like bubblegum, creating enormous bubbles that immobilized her targets upon impact.

Rarity, the elegant white-skinned girl, had formed beautiful hexagonal crystal shields of different sizes, which she could connect and reshape into various constructs—at one point creating a crystalline cage around her opponent. And most impressively to Flash, Fluttershy, the shy yellow-skinned girl, could turn completely invisible, though she'd seemed reluctant to use this ability offensively.

Now, it was Flash's turn. Burnt Oak had paired him with Thunderlane to face off against Applejack and Rainbow Dash. Flash could feel sweat beading on his forehead as he stood beside his teammate, facing the two confident girls across the arena.

Rainbow Dash cracked her knuckles, her rainbow-colored hair seeming to shift in a non-existent breeze. Applejack adjusted her hat—apparently an approved modification to the uniform—and fixed them with a determined stare that clearly said "I'm gonna win."

"You're going to focus on Applejack, leave Rainbow to me," Thunderlane whispered to Flash, his eyes never leaving their opponents.

"Why?" asked Flash, doubt creeping into his voice.

"Because without a mark, you won't last ten seconds against good ol' Dash over there," Thunderlane replied bluntly, though not unkindly. "I've seen her in action before.”

Flash nodded, grateful for the guidance even if the assessment stung his pride a bit.

Burnt Oak stepped onto a raised platform at the edge of the arena. "Mkay. Team Thunderflash versus Team Rainbow Apples, ready... steady... GO!"

The next few things happened with dizzying speed.

Thunderlane immediately bolted toward Rainbow Dash, electricity crackling around his body in bright blue arcs. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he moved, trailing small sparks behind him.

Applejack turned in that direction, clearly intending to assist her teammate, but Flash lunged at her, moving faster than he'd thought himself capable of.

"You're not forgetting about me, are you?" he shouted in her direction, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

AJ smirked, turning her attention back to him. "Nah, I'm not." She started to pull something from her elbow—a strange motion that Flash couldn't quite comprehend until he saw the object begin to emerge. It shined with a golden light, stretching and extending from her very skin.

Soon enough, she was holding a shining energy whip in her hand, its golden length humming with power.

As they squared off, Flash noticed that the weather in the dome had dramatically shifted. Dark clouds gathered overhead, and wind began circling around Rainbow Dash, lifting her slightly off the ground. Thunderlane closed in on her, his body now completely enveloped in electrical energy.

As Thunderlane's electrified fist connected with Rainbow's wind barrier, a massive tornado suddenly formed at the point of impact. Ice crystals and bolts of electricity began shooting out from the vortex, creating a spectacular but terrifying display of power.

Flash could feel the raw energy emanating from the clash—power that vastly exceeded anything he could hope to muster without a mark. The realization was both humbling and intimidating.

But before he could dwell on it further, AJ took her first swing. The golden whip extended with incredible speed, catching Flash's unprotected right arm. Pain immediately exploded from the point of contact, causing him to cry out in shock.

"Don't be distracted, sugarcube!" Applejack called out, her tone almost friendly despite the situation.

She swung her arm back to make another strike. Time seemed to slow down for Flash as he watched the whip arc through the air. She was aiming for his left hand this time. Acting on pure instinct, Flash held out his palm. As soon as he felt the searing pain of the whip connecting with his open palm, he closed his fist around it and used his other hand to pull with all his might.

Applejack staggered forward but maintained her grip on the whip. After a brief moment of imbalance, she regained her proper footing, her green eyes narrowing with newfound respect.

Meanwhile, Thunderlane was spat out from the tornado with tremendous force. He skidded across the arena floor, partially covered in ice crystals that clung to his uniform and skin. His yellow eyes quickly sought out his partner.

"Flash! You doing alright there?!" he called, struggling to stand as the ice cracked around his joints.

The orange teenager could feel the whip sinking deeper into his hand, drawing blood that trickled down his wrist. "I'll live," he grunted, refusing to let go despite the pain.

Rainbow Dash stepped out of the dissipating tornado, her hair wild but her stance confident. "Tired yet?" she taunted Thunderlane.

Thunderlane gave her a bitter chuckle. "You wish." With renewed determination, he charged at her again. Wind, clouds, and ice immediately began forming around them once more, obscuring them from view.

Flash tried pulling Applejack toward himself again, but she moved only a little, her boots firmly planted on the arena floor. She was far stronger than he had anticipated.

"Not bad, not bad..." she acknowledged with an approving nod.

In that moment, Flash felt something strange—the whip was moving of its own accord, slowly wrapping around his hand like a living thing.

"What the..." he gasped, eyes widening.

Suddenly, Applejack released her hold on the whip. Flash fell backward from his own pulling force, and to his horror, felt the whip rapidly wrapping itself around his body, binding his arms to his sides. It tightened painfully, the burning sensation intensifying wherever it touched his skin.

"Cool thing, eh?" asked AJ, seemingly unperturbed by the loss of her weapon. To Flash's dismay, she began pulling another glowing whip from her elbow. "Now to help my part—"

Her words were cut short by a massive electrical discharge that suddenly erupted across the entire field. The air filled with the smell of ozone as blue-white light engulfed everything in sight. Flash felt his muscles seize up, his vision going white, then black at the edges.

The last thing he heard was Burnt Oak shouting something unintelligible before consciousness slipped away entirely.

"...lucky he didn't get the full brunt of it. The whip actually insulated him somewhat."

Flash gradually became aware of voices nearby. His eyelids felt heavy, his limbs even heavier. The smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and the surface beneath him was softer than the arena floor had been.

"He's waking up," someone said—Soarin's voice.

With considerable effort, Flash pried his eyes open. The ceiling above him was plain white, the lighting thankfully dimmed. Turning his head slightly, he saw Soarin and Thunderlane sitting in chairs beside what he now recognized as a hospital bed.

"Hey there, hero," Soarin said with a relieved smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Flash tried to speak, but his throat felt dry. Thunderlane quickly handed him a cup of water, which he accepted gratefully.

"What happened?" Flash finally managed after taking a few sips.

Thunderlane looked uncomfortable, running a hand through his hair. Static electricity followed his fingers, making small strands stand on end.

"That was my bad," he admitted. "During our duel, I managed to knock Rainbow out cold with a lucky shot, but..." He sighed, looking at his hands. "When I put a certain amount of strength into my punches, I sometimes release a huge amount of electricity. Can't always control it. It's like a circuit breaker failing."

Flash tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his body. His left hand was bandaged, and he could feel similar wrappings around his right arm.

"Easy there," Soarin cautioned. "Nurse Redheart said you should take it slow."

"How long was I out?" Flash asked, settling back against the pillows.

"About three hours," Thunderlane replied. "Not too bad considering. If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one."

He gestured to another bed across the room. Flash turned his head to see Applejack lying there, still unconscious. Her hat rested on the bedside table, and her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders.

"AJ got hit pretty hard," Soarin explained. "She was closer to Thunderlane when he... discharged."

Thunderlane hung his head slightly. "I really am sorry. I thought I had it under control this time."

"It's fine," Flash assured him, though his body disagreed vehemently. "It's part of the training, right? Learning to handle the unexpected."

The door to the recovery room opened, and Burnt Oak entered, his expression unreadable. "Good to see you awake, Sentry," he said, approaching the bed. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like I was hit by a truck," Flash admitted honestly.

Burnt Oak nodded. "That's about right. But you showed some good instincts out there. For someone without a mark, you held your own longer than expected against Applejack."

Flash wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or not, but he decided to take it as one. "Thank you, sir."

"Rest up," the teacher continued. "Both of you," he added, looking at Thunderlane. "Accidents happen. Part of learnin' how to handle your marks is learnin' their limitations."

Thunderlane nodded soberly. "Yes, sir."

After Burnt Oak left, a moment of silence fell over the room.

"So," Flash finally said, "is every day going to be like this?"

Soarin laughed. "Nah, it’ll be much worse."

Thunderlane elbowed him. "Don't listen to him. But seriously, Flash, you did well out there. Most markless students wouldn't have even attempted what you did."

Flash thought about his father—the greatest superhero on the planet—and wondered what he would think about today's performance. Would he be proud? Disappointed? Would he finally understand why Flash was so desperate for his own mark to appear?

"Thanks," he said simply, then changed the subject. "So, how did your matches go?"

As Soarin launched into an animated retelling of his wind-powered victory alongside Cheese Sandwich, Flash couldn't help but glance again at Applejack's still form. He'd survived his first day at superhero school, at least. That was something.

But deep down, he knew that without a mark, every day would be an uphill battle. And the shadow of his father's legacy would continue to loom large until he could find his own path.

The rhythmic sound of Flash's footfalls on the academy grounds was like a metronome that had been keeping him company for the past forty minutes. Running had always been his sanctuary—a place where being markless didn't matter, where the only power that counted was the strength of his legs and the capacity of his lungs. He had been a runner ever since he could walk, finding solace in the simplicity of putting one foot in front of the other. His father had encouraged it, saying that physical conditioning was the foundation of any hero.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the subtle scent of autumn leaves and distant rain clouds. The campus paths were illuminated by evenly spaced lamp posts that cast pools of golden light across the winding trails. Flash's breathing was controlled but deep as he navigated the familiar route that circled the dormitories, the main academic building, and the training facilities. His orange skin glistened with sweat despite the cool temperature, his blue hair darkened and clinging to his forehead.

He slowed as he approached his favorite spot—a small clearing with a water fountain specifically designed for runners. The academy had thoughtfully included several such stations throughout the grounds. Flash came to a stop, placing his hands on his knees for a moment to catch his breath before straightening up and walking to the fountain.

After splashing some water on his face, he pulled out a water bottle from the small pack strapped to his waist. He tilted his head back, taking a long, satisfying sip of the cool liquid, feeling the refreshing sensation as it traveled down his throat.

"Enjoying an evening jog, are we?"

The unexpected voice caused Flash to inhale sharply, sending water down the wrong pipe. He coughed violently, some water dribbling down his chin as he struggled to regain his composure. He hadn't expected to encounter anyone else at this hour. Most students were typically in their dorms by now—studying, socializing, or practicing controlled applications of their marks in designated areas.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Flash turned toward the voice. Sitting on a nearby bench beneath one of the lamp posts was none other than Twilight Sparkle, his class representative. Her lavender skin seemed to glow softly in the lamp light, and her glasses reflected the illumination in a way that momentarily obscured her eyes.

"Twilight? What are you doing here at such a late hour?" Flash asked, still catching his breath.

She closed the thick, leather-bound book she had been reading with a definitive thud. Flash caught a glimpse of an intricate diagram on one of the pages before it disappeared from view.

"Just enjoying a good book under the lamp light," she replied with a small smile, adjusting her glasses with one finger. She was wearing casual clothes—a simple purple sweater with a pink star emblem and dark jeans—rather than the school uniform he was accustomed to seeing her in.

Flash glanced around, noticing how the temperature had dropped considerably since he'd started his run. His breath was now visible in small clouds before him. "Wouldn't you enjoy it more inside, though? It's pretty cold."

Her smile widened, revealing a hint of amusement. "I don't mind cold that much." There was something in her tone that seemed like an inside joke that Flash wasn't privy to—probably related to her ice manipulation abilities.

The bespectacled girl then shifted slightly on the wooden bench, moving her book and creating a space beside her. "There's plenty of room on this bench, wanna join me?"

Flash's first instinct was to politely decline. After all, he was in the middle of his routine, and he still had planned to complete another circuit before heading back to the dorms. His mouth even opened to form the words of refusal, but then...something stopped him.

A strange feeling washed over him—an inexplicable certainty that declining her invitation would somehow be a significant mistake. It wasn't logical, and Flash couldn't explain it, but the feeling was powerful enough to make him reconsider.

"Eeh... sure. Why not," he finally replied, running a hand through his damp hair.

He approached the bench and gingerly sat down next to her, leaving a respectful distance between them. The bench was cool against his overheated skin, a pleasant contrast that made him sigh involuntarily. Up close, he could see that Twilight's book was titled "Advanced Theoretical Applications of Environmental Manipulation" with a subtitle that mentioned something about cross-disciplinary approaches.

Suddenly conscious of his post-run state, Flash shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry if I smell unpleasant. I didn't really plan on sitting next to a girl after that running." He could feel sweat cooling rapidly on his skin in the night air, making him even more self-conscious.

Twilight giggled, the sound light and surprisingly melodic. "It's not that bad, and besides, I have two brothers. Both of them are rather physically active, so I'm kind of used to the smell of sweat." She didn't seem bothered in the slightest, which helped ease his discomfort.

"Are they like... athletes or something?" Flash asked, genuinely curious about her family. Despite being in the same class for several weeks now, he realized how little he knew about his classmates on a personal level.

Twilight shook her head, her purple and pink streaked hair swaying gently with the motion. "No, Spike is here in junior high. He wants to follow in the footsteps of our older brother."

"Huh... what's his name?" Flash asked, taking another sip from his water bottle.

"Shining Armor," she replied simply.

Flash nodded, not recognizing the name immediately. Then Twilight added, almost casually, "But you and most of the people probably know him as Gleaming Shield."

The orange-skinned teenager's eyes widened in shock. Water sprayed from his mouth as he choked, some of it going up his nose and causing him to cough violently. Twilight quickly patted his back, concern replacing her previous amusement.

When he finally recovered enough to speak, Flash couldn't contain his astonishment. "You're shi-"

He caught himself mid-word as he noticed Twilight's expression change. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and her lips pressed together in a thin line. Though subtle, the look in her eyes was unmistakable—a mixture of disappointment and mild reproach, as if she expected better from him. It was the same look he'd seen her give Soarin when he'd used colorful language during class.

"-kidding me," Flash quickly amended, feeling heat rise to his cheeks that had nothing to do with his recent exercise. "Gleaming Shield is your brother? He stopped that guy who wanted to blow up the moon last month... What was his...?"

Flash started snapping his fingers repeatedly, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to recall the villain's name. "Doctor Malignus!"

Twilight's expression shifted to one of amused expertise. "Close enough, but that was Doctor Blight. Doctor Malignus was the guy who wanted to turn people into dinosaurs." She spoke as casually as if discussing homework assignments.

"Oh. Right." Flash felt a little sheepish, running a hand through his hair again. He prided himself on keeping up with hero news—of course he did, given his father—yet here he was mixing up major incidents in front of someone with direct family connections to the hero community.

Sensing his embarrassment, Twilight decided to change the subject. "What about you? Do you have any siblings?"

Flash was grateful for the shift. "Yeah, a little brother, but I would gladly trade him for yours," he said with a rueful smile.

She chuckled, the sound warm in the cool evening air. "That bad?"

"That bad," Flash confirmed with a dramatic nod.

"I don't know. Spike can be a real piece of work if he wants to be," Twilight countered, scratching the back of her head. "He's at that age where he thinks he knows everything, and acquiring a mark recently doesn't help with the attitude.

"I bet First is worse," Flash insisted.

"You haven't even met Spike yet," Twilight pointed out.

"Well, if he's half as smart and awesome as his sister, then I have nothing to worry about," Flash replied before fully considering his words.

The compliment caught Twilight off guard. Even in the dim lamplight, Flash could see the color rising to her cheeks, tinting her lavender skin a deeper shade of purple. She adjusted her glasses again, a nervous habit he was beginning to notice.

"Thanks," she said softly, looking down at her book.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of campus life—muffled laughter from open dormitory windows, the occasional burst of power being practiced in designated areas, and the rustling of leaves in the gentle evening breeze.

Flash found himself unexpectedly relaxed in her company. Twilight had always seemed somewhat intimidating in class—brilliant, focused, and clearly gifted with her mark. Yet here, away from academics and training, she seemed more... approachable.

"Is your brother like you, or is he..." Twilight began, her voice trailing off as she realized the potential sensitivity of her question.

The unfinished inquiry stung slightly, another reminder of his markless state, but Flash decided to ignore the familiar twinge of inadequacy. "No, he... he can fly..." The admission came out more strained than he intended.

Twilight nodded her head silently, understanding the implications. In a family of heroes, being the only one without a mark would be particularly difficult. "I guess... it must be especially hard for you then."

Flash took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs completely before he exhaled slowly. "Naah. Not really," he said with a forced casualness that couldn't have been more transparent if he tried.

Twilight's expression softened, seeing through his obvious lie. Without hesitation, she placed a hand gently on his shoulder, the touch conveying empathy and support that words alone couldn't express.

"Your family are not the only people that have your back here," she said quietly, her voice warm with sincerity. "Remember that."

The simple gesture and words caught Flash completely off guard. A lump formed in his throat as unexpected emotion welled up inside him. Since arriving at the academy, he had been so focused on proving himself—on compensating for what he lacked—that he hadn't allowed himself to fully connect with his classmates beyond surface-level camaraderie. Twilight's gentle reminder that he wasn't alone, that there were people here who supported him regardless of his lack of a mark, touched something deep within him.

For a moment, Flash couldn't speak. The warmth of her hand seemed to spread through his shoulder and into his chest, chasing away some of the chill that had nothing to do with the evening temperature. It wasn't pity in her eyes—it was genuine concern and friendship, offered freely without expectation or condition.

"Thanks," he finally managed, his voice slightly hoarse. "I really appreciate that." His words felt woefully inadequate compared to the sense of gratitude expanding in his chest, but they were all he could muster.

Twilight smiled back at him, her eyes warm behind her glasses. "Always," she said simply, the single word carrying the weight of a promise.

She removed her hand from his shoulder, but the comforting warmth of the gesture lingered. They sat in companionable silence for several moments, both looking up at the stars that had begun to peek through the gathering clouds above.

Flash found himself wondering about the invisible threads that connected people—how a chance encounter under a lamp post could shift something fundamental in how he viewed his place at the academy. For the first time since arriving, he felt like he truly belonged, mark or no mark.

And as the evening chill deepened around them, Flash realized that sometimes the most heroic gestures weren't dramatic rescues or powerful displays of ability, but simple moments of human connection—a hand on a shoulder, an offer of friendship, the quiet assertion that you matter to someone else.

Chapter Text

"Welcome party?" Flash asked Soarin while both of them were brushing their teeth in the communal bathroom. The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead, reflecting off the white porcelain sinks.

"Yeah," Soarin spit in his sink and wiped his mouth with a small towel. "She's organizing one in order for me, you and Cheese to accommodate as better as new classmates. Although I have a feeling that Cheese already feels like he's home." He rinsed his toothbrush under the running water.

Flash thought for a moment, staring at his reflection in the slightly foggy mirror. "I don't know man," he said hesitantly, his brows furrowing slightly.

"What is there to lose? Worst case scenario you get bored and leave. And who knows maybe you can find some new friends," Soarin replied with a shrug, leaning casually against the counter.

"I have you," replied Flash, his voice carrying a hint of defensiveness.

Soarin chuckled, a knowing look in his eyes. "True. But we also choose a superhero career. There is a huge possibility that I won't make it to 40."

Dark thoughts started swirling in Flash's mind – images of fallen heroes whose names were etched in memorial plaques throughout the school. "Don't say that man," he muttered, gripping his toothbrush a little tighter.

The blue haired teenager shrugged his shoulders, his expression momentarily serious. "It's true though."

He started cleaning his toothbrush after finishing cleaning his teeth, tapping it against the sink edge. 

"Can you at least try? Your mom called me yesterday to ask me if you made any new friends."

The revelation made Flash release a small laugh, tinged with both amusement and resignation. Of course his mother would check up on him through Soarin rather than call him directly.

He thought about his childhood friend's words. Maybe he was right. Keeping to himself wasn't doing him any favors.

"Alright I'll go," he finally conceded.

Soarin smiled, his eyes lighting up. "That's the spirit!" He looked at the clock hanging on the wall. "Now hurry up. First lesson is with Professor Discord."

Flash nodded, quickening his morning routine. Although they've never been late to his lessons, they knew that he was quite witty and had a way with words. It's quite difficult to retort back to him, and neither of them wanted to be on the receiving end of one of Discord's infamous verbal takedowns.

It was evening after classes. The setting sun cast long shadows across the campus grounds as students hurried to various activities. Most of the teachers were merciful and the closest homework was due next week, giving everyone a rare opportunity to relax.

After a few minutes of walking through the school grounds, past the training facilities and lecture halls, Soarin and Flash finally reached the dorm where the party took place. The building was illuminated from within, and music could be heard even from outside. 

Cheese Sandwich was way ahead of them, he was that eager to that party. Over the course of the past two weeks they noticed that he was getting along with the pink party planner surprisingly well, often spotted in animated conversation with her between classes.

"Do you think Rainbow will be at this party?" Soarin suddenly asked Flash out of the blue, trying a bit too hard to sound casual.

The orange skinned teen narrowed his eyes in interest, a slight smirk forming. "Why do you ask?"

Soarin shrugged his arms trying to give the appearance of not caring, though his fidgeting hands betrayed his nonchalance. "I dunno… just because."

Flash stifled a laugh, seeing right through his friend's poor attempt at indifference. "Hey, no reason to be ashamed dude. She is pretty cool."

The teen wasn't lying there. Her mark to control weather was quite powerful. Flash gave her ten years and she would probably even surpass Thunderlane. 

Which was very telling as the grey-skinned teenager was an absolute powerhouse of a man. That was probably due to him having the most control over his mark out of their class. 

Just yesterday, Thunderlane had channeled enough electricity through his body to power the entire training facility when the main generator failed.

Then another snippet of memory entered Flash's mind.

"I'm pretty sure she likes you too," he said, watching Soarin's expression carefully. "She did call that trick you did with spinning midair, 'radical', if I recall correctly."

"Yep your memory does not fail you, Sentry." Soarin attempted to maintain his composure, but Flash caught the slight upturn of his lips.

Flash could've sworn he saw something akin to smile forming on Soarin's lips, a rare display of emotion from his usually composed friend.

But before he could ask his friend what was that all about they finally reached the doors behind which the party took place. The bass from the music vibrated through the wooden frame.

A muffled sound of voices and music could be heard, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

Soarin bowed in a formal matter, a playful glint in his eyes. "Ladies first."

Flash's mouth opened to retort but at the same moment the doors opened, revealing Pinkie Pie quite lively at that. Her pink curly hair seemed even more bouncy than usual, and her wide smile practically glowed in the dim hallway light.

She was practically shaking from excitement, bouncing on her toes as if the floor was made of springs. 

"Oh my gosh, you guys came! This is super-duper amazing! I was worried you might not show up, but here you are and now the party can really get started! Cheese has been helping me set everything up and it's going to be the most fantabulous welcome party ever! There are cupcakes and games and music and everyone's here and I just know you're going to have the absolute best time and make tons of new friends!" 

She spoke without pausing for breath, gesturing wildly with her hands.

The duo of boys didn't really know how to respond to the enthusiastic greeting, slightly overwhelmed by her energy.

"Uhh.. Thanks… I guess," Flash managed, exchanging a bemused glance with Soarin.

They entered the room, following Pinkie through the doorway. 

The dorm's common area had been transformed into a party space, with colorful streamers hanging from the ceiling and balloons clustered in corners. Students filled the room, some dancing to the upbeat music while others gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing. 

The furniture had been pushed to the sides to create a makeshift dance floor in the center, where several of their classmates were showing off their moves. A table along one wall held an impressive spread of snacks and drinks, surrounded by hungry partygoers. 

The lighting was dimmed slightly, with colorful party lights casting moving patterns across the walls and ceiling.

As they were following Pinkie, they finally noticed Twilight and AJ talking near where you can pour yourself some drinks. 

Twilight was gesturing animatedly as she spoke, while AJ listened with an amused smile, occasionally adjusting her cowboy hat.

Apart from them there was a younger boy standing with them. 

He had a light mulberry skin and green hair. His eyes the were the color of light pistacchio green, and he seemed to be listening intently to the girls' conversation.

Upon noticing them Twilight waved to them, her face lighting up. "Flash, Soarin over here!"

They started walking towards them as Pinkie told them that she has to take care of other things and wished them to have fun, bouncing away to attend to her hosting duties.

"Flash, Soarin, I'd like to introduce you to my younger brother, Spike," Twilight said, gesturing to the green-haired boy beside her. Her voice carried a hint of pride as she made the introduction.

The younger boy nodded to them with a casual air. "Sup?" He extended his hand, and they each shook it in turn. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone his age.

Flash had to admit that this wasn't what he expected. Over his stay in the academy, he had heard whispers about Twilight's younger brother. The boy had the reputation of something of a prodigy among the first-years.

He was known to excel in combat classes and was said to have remarkable control over his mark—something about transformation abilities that Flash hadn't quite gotten the details on yet.

And yet the kid standing before Flash seemed laid-back and rather normal. He even wore a shirt with a D&D logo and text that said "Born to Roll Nat 20's." Nothing about his relaxed posture suggested the intensity Flash had anticipated from someone with such a reputation.

"Twilight has told me a great deal about you," Flash said, trying to break the ice.

Spike raised one of his eyebrows in curiosity, a mischievous glint appearing in his pistachio-green eyes. "You specifically?"

Flash caught himself on his words and realized what it sounded like. Heat rushed to his face as he fumbled for a recovery.

Slight red appeared on his cheeks, and he could feel Twilight watching him with interest.

"Us. I meant us, of course," he clarified hastily, gesturing between himself and Soarin. "Your sister has mentioned her classmates, that's all."

A sly grin appeared on Spike's mouth, and he exchanged a knowing look with Twilight, who suddenly became very interested in her punch cup.

Applejack then noticed that Soarin was somewhat quiet, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for someone. She adjusted her hat and leaned closer to him.

"I saw Rainbow somewhere near the bathroom area, Sugarcube," AJ said to the blue-haired teen, not bothering to hide her knowing smile.

Soarin cleared his throat, trying to appear nonchalant but failing miserably. "Aight... thanks."

And with that he was gone, weaving through the crowd with newfound purpose.

Spike chuckled at Soarin's hasty departure before turning his attention back to Flash. He took a sip of his soda and leaned against the refreshment table.

"So, Flash Sentry, son of Invictus,”" Spike began conversationally, "I've heard you're still waiting for your mark to show up. Must be tough, especially with everyone expecting big things from you."

Flash tensed slightly at the direct approach, but there was no mockery in Spike's tone—just genuine curiosity.

"Yeah, well... it'll come when it comes," Flash replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "What about you? I've heard you're quite the powerhouse for a first-year."

Spike shrugged modestly. "I can hold my own. My mark  Comes in handy during combat training, but it's not exactly subtle." He flexed his fingers demonstratively. "But hey, marks aren't everything. Twilight was a late bloomer too.

Flash glanced at  the girl with surprise. "Really? I didn't know that."

She blushed slightly. "It's not something I usually bring up. But yes, my mark didn't manifest until I was fourteen. Everyone develops at their own pace."

The conversation flowed more naturally after that, and Flash found himself relaxing for the first time since arriving at the party.

Applejack sighed, checking the time on her phone. "Ok. I think it's high time that I take some food and bring it to him." She nodded her head politely. "Sorry y'all." And with that she also left, gathering a plate of snacks as she went.

Flash didn't know what she meant. "Him?" he asked, watching her retreating form.

"Thunderlane," explained Twilight, adjusting her glasses. "He couldn't be here today as he is preparing for the Equestrian Combat Tournament. It's a pretty big deal—students from all the hero academies compete to test their marks against each other. Winners get noticed by the top hero agencies."

"His loss," said Spike and took another sip of his soda. "Pinkie's parties are legendary. Though I guess if he wants to make a name for himself, the ECT is the way to go."

At this moment Flash noticed Rarity walking with some girl of Spike's age. She had a similar white skin but her hair was a mix of grayish mulberry with grey rose streaks. Her eyes were pale green, and she carried herself with the same elegant poise as Rarity.

Spike immediately cleared his throat and put his cup of soda on the table with such haste that some of it sloshed over the side. "I'm going to leave you with your knight in shining armor now, okay Twi?"

He tried making his hair look better, running his fingers through it and straightening his shirt. "Duty calls."

And with that he followed Rarity and the younger girl, his casual swagger suddenly transformed into a more deliberate walk.

Flash looked at Twilight, amusement dancing in his eyes. "What a casanova."

Twilight giggled, the sound light and musical. "There is no force that can stand between him and Rarity. He's had a crush on her since the first day he saw her visit our house."

"Even when she eventually finds someone special?" Flash asked, watching as Spike attempted to start a conversation with the two girls across the room.

"Only time will tell," Twilight replied, her voice softening. "He's persistent, I'll give him that."

She looked around herself, not noticing any of her friends nearby. The music had shifted to something slower, and the crowd had thinned slightly as people moved to get refreshments.

"Do you... want to go somewhere more quiet?" she asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "The music's a bit loud in here, and there's a nice balcony upstairs where we could talk."

For a moment he didn't answer, surprised by the invitation.

Twilight started mentally blaming herself for ruining such a good moment, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his silence.

But then...

He smiled, the gesture reaching his eyes and making them crinkle at the corners.

"Sure, wherever you feel comfortable," he said, gesturing for her to lead the way.

Soarin made his way through the crowded party, nodding at classmates as he passed but not stopping to chat. AJ had said Rainbow was near the bathrooms, but when he arrived there, he found only a couple of first-years showing off minor levitation marks by floating cups in the air.

He continued his search, moving methodically through the dorm's common areas. The party was in full swing now, with Vinyl Scratch mixing beats that had most of the dance floor packed. He spotted Cheese Sandwich entertaining a group of students by stretching his arms impossibly long to grab snacks from across the room without leaving his seat.

Finally, Soarin spotted a familiar rainbow-colored head of hair in the corner near the balcony doors. Rainbow Dash was standing next to Fluttershy, the two of them engaged in conversation. Rainbow was gesturing animatedly while Fluttershy nodded, her long pink hair partially covering her face as usual.

Soarin took a deep breath and walked over, trying to appear casual. Before he could say anything, Rainbow spotted him.

She waved her hand enthusiastically. "Yo dude! Over here!"

Soarin walked forward, suddenly conscious of his every movement. "Hi Rainbow."

He then turned to her friend with a friendly nod. "What's up Fluttershy."

The yellow-skinned teenager just gave a polite nod with a shy smile, tucking a strand of her long pink hair behind her ear.

"How does it feel to attend a party thrown in your name?" Rainbow asked him teasingly, her magenta eyes sparkling with mischief.

Soarin rolled his eyes but was clearly amused, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "First of all, it's not exclusively thrown in my name, it's for Flash and Cheese as well. And second of all, you of all people should know how that feels."

The rainbow-haired teenager scrunched her nose in terror, remembering both her parents who had thrown elaborate parties for their daughter after every minor achievement—as well as the fact that she had told Soarin about them.

She had no idea why she had shared this information with him during one of their mark practices. Something about becoming airborne together had made her unusually forthcoming.

"Touché," she replied, running a hand through her multicolored hair. "You're getting bolder and bolder every day, huh?"

"Someone set a good example for me to follow," he chuckled, holding her gaze.

Fluttershy, ever observant, noticed the charged atmosphere between the two and decided it was one of those times when she should leave her friend behind. She fidgeted with the hem of her sweater before speaking up.

"I believe Pinkie asked me earlier for some help with the, um, refreshments. Now if you excuse me..." she said softly, already backing away.

"Sure thing, Flutters..." Rainbow said almost absent-mindedly, her focus remaining on Soarin.

And with that she left them, disappearing into the crowd with practiced invisibility despite her distinctive appearance.

A sudden memory appeared in Soarin's head as he recalled something that had been bothering him.

"Can I ask you about something regarding AJ and Braeburn?" he asked, his tone shifting to something more serious.

Rainbow's magenta eyes looked at him curiously. "Oh. What is it?"

Soarin thought about how to verbalize his thoughts, leaning against the wall beside her.

"On the first day of school for me, Flash, and Cheese, when Mr. Burnt Oak entered the classroom, AJ and Bray looked at him... like that." He furrowed his brow, trying to find the right words.

Rainbow raised her eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like... they knew him from somewhere. Not just as a teacher, but personally. There was this... recognition in their eyes."

Rainbow looked at him in silence for a second and then looked both sides to make sure there were no people in their vicinity. The music was loud enough that anyone more than a few feet away wouldn't be able to hear their conversation.

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked him, her voice lowered.

"Absolutely. It's the people I tell who can't," he replied with a small smirk.

She chuckled at his little quip, which made him weirdly happy. The sound of her laughter did something to his chest that he wasn't ready to analyze.

"Okay, but we have to go outside. There's too many people here," she said, nodding toward the balcony doors.

They made their way through the crowded room, squeezing past dancing couples and ducking under Cheese Sandwich's extended arm that was stretched across the doorway. Rainbow pushed open the glass doors that led to the balcony, and they stepped out into the cool night air. The sounds of the party immediately dulled as the door closed behind them.

The balcony overlooked the academy grounds, the training fields and dormitories spread out below them. Stars dotted the clear night sky, and a crescent moon hung low on the horizon. The air was crisp and refreshing after the stuffiness of the party.

Rainbow leaned against the railing, her multicolored hair catching the moonlight. Soarin joined her, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that they could talk without raising their voices.

"So, what's up with that?" Soarin asked, getting more and more curious with every second.

"Do you know anything about the Apple family?" Rainbow asked him, her expression unusually serious.

Soarin shook his head. "No. Do you go to them when your neighbor plays music in his yard a little too loud?" He couldn't help the joke, it was his default when conversations turned serious.

"Good one, but no," she said with a slight smile. "They're apple farmers with orchards all around the country. The main branch is here on the outskirts of Canterlot. It consisted of AJ, her siblings, her parents, and her grandma. And all was going smoothly..."

Rainbow took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "Until seven years ago. When she was nine, her parents went on a train to visit Braeburn's parents... they didn't make it to the station."

Grave silence fell on both of them, the distant sounds of the party seeming inappropriate against the weight of what she'd just shared.

"I didn't know," said Soarin, his previous playfulness vanished, replaced by genuine regret.

Rainbow sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know."

They stood silent for a second, the cool breeze rustling their hair.

"So what does Burnt Oak have to do with everything?" asked Soarin, his voice gentle.

"Oh yeah..." Rainbow straightened up. "He was a childhood friend of AJ's dad. They were told to be inseparable when they were kids. Like, practically brothers."

She looked at the blue-haired boy drillingly. "Do you know what I think?"

Soarin looked at her curiously, listening intently.

"I think that Burnt Oak either openly requested to be in the same class as AJ or manipulated his way there. I think... he's keeping an eye on her. Telling his dead friend that no matter what, he will be there for her."

Soarin took a breath in, trying to digest all this information. The pieces clicked into place—the protective way Burnt Oak sometimes watched AJ during class, how he seemed to know exactly when to push her and when to back off.

"...That's probably also why she gets along with Thunderlane. His mother also died when he was nine. Though his father is still alive," Rainbow added softly. "They understand each other in a way most of us can't."

Soarin thought for a moment, seeing his classmates in a new light. "Rainbow..."

She looked at him, her expression questioning.

He smiled at her, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Thanks for telling me all of that. It helps me understand them better."

She smiled back at him, bumping her shoulder against his lightly. "You're welcome, dude. Just... keep it to yourself, okay? AJ doesn't like people knowing her business."

"Of course," he promised, his gaze lingering on her face illuminated by the moonlight.

Thunderlane's fists struck the heavy bag with rhythmic precision, each impact sending ripples through the worn leather. Left jab, right cross, left hook. The familiar pattern helped quiet the noise in his head, transforming his scattered thoughts into focused energy. His fingerless boxing gloves were damp with sweat, but he barely noticed. In these moments, with nothing but the sound of his fists connecting with the bag, he found clarity. Boxing had always been his sanctuary—a place where the world's expectations fell away and only his determination remained.

The physical exertion grounded him. While his classmates chased fleeting pleasures, he found purpose in the discipline of training. Each punch brought him closer to his goal, each drop of sweat was evidence of his commitment. He stepped back, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet before delivering a powerful combination that made the bag swing violently on its chain.

"You'll pierce this bag if you hit any harder."

Thunderlane spun around, slightly startled by the voice. Applejack stood in the doorway of the school's training room, holding a tray loaded with food. Her familiar cowboy hat was tilted back on her head, and she was smiling at him with that easy, genuine smile of hers.

He chuckled, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. "Don't worry, they're insured."

His gray t-shirt was practically soaked through, clinging to his torso. Rivulets of sweat traced paths down his temples and neck. He'd been at it for nearly two hours straight, ever since he'd slipped away from the party.

"You brought yourself a snack while watching me punch a bag?" he asked, reaching for a small towel draped over the nearby bench. "I've got to warn you it's not the most entertaining thing to see."

This got a hearty laugh from her, the kind that always seemed to brighten the room. "Nah, I don't think I would find that boring at all," she replied, stepping further into the room. "But that's not for me. It's for you."

Thunderlane paused in toweling off his face. "Me?"

She nodded, setting the tray down on the bench. "I didn't think it was fair for all of us to have fun and stuff ourselves while you push yourself without any grub at hand. Rainbow Dash mentioned you'd snuck off to train, so I figured you might be hungry."

The gesture caught Thunderlane completely off guard. He stared at the plate piled with food from the party—sandwiches, some beans, roasted potatoes, and even a slice of apple pie. It wasn't just the food that touched him; it was the thoughtfulness behind it. In his single-minded focus on training, he'd grown accustomed to people either not noticing his absence or simply accepting it as "just how Thunder is." But Applejack had noticed. More than that, she'd cared enough to bring him food.

A warmth that had nothing to do with his intense workout spread through his chest. For a moment, he struggled to find the right words.

"I... Thanks, AJ. That's really thoughtful of you."

She smiled at him, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're welcome, sugarcube. Can't have one of Canterlot High's best athletes passin' out from hunger now, can we?"

They both sat down on the bench. Thunderlane suddenly realized just how famished he was as he began eating. He attacked the food with gusto, mixing bread, beans, and meat in his mouth while trying his best not to look like a complete animal.

Applejack watched him with amusement, leaning back against the wall. "I don't really get it," she said after a moment. "There are plenty of folks at the party who also want to take part in ECT. Why don't you train with them and have fun when they do? Seems like you're always off on your own these days."

Thunderlane swallowed his mouthful, taking a quick sip of water to wash it down. "I do train with them sometimes," he admitted. "It's just that it's not enough."

"Why?" She tilted her head, genuinely curious. "What makes you push yourself so much harder than everyone else?"

He set his plate down, suddenly serious. "A lot of talented people will be taking part in this tournament. Young Spike has gotten really good this year, and Garble..." His face darkened a little at the second name, old rivalries and memories surfacing. "And we can't forget about Crystal Prep. I heard this year they're going to send their crème de la crème. Students with powers we haven't even seen before."

He reached for his water bottle, taking a long drink before continuing. "But that's not all. There's also a second reason."

AJ looked at him curiously, her green eyes steady and attentive. "What is it?"

Thunderlane set the bottle down and met her gaze directly. There was something vulnerable in letting someone else see how much this meant to him, but if he could trust anyone with this, it was Applejack.

"I want..." He shook his head. "No, scratch that. I will win this year."

The determination in his eyes was palpable, burning with an intensity that Applejack hadn't seen in him for some time. This wasn't just about a trophy or recognition; this was something deeper.

"This tournament isn't just about showing off our powers," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "For me, it's about proving something. I'm going to show the world that you don't need to come from a super-wealthy family or have the fanciest equipment to become a real hero. All those Crystal Prep kids with their state-of-the-art training facilities and private tutors? They don't have what I have."

He stood up, pacing now as the words flowed more freely.

"My dad works double shifts to keep our family afloat. Every piece of training equipment I own, I've either saved up for or patched together myself." He gestured to his worn gloves. "These were secondhand when I got them three years ago. But none of that matters when you're standing in the arena."

He turned back to Applejack, his expression softening slightly. "People look at kids like me and think we've got a ceiling. That there's only so far we can go. I'm going to shatter that ceiling. I'm going to show Rumble—show everyone—that where you come from doesn't determine where you can go."

Applejack stood up and put a hand on his shoulder, her touch firm and supportive. The gesture was simple but carried weight.

"Then Rumble won't be the only one in your corner when that day comes," she said, her voice sincere. "You can count on that."

The support in her words caught him by surprise again. For someone who prided himself on self-reliance, the idea of having others believe in him so openly was something he was still getting used to.

Thunderlane smiled back at her, some of the intensity ebbing away. "I'll keep that in mind. It means a lot, more than you know."

"That's what friends are for," she replied. She glanced at the heavy bag, still swinging slightly from his earlier assault. "Now, before you get back to beatin' the stuffin' out of that poor bag, why don't you finish this pie? Granny Smith would have my hide if I let good apple pie go to waste."

He laughed, the sound more relaxed than before. "Can't argue with Granny Smith." He picked up the slice of pie. "And AJ? Thanks for seeing me. Not just for bringing the food, but for really seeing me."

"Always have," she replied with a gentle smile. "Now eat up. You've got a tournament to win, and I've got a friend to cheer on."