My lab looked like it had exploded.
And, in a way… it had.
Everything around me—every screw, every bottle, every enchanted scrap—had been summoned today.
A full day dedicated to testing, failing, replicating… and enjoying it.
To my right, a wobbly mountain of recreated artifacts stood with a certain dignity:
a television that only showed color bars, a music player emitting white noise, and a fan that spun air... but didn't cool anything.
They were all functional copies (barely, in some cases), recreated through magic and memory.
Below that, basic tools:
screwdrivers, pliers, even a soldering iron.
All summoned from memory, as close as I could make them to their original forms.
Some looked like they came straight out of a store in my old world. Others… well, they worked.
To the left, a row of basic ingots I had forged after several attempts: iron, copper, tin, and magically-enhanced aluminum.
The process had been slow but effective. The table still bore scorch marks from magical mishaps.
And beyond that, the dreaded corner.
Failed objects.
A mirror that reflected inverted images.
A clock that kept impossible time.
A pair of gloves that wouldn't stop moving, as if they had a life of their own.
All of it crowned by a sign:
"DESTROY TODAY. NOT EVEN YOU, STELLA."
The "NOT EVEN YOU" part was underlined in glowing red ink.
Just when I thought the day was finally over, the summoning circle flickered once more.
A cardboard box materialized at its center, wrapped in a faint magical glow.
I opened it with a mix of fatigue and satisfaction.
And there they were.
Twelve glass bottles, perfectly aligned.
All clear, label-less, with simple designs.
Inside: a dark brown liquid, fizzy and bubbling.
I had removed the labels on purpose.
It was too dangerous to leave behind symbols, logos, or names that didn't exist in this world.
I didn't want questions. I didn't want traces.
Just the flavor.
I had also changed the containers.
Thick glass bottles sealed with magical corks to preserve pressure and freshness—no machines required.
Safer. More practical. More... mine.
"I've brought a treasure from another world…"
Yeah.
I had spent the whole day summoning, and the best thing I had to show for it wasn't a weapon or a magical relic.
It was this.
A soda.
No ancient grimoires. No legendary formulas. No universe-breaking secrets.
Just a carbonated drink that shouldn't exist in this world.
And yet… there it was.
I placed the original box in a floating display case, like it was some sacred magical artifact.
Because to me, it was.
"Let's try these little delights…"
I climbed the stairs with a steady pace, passing through the kitchen with no rush, just a clear goal.
I took two bottles from the new batch—still a little warm, but perfectly sealed—and left the rest in the enchanted fridge, protected by a preservation rune and a mild anti-detonation charm.
You can never be too careful with magically pressurized drinks.
The living room was quiet.
Soft light drifted in through the windows, the faint smell of old books and magic ink in the air.
And Stella, of course.
Curled up in her usual corner like a living shadow.
She was flipping through a thick spellbook with one front paw, with the complete lack of enthusiasm only she could radiate.
As if reading about complex ancient spell theory was her way of procrastinating.
"Thirsty?" I asked, floating one of the bottles over to her, already knowing the answer.
Stella looked up as the bottle hovered in front of her.
Her golden eyes lit up with feline curiosity—somewhere between playful and analytical.
"Please?" she said, stretching out a paw like she didn't have magic, like I was her personal butler.
With a gentle pulse of my aura, I popped the magical cork.
PSSHHH.
The fizz escaped in a soft hiss, releasing a sweet, acidic scent that was instantly recognizable.
Stella grabbed the bottle with both front paws and brought it to her nose.
She tried to sniff it… and that's when the carbonation turned on her.
A few droplets jumped from the neck and splashed right on her snout.
"Kffft!" She shook her head, scrunching her muzzle in annoyance.
I watched her wiggle her nose, clearly irritated, like the air itself had mocked her.
She looked at me silently, mildly offended.
I just smiled.
I raised my own bottle and took a good sip.
The flavor… oh.
It wasn't just taste. It was memory.
A cool sensation slid down my throat.
Fizzy. Familiar.
Almost… human.
"Aaah~," I sighed, a smile slipping out as I sank deeper into the couch.
Stella mirrored me immediately.
She tilted her head, drank carefully this time, and when she swallowed… I saw it.
Her pupils dilated slightly.
Her body relaxed.
And without a word, she leaned against my leg like the world had realigned itself.
"Where did you find this delight?" she asked eventually, lifting the bottle with both paws, her tongue brushing across her whiskers to savor the last hints of flavor.
She stared into the bottle like she was studying a forbidden potion.
And in a way… she was.
"Dear friend," I said with mock solemnity, puffing my chest just a little, "you're tasting a treasure from another world."
Stella blinked, still hugging her bottle like a sacred relic.
"And now," I declared proudly, "it's just a snap away."
I let myself enjoy the moment. Not just the soda, but the idea.
The concept floated in my mind like a half-traced rune:
A magical soda dispenser.
An artifact that could detect an empty bottle and instantly replace it with a fresh one—cold, sealed, and bubbling.
No voice commands. No spellcasting. Just place the empty bottle… and done.
The system was doable.
The hard part would be hiding the magical traces: disguising the teleportation rune, suppressing the magical signature, preserving the carbonation without quality loss.
Maybe with a replacement glyph linked to a conditional activation seal…
I stared at the ceiling as my mind started sketching impossible diagrams.
Magic circles within circles.
Ideas spiraling into more ideas.
And then, without warning, I felt a light pressure in my magic field.
I looked down.
Stella, with her empty bottle tossed to the side, was trying to steal mine with one of her paws.
Her expression was shameless, like she wasn't doing anything wrong at all.
"Hey," I protested, catching my drink before it floated away. "Yours didn't come with a refill clause!"
She looked at me without a shred of shame and just shrugged... or did the closest feline equivalent of one.
"You never said it was single-use."
I rolled my eyes and took another sip before she got any ideas about summoning a second paw.
By now I was already drinking my second soda, this time with a straw—which I'd probably mass-produce later—and a few ice cubes floating lazily in the bottle.
The sound of the gas escaping in soft bubbles was almost therapeutic.
Stella, for her part, was on her third, expertly balancing the bottle between her paws while her tail flicked side to side, full of smug satisfaction.
We were fine.
Perfectly fine.
Two souls with no regrets, enjoying an absurd invention with the seriousness it deserved.
And then… peace died.
SLAM!
The front door swung open and slammed shut with the same violence, making the windows tremble.
My bottle shivered.
Stella let out a strangled gasp, clutching hers like she was protecting a child.
I turned my head just in time to see Twilight Sparkle, panting, mane a mess, leaning against the closed door.
She stood up on two legs like some kind of evolved unicorn—no, a very stressed pony—both forelegs stretched out over the wood like it was the only thing keeping her safe from imminent doom.
She peeked through the window glass, eyes filled with panic and desperation.
Her gaze found us.
She blinked.
So did we.
Nobody said a word for what felt like an eternity.
She panted.
I sipped from my bottle through the straw.
Slurp.
"...I need to hide," she finally said, her voice half broken.
"Take a seat," I said calmly, floating a pillow aside with my magic to make space for her.
Twilight collapsed onto the couch as if her legs had stopped working.
No words. Just exhaustion.
While she got settled, I lifted a minor mental seal.
A gentle stream of cool air swept across the room—just enough to make things pleasant without feeling artificial.
Then I activated the house's protection charm: a Do Not Disturb seal.
It wasn't invisibility. Just… irrelevance.
From that moment on, no one would even remember this house existed, let alone that Twilight was inside.
Midday.
Judging by the time, Twilight should've already returned to Canterlot.
That unsettled me a bit.
I sat across from her, bottle in hoof, and asked casually:
"So… what are you running from?"
Even as I asked, my thoughts were already elsewhere.
Looking for ways to help.
Scanning my magical inventory, mentally sorting through available ingredients and preset spells for emotional support emergencies.
In seconds, I summoned a handful of chocolate bars—neutral brand, obviously, nothing too suspicious for this world.
I headed to the kitchen and brought back a floating glass of milk, stirred by a self-spinning spoon with one heaping scoop of sugar.
Then I added more sugar, a dash of vanilla extract, a touch of cinnamon, and conjured what I needed to make another Sweet Death: a hot chocolate so sweet it could either bring someone back from the dead… or finish them off.
I offered one of the chocolate bars to Twilight.
She took it like I'd just handed her a piece of her soul.
She held it between her hooves, unmoving, eyes locked onto it like the sugar might patch her together again.
That's when she caught her reflection in the living room mirror.
Her mane was a mess.
A few twigs tangled in it.
Shadows under her eyes.
She quickly smoothed her mane with a hoof, embarrassed—like that alone might fix the chaos she was projecting.
"It's been a… long day," she began, her voice finally regaining some stability.
I let her speak. No interruptions.
"This morning... I started the day with a promise," she said, still eyeing the mirror. "A promise I made to Princess Celestia: to better understand how the magic of friendship really works.
And for that... I wanted to help my friends."
Then she looked at me.
Calmer now.
Like just saying it out loud had lifted a small part of the weight off her.
"That's why I visited you earlier," she added.
I nodded silently, remembering her quick stop that morning. It had felt like a courtesy visit. Nothing more.
But now… now I understood.
That had just been the beginning of the chaos.
I handed her the Sweet Death the moment it was ready.
Twilight never took her eyes off the mug.
She knew exactly what it was.
And she knew exactly why I made it.
Since the moment she saw the list of ingredients floating around my conjuration spell, she had been waiting for this moment with a mix of anxiety and sugary resignation.
She took the mug with both hooves like it was some sacred artifact and took a long, deep sip.
She sighed.
Her shoulders—or what you could consider shoulders on a pony—relaxed.
Only then did she speak again.
"I started the day helping Applejack," she said more slowly. "I went to her farm. I thought it would be a good first step to keep the promise I made to Princess Celestia: to better understand the magic of friendship."
I nodded silently.
Twilight took a deep breath and went on.
"I helped her collect apples. Everything was fine. Normal. Until... a letter arrived.
From Celestia."
She took another sip, shorter this time.
"She sent me two tickets to the Grand Galloping Gala."
Her eyes weren't on me anymore. They were locked onto the memory.
"At first, I thought it was just a nice gesture. That's all. But then… things went straight to Tartarus."
Her voice changed. It wasn't just exhaustion anymore. It was frustration.
"One by one... all of my friends started giving me reasons why they should be the one to go with me. And they weren't bad reasons.
They weren't silly excuses.
They were dreams. Goals. Hopes."
Her voice shook for a moment, but she quickly recovered.
"And I... I don't want to be the one who crushes those."
She fell silent.
For a while, the only sound was the soft bubbling of an empty bottle in the background.
"Everything spiraled out of control. Pinkie Pie did… well, what Pinkie Pie does.
A show. A song. Something.
And suddenly, the whole town knew."
This pause was shorter.
"Now everyone's chasing me. Literally.
Through streets, across rooftops, behind bushes and benches.
Like I'm a walking golden ticket."
I slowly crossed my forelegs, setting my drink aside.
Twilight sank a little deeper into the couch, resting her muzzle on the rim of her mug.
"I don't want to choose. I don't feel... like I'm the right pony to do it."
Then she looked up.
And stared at me.
Intensely. Silently.
'Do you want something too? Are you going to say I should pick you?'
She shook her head and took another sip.
I did the same.
Looks like her mind was racing.
'No... not him. He wouldn't.'
"I don't want to hurt anyone. But... I also just want a moment to think."
"You're suffering more than you need to," I said, once she finished her story.
Twilight raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed.
Not by the message—by how I'd said it.
"Sorry," I corrected myself quickly, lifting a hoof. "Didn't mean it like that."
She said nothing, but her eyebrow dropped by a fraction.
"What I meant was… the solution's always been just one letter away, Twi."
Her expression shifted.
From doubt to curiosity.
She straightened up a little.
Then stood, stepping closer with growing expectation, like I'd just handed her the formula for a new spell.
"A letter?" she echoed. "You mean… write to Celestia? And ask her—?"
"Exactly," I cut in before her thoughts ran wild. "Ask her what to do. Explain the situation. Do what you always do when you're unsure: research. Ask the source. You don't have to carry this alone."
Twilight blinked. Her brain was already five steps ahead.
"What if she says I can only take one? What if she doesn't answer in time? What if—"
"Then," I interrupted gently, "at least you'll know you did the right thing.
And you won't carry the guilt like it was yours from the beginning."
"Besides… you seem to be forgetting that Celestia is the one hosting the event," I added as I stood up. "She's the one handing out the tickets. If there's one thing she's got in abundance... it's those."
I walked to the study, the room next to my lab, dimly lit with magical glow.
On the desk, among sealed scrolls and glyph-marked notes, rested an unopened letter bearing the golden solar seal.
I opened it.
Inside, as I'd suspected, were two tickets to the Grand Galloping Gala.
Celestia always covered her bases, even if I never planned to show up.
I grabbed them with my magic and returned to the living room.
Twilight was murmuring under her breath, rehearsing how to start the letter.
Her lips moved, but no sound came. Her eyes were focused. Tight with pressure.
"Here," I said, floating the tickets in front of her. "Use these, and Tia will just have to send two more."
She stared at the tickets in surprise.
Then looked at me.
Then back at them again.
"You don't want to go? It's the Grand Galloping Gala, where—"
"I'm not interested," I cut her off gently, already clearing space on the table for her to write.
"Besides… I've already been."
———————————————————————————
(Perspective shift: Twilight)
I froze.
Confused.
My eyes stayed locked on the tickets, but my mind was already somewhere else.
Deeper.
More vulnerable.
Why do I want to go so badly…?
Yes, Princess Celestia would be there.
And it'd be fun to go with my friends.
But... there was another reason.
Something I didn't dare say out loud.
Someone.
I looked up.
Wizbell was calmly preparing the desk.
Lining up scrolls. Placing a quill at just the right angle.
He didn't ask if I needed help. He didn't say a word.
He just… gave me space.
And for some reason, I didn't like that.
My heart tightened, gently but clearly, pushing me to speak.
To say something I hadn't planned.
Something I hadn't even known I wanted to say—until I already had.
"Don't you want to go with me?"
The moment it left my mouth, the pressure in my chest increased.
Like I'd just dropped a burden… and immediately picked up a heavier one.
Why did I say that? Why did it feel so urgent?
Watching him hand over the tickets so casually, hearing him refuse to go…
My brain twisted it all into something I didn't fully understand.
What does it mean?!
Why does it bother me so much?!
And why is there no more coffee?!
The nerves started to eat at me.
I couldn't stop thinking.
Couldn't stop waiting.
Wizbell stayed still.
Confused.
Analyzing, like he always does.
I wish he'd stop analyzing everything… Just say something. Anything…
That only made me more nervous.
——————————————————————————————
(Perspective shift – third-person)
In a corner of the couch, half-buried in cushions and shadow, a small black creature watched in silence.
Her golden eyes didn't blink.
Her tail swayed left and right, keeping pace with the tension in the air.
Between her paws, she held a straw stuck into a half-full bottle.
Floating beside her, a bowl of crunchy snacks turned slowly in the air.
On her nose, a tiny pair of enchanted movie glasses gleamed softly.
Stella sipped.
She nibbled.
She didn't say a word.
The silence between the two ponies in the room was exquisite.
The kind of drama you couldn't buy.
Only witness.
She smiled.
"Premium drama," she murmured, and took another sip.