PROLOGUE

Magic is woven into the very fabric of life here in Equestria. It's not just some abstract concept; it's tangible, a force that permeates every aspect of our world. From the smallest wildflower pushing its way through the earth to the grandest celestial event, magic is the underlying current. It's in the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the very ground we walk upon. Every creature, great and small, exists within this enchanted reality. Ours is a land renowned for its tranquility. A realm, thankfully, untouched by the devastating ravages of war. But even in a world of peace, personal upheavals can shatter calmly. That's precisely what happened to me on one seemingly ordinary Sunday morning, a day that irrevocably altered the trajectory of my life. I had planned a quiet pilgrimage to the Canterlot library, my sanctuary, a place where I could delve into my private studies of magical levitation without interruption. I craved the focus, the mental clarity that only the hushed silence of the library could provide. My scholarly expedition, however, was unexpected and rather dramatically intercepted.

My planned pilgrimage to the Canterlot library began, as every day does, with a descent from my own residence. My home is a solitary refuge, perched atop one of the highest, most secluded cliffs overlooking the main city—a property granted to me by Princess Celestia herself for my focused scholarly pursuits. It is a place of profound quietude, utterly necessary for my work.

The structure itself, sometimes referred to by the more fanciful citizens as The Cliff Manor or the Hermitage of Dusk, is a marvel of both rustic charm and arcane construction. It is a study in contrasting materials: the lower walls are built from rough-hewn, deep gray fieldstone, giving the base a sturdy, ancient foundation. Above this rises timber-framed construction; the wood stained a deep chestnut brown, with sections of white stucco that gleam softly in the morning light. The roof is steeply pitched, covered in overlapping slates of dark teal that catch the sun and appear almost black. A single, tall spire, capped with a bronze weathervane shaped like a star, rises above the main structure, giving the house a slightly turreted, scholarly look.

The entire manor sits precariously, yet magically secure, on a sheer cliff face. The view from the expansive front windows is breathtaking: the entirety of Canterlot, with its gilded spires and white marble avenues, sprawls beneath like a meticulously crafted tapestry.

My journey to the city below begins immediately outside the small, mail-posted gate. There is no easy teleportation circle or royal conveyance—I prefer the discipline of the physical path.

The path is not a smooth, paved road like the avenues of the city, but a winding track carved into the side of the grassy slope leading down to the cliff base:

 he immediate ground around the manor is lush, wild grass, constantly battling for dominance with resilient patches of mountain heather and small, vibrant blue ‘magic-infused wildflowers.’ The first part of the track is soft earth, stabilized by ancient, gnarled tree roots that crisscross the trail like skeletal fingers, forcing careful footing. About halfway down, the path transitions dramatically. The grass gives way to a series of irregularly carved quartz steps, the same shimmering stone used in the city's avenues, but here they are weathered and moss-covered. These steps switch back sharply down the steepest part of the incline. The air here is noticeably cooler, scented with damp stone and pine. As I reach the base of the cliff, the steps end, and the path flattens into a narrow bridleway that meets the outskirts of the formal city's gardens. It is here, just as the path opens onto the wide, grand architecture of Canterlot, where I always regain the momentum of my thoughts, preparing for the day's rigorous study.

                                                                               -2-

A young woman stood before me, her presence an abrupt counterpoint to the city's measured pace. Her mane was a vibrant, almost shocking mint green, dramatically bisected by a stark, vertical streak of stark white. It wasn't merely styled; it appeared to possess an inherent, almost liquid energy, flowing her back with an unnatural volume and sheen, as if perpetually caught in a gentle breeze. Her eyes, burning with a peculiar yellow-red fire, seemed to reflect an inner intensity, a restless, almost volatile energy that contradicted her delicate floral jewelry.

She was dressed in a style reminiscent of a sword dancer, her outfit matching the striking mint of her hair, and adorned with delicate floral jewelry. A small, beautifully crafted harp, her Cutie Mark, was displayed proudly on her right hand. These unique marks, I knew, appear when a person discovers their true purpose in life, their inherent talent. A gem, similar to the one that rests on my own forehead, adorned hers, though our overall appearances were quite different.

I was dressed in my usual, practical scholar's attire: a long-sleeved purple button-down shirt paired with matching trousers, chosen for their comfort and lack of distraction. My own mane, a deep, rich amethyst purple interwoven with brilliant, almost painful strands of fuchsia, was meticulously contained, tied back in a high, taut ponytail. The colors, deep and complex, suggested both gravity and a hidden vibrancy. Unlike Heartstrings' flamboyant cascade, I prefer my mane to reflect my disciplined focus. Control is key, both in appearance and in the execution of 'complex Arcanum.'

I clutched my collection of books and scrolled tightly in my right hand, my fingers tracing the worn leather covers of ancient texts.

"Oh my gosh, Dusk! It's been ages!" She exclaimed, a nervous, almost breathless giggle escaping her lips. "I honestly thought… well, I thought you'd quite literally vanished! I haven't seen you outside of your residence in what feels like years, and I was genuinely starting to worry." Her words, though accompanied by a bright smile, struck me as oddly hyperbolic and somewhat tactless. 

Years? It was three months, four at most. Heartstrings always possess a tendency toward dramatic overstatement. Honestly, the distraction of this casual encounter is already costing me precious minutes of potential study .I managed a polite, albeit strained, smile in return, carefully masking the flicker of annoyance her dramatic flair had sparked. 

"I am perfectly well, thank you, Heartstrings," I replied, my voice carefully modulated to maintain a neutral, formal register. "Just as always, deeply engrossed in my studies of theoretical and applied magic and science."

"You never change, do you, Dusky?" She teased her tone reverting to a familiarity reserved for our shared childhood. Without invitation, she reached out and playfully tugged on a strand of my neatly secured hair.

A faint shadow of irritation crossed my face.  'Dusky.' I truly wish she would cease using that infantile moniker. I am seventeen, preparing for the most rigorous academic pursuit of my life, not an adolescent acquaintance to be addressed with such carelessness. Maintain composure, Dusk. Do not allow this to disrupt your mental equilibrium. "Heartstrings," I sighed, striving to keep my tone even and pedagogical, "we are hardly children anymore. Perhaps it is time we dispensed with the pet names. My given name is Dusk. And besides," I added, gesturing around at the imposing architecture, "we are standing in Canterlot, the very capital of Equestria." Canterlot, the largest and oldest city in all of Equestria, was founded two millennia ago, following the banishment of terrible darkness. Now, it was the venerated home of Princess Celestia, my esteemed mentor. My journey under her tutelage began years ago, and it has been an education of unparalleled depth.

"Well, I truly must be going," I stated, subtly trying to create a physical and conversational distance between us. I shifted my weight, preparing to execute a decisive move past her.

"Wait! Now? But I have so much I need to convey to you!" She swiftly grabbed my sleeve, then firmly placed a hand on my shoulder, effectively halting my escape. "I was just contemplating the other day," she continued, her eyes sparkling with an almost fervent, manic intensity, "what if… what if we weren't human? What if our true form was… something else entirely? Like… I don't know… ponies? Can you imagine sheer novelty? We'd possess these incredible manes and flowing tails, and we could manipulate magic simply by… well, the mechanism is unclear, but we would! And furthermore, we'd each bear these distinct marks that signify our innate talent and life's calling!" 

I blinked slowly, genuinely taken aback by the sudden, tangential flight of her fantasy. Ponies? Is this what she considers "urgent"? I have calculations on $E_{\text{levitation}} = \frac {1}{2}m\cdot \text{g} \cdot h$ waiting for me, and she is speaking of mythical quadrupeds. Her mind truly operates on an entirely different plane of reality. "Heartstrings," I said, measuring each syllable, "that is certainly… an interesting theoretical exercise. But we are, quite unequivocally, human. This is the demonstrable, objective reality in which we exist."

"I know, I know," she conceded, a slight, involuntary blush creeping up her neck. "It is just… a recurring notion I entertain. It would be rather magnificent, wouldn't it?

Magnificent? I mused internally. More likely complicated. And those "distinct marks" she speaks of... Cutie Marks. We all possess them; the concept is hardly a revolutionary paradigm shift. She calls it a special mark. It's the physical manifestation of one's destiny, the single, most important truth about a person's life purpose. It's not a secret; it's a fundamental aspect of our existence. Her lack of self-awareness about this is... bewildering. "Perhaps," I said noncommittally, unwilling to engage in the philosophical rabbit hole she was digging. "However, I truly am under a time constraint to reach the library." I glanced pointedly at my wrist, feigning a sudden, critical realization of the hour. "Oh, blast! I am going to be late for my scheduled study time!"

"But Dusk—" Heartstrings began, a notable shift of urgency entering her voice. She seemed poised to deliver a statement of genuine consequence, her expression transitioning from whimsical to one of profound seriousness.

I cut her off, determined not to be drawn into an extensive, time-consuming discourse. No. I cannot allow myself to be sidetracked. Princess Celestia's task is paramount. I need Codex, not a dramatic anecdote about a fictional species. "My sincere apologies, Heartstrings, but I must make haste!" I said, gently but firmly disengaging my arm and accelerating my pace down the street. I could feel the weight of her gaze upon my back as I departed, yet I deliberately did not turn back. Whatever crucial pronouncement she had been about to deliver, it could not, at that moment, supersede the urgency of my academic responsibilities.

Little did I know, she had been trying to tell me about a special celebration, a gathering of friends... a farewell.

I finally managed to extricate myself from Heartstrings, her whimsical musings about alternate realities and imaginary "ponies" receding into the background noise of my focused thoughts. Ponies? I scoffed inwardly. Really, Heartstrings, sometimes I wonder if your fertile imagination doesn't utterly outstrip your common sense. My intellectual focus was laser-sharp, honed by years of disciplined study. The Canterlot Library, my sanctuary of knowledge, beckoned with its promise of silent scholarship.

I needed to consult the Castellum Codex. 

                                                                                        -3-

This was no mere casual research; it was a personal assignment given to me by Princess Celestia herself. It was a component of my advanced studies with her, a series of high-level lessons I was undertaking in preparation for… well, that exact role was still a matter of private deliberation. Yet, the Princess had entrusted me with this specific task, emphasizing its critical importance to my development. She had cryptically hinted that the Codex held secrets vital to the comprehension of dimensional rifts, a theoretical topic that had recently evolved into a consuming academic passion for me. Mastery of magical levitation, specifically the complex third level detailed within the ancient, leather-bound pages of the Codex, was a necessary, foundational stepping-stone for the true objective. And I would not permit anything, or anyone, to derail my progression. The third level of levitation is a purely mental exercise in non-verbal spellcasting, requiring a complete mental vacuum save for the arcane equation. Heartstrings' interruption has undoubtedly fractured the necessary quietude. I must re-establish my focus immediately. The stability of a dimensional continuum may hinge upon this knowledge. Hyperbole? Perhaps, but the Princess's gravity on the matter was undeniable.