Twilight slowly raised her head off the floor and blinked. And she choked on her next breath.

Soldiers, or—no, the big dance. She smiled briefly before her skin ran cold. Sh-she was going to prison. A tremor shot through her body. Such trust everypony had placed in her, and she’d never get her good name back, no matter what. Unless… unless the judge accepted her plea, and—

No. Any of it or… or none of it. Everything bled together, curled up in the tendrils of fog that billowed through her mind. She gritted her teeth, clutched her hooves to her temples, and shook her head. Little blobs of light danced around in her vision, firefly sparks in the bleak night.

Was… was she dead?

Nothing to see, nothing to hear. A solid enough floor under her, but only those afterimages of something floated in the darkness. Then behind her, a soft scuffing noise, and a dim glow fell across her body.

It chased away the yellow spots, mostly. So she checked her body over. Legs, tail, wings, horn, all there. Her purple coat, unmarred. She glanced back to the source of the light—a rectangle. A frame, a door, open now. That door…

Her test!

How long? She’d been in this room for months! What would her friends think, her parents? She’d known other unicorns who’d graduated, and they’d never gone missing this long. Did they give her an extra-hard exam just because she was a princess?

Celestia… Princess Celestia. She’d be waiting out there. She’d never warned Twilight, b-but then she’d explained why she couldn’t, and she’d tried to help, tried to comfort Twilight.

Had she made Celestia proud? Already, the images faded from her memory. The sum total there, but the details gone. One thing did sit right there atop her brain, though: she’d betrayed Celestia.

With a gulp, she rose onto wobbling knees and walked toward the door. Beyond it, in the distance, stood Celestia in front of that tall wooden structure, the chancellor and his jowls peering down from the top. They watched her walk. Their faces showed nothing. Except Celestia. Just a hint of a smile, the one Twilight had learned to spot so long ago as a filly. When Celestia would nod at a correct answer, turn back to the chalkboard, but with a little hitch in the motion, a stutter just before losing sight of her student.

Twilight staggered back toward the assembly, and… where should she stand? In the spotlight, or—?

Celestia opened a wing, and Twilight sidled up to her, under it. “Shh,” Celestia said, squeezing Twilight against her. Twilight nodded and steeled herself against her trembling. She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t.

Her robe lay on the floor a few feet away—Twilight picked it up in her magic and draped it over her back, in case it might ward off this chill.

From… somewhere—behind the tower of lecterns, maybe—Celestia levitated a floor cushion over and set it down in front of Twilight before walking her forward onto it.

Oh, thank goodness! Even with the days or weeks or whatever she must have spent lying down, her legs didn’t have much left to give. So she sank heavily into its welcoming embrace. Celestia remained standing next to her, but that wing still spread across Twilight’s back.

“Do you need anything?” Celestia said. “Some water, something to eat?”

Twilight shook her head and took a shaky breath. “How… how long?”

“About an hour. Maybe an hour fifteen.”

An hour!? Twilight braced a hoof to stand, but Celestia’s wing pressed into her back.

“Shh. Rest now.” Like before Twilight had gone in… in there, Celestia kept her gaze carefully trained forward, but she did flick her eyes down for an instant. “It’s okay now. It’s over.”

Only an hour… Twilight fixed her stare at the slightly discolored flagstone in front of her and measured her breathing, forcing it slower. Her heart as well, beating like a rabbit’s at first, but she tucked her chin against her chest and willed it to a less frenzied pace.

“Whenever you are ready to proceed, Miss… Spaaaahkle,” boomed a voice from above. And her heart skipped a beat before firing off a dozen in short order.

“Yes, sir,” she said, bowing her head. She tried to stand, but once again, Celestia pressed her down.

“Well, let us begin at the beginning then, shall we?” The old stallion cleared his throat. When Twilight looked up to nod, he had an impressive array of paperwork spread out in front of him. “So… you found yourself in the middle of a civil war…”

How did they know that? She whipped her head around to Celestia.

“We can observe,” the princess said before Twilight could ask her question. “It’s similar to Princess Luna’s dream magic, but less extensive and powerful. She helped us set it up long ago.”

“But what if… what if I’d done something horrible, or gotten romantically involved with somepony, or—”

Celestia closed her eyes and smiled. “We wouldn’t steer the test scenarios that way. We can control what you know about each one and how much you remember from your real life. Though it doesn’t prevent the unexpected entirely. We have had students who—” Her eyebrows shot up, and she finally turned her head to face Twilight. “In any case, we keep everything confidential.”

And now a smirk sprouted from her lips. “Now, do please tell us why you lied to my face and betrayed me.”

“W-what?”

“The civil war, Miss Spaaaahkle,” the chancellor droned.

“I-I don’t know,” Twilight stammered. “I didn’t have enough information. Both sides were right, and both were wrong. I was forced into a decision before I knew which side should win.”

Celestia nodded. “Yes, quite by design. You won’t always have the luxury of exhaustive information. You have to make do with what’s available. That’s an important lesson we wanted it to impart.”

At least Celestia didn’t sound angry. Her smirk hadn’t left, either. “All I know is that I might well have been complicit in having Applejack tortured or executed. I couldn’t do that to her or those poor ponies who lived with her. Those foals had done nothing wrong.”

“And they would have been very well treated if they had accepted my rule or moved on to one of the countless places where they would not have been in conflict,” Celestia remarked.

“But they’d been marginalized, imprisoned…”

“Because Applejack told you so?”

Just what Twilight had been afraid of. She could never justify her actions. She should have trusted Celestia. She should have trusted her, no matter what. “I-I don’t know. I believed in you, but… I’d spent so much time with her, gotten to know her. She wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Does that make her right? You left before I had finished explaining everything to you.”

Celestia had sponsored her! What did she have to gain by making her sound bad? “I know. I might have made a different choice. But she believed it, and I saw enough evidence of that. I don’t think either side was right. But hers was the one suffering. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“And then when I did speak to you afterward, you learned that things weren’t quite so simple,” Celestia said, sounding every bit like a scolding mother.

Twilight’s wings sagged by her sides. “That’s why I accepted my punishment. I couldn’t say that I was right, either. I’d done the best I could with what I knew at the time.”

“I see.” For several long minutes, Celestia remained silent. When she finally spoke again, some warmth had returned to her voice. “Remember, there are no right answers. What matters is why you chose the path you did.”

True. And if Twilight had turned in Applejack, she might never be able to look the real one in the eye again. They must have drawn her precisely from Twilight’s memory, down to every freckle, every endearing quality. “She deserved better. And I was willing to take on my fair share of adversity so she didn’t have to endure any more.”

“An egalitarian response.” The silence resumed and stretched on, the committee peering down on her. But once more, Celestia broke into the quiet. “And the result that most students choose. We will not press you on your answer anymore, as this is the first one. A warm-up, we’ll call it. But there are a few things I want you to understand.”

Celestia stood and positioned herself in front of Twilight, waiting until their gazes had locked. “The Elements are not absolute. Showing loyalty to one friend can mean betraying another. Kindness may require refusing to show generosity. Sometimes nopony wins. You have to strive for the balance that will result in the maximum good, not what will make everypony happy.”

So… Celestia wasn’t angry?

“And one more thing: I don’t need automatons. I need powerful unicorns who can think for themselves, whom I can trust to act by their consciences, who will tell me—” she leaned in closer, nose to nose with Twilight “—when they think I’m wrong.”

“I… I understand.” Celestia was right. She’d told Twilight that she needed nothing more than her character. She’d held true to that through the whole test.

“To the second scenario then,” said the chancellor as Celestia walked back by Twilight’s side. “You rather managed to alienate your friends, did you not, Miss Spaaaahkle?”

Twilight had this. She saw it now. She’d only done what she thought right in any of those dreams, and that was all Celestia had asked of her. She could do this!

“Some of them, yes, but for reasons that wouldn’t have made them real friends.”

“Be careful,” the chancellor replied. “You started out as friends with them, so something drew you to them.”

Twilight stood. Her knees no longer shook. “We were friends, and I still wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. But they should want what’s best for me, too. Falling far short of my potential isn’t worth the approval of friends who struggled with it as soon as our values started to clash. Thankfully, they were relatively minor disagreements, but it could have gone much worse, and it wouldn’t have changed my mind.”

“Except one friend remained steadfast,” the chancellor reminded her.

“Yes, Rarity. To be honest, I don’t know if I could have done it without her support. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I had that.”

Celestia pursed her lips. “You could have asked her.”

A slight misstep—Twilight hung her head. “Maybe I should have trusted her more. But if I’d read her wrong, it would have made things twice as hard for me. And for Derpy and Fluttershy, too, I think.”

“Ah, yes,” the chancellor said. “Those two. Tell me about them.”

“Once I got to know them, they were wonderful friends. Better than most of my other ones. Derpy and Fluttershy gave up their time to help me when nopony else would. I think they respected what I was doing, once I apologized to them.”

“Why did you apologize?” he said.

“Because they wouldn’t help me otherwise—” a thin frown began to form on the chancellor’s face “—but I didn’t appreciate how my friends treated them. W-was I supposed to?”

Celestia let out a low chuckle. “We cannot change who you are, Twilight. That was always up to you. But consider that kindness from you could result in quite the opposite from others. You might have called unwanted attention onto them.”

Twilight could only shrug. “I let them choose that. Even so, we only had a few months until graduation. Then they could get away. I hope showing them that somepony cared was worth that. And again, Rarity helped.”

“Yes, she actually would have backed you no matter what you did, by design,” Celestia said.

“But I think Rarity had more respect for me this way—earning my future instead of expecting her to give me one.” They’d gotten her rather right. Maybe that was why Twilight had warmed up to her so quickly.

With a nod, Celestia answered, “There’s something to be said for graciously taking what life gives you. And for wanting to make your own way. Students split about half and half on this one.”

Not surprising. But… “How would that many students know Rarity well enough to…?”

“We choose characters from the student’s own memory. Different players, but a similar situation,” Celestia said. Then her eyes glimmered.

“To the third test, then—” she abruptly turned to the chancellor “—with your permission, of course.” He gave a solemn nod in reply.

And so she faced Twilight again, her eyes blazing and her mane swirling in the windless room. “I must say, you chose quite an unorthodox path on this one. Only two other students before you have come up with that solution.”

Celestia took a step closer. “And this is the only result that I find… troubling.”

Troubling? The tremor in Twilight’s knees started anew. What had she done wrong?

“Twilight, Moondancer committed a crime, and you assisted her in getting away with it.”

Twilight’s mouth hung open while she fought for something to say. How could Celestia—? “W-what? But she couldn’t help it!”

“Yes, she could. She made her choice.”

Wasn’t Celestia supposed to be advocating for Twilight? She swallowed. Hard. Was she really about to argue with Celestia? “Yes, between a rock and a hard place. It wasn’t fair to put her in that position. What could she do about it?”

Celestia rubbed a hoof between her eyes. “She could be honest about it.”

“And risk going to prison anyway. That’s completely unfair,” Twilight said, squinting at her.

“So you decided that you knew better than a judicial system designed to take such things into account? You assumed nopony else could see what was happening and make an appropriate ruling?” Celestia replied as she waved a hoof around in the air.

Twilight looked down at the floor. “I didn’t know if I could trust them enough to get it right,” she said quietly.

“The original test didn’t include that little element of risk theory. I added that a few hundred years ago. Can you guess why?”

A spark shot through Twilight’s mind, and her body slumped. A clever trap, and she’d fallen right into it. She gave a weak nod. “Yes. The two obvious choices are to turn Moondancer in myself or convince her to turn herself in. Or to look the other way, I guess. My project would be irrelevant to those outcomes. But it gave me another way out.”

“One that only two students have ever taken before you,” Celestia said.

“Even if I trusted the courts,” Twilight said, her ears folded back, “nothing would ever repair Moondancer’s reputation. If they found her completely innocent, she’d still never find another job in finance. I fixed that the only way I could.”

“By letting her off? And by putting yourself in a position to be convicted for something you didn’t do, not to mention going unpunished for something you did do.”

Twilight’s gaze snapped up to Celestia’s eyes. “What… I did?”

Celestia nodded. “You presumably intended to perjure yourself, in addition to stealing your research from the company.”

“Oh…” She certainly hadn’t thought about that as theft. “I… I was afraid if I didn’t claim it somehow, Ledger would find a way. And I would have sold it to the same company. Just enough to live on, basically what they would have paid me anyway, so… it’s the same, right?” Even she didn’t believe that.

Celestia didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I just… I had to make a snap decision. I thought I’d made the best of a bad situation.” What happens to a princess who never graduates? Or who doesn’t have permission to cast advanced spells?

“On the other hoof…”

Twilight drew a sharp breath.

“The two prior students I’d mentioned sold the research out of pure spite to somehow punish the company for Ledger’s actions. And in the end, all three of you did the wrong thing for the right reasons. You wanted to protect your friend from a disproportionate backlash on what was a no-win scenario for her. You took on the shame and suffering so your friend wouldn’t have to.” She broke into a smile. Celestia actually smiled! “I can’t say I approve, but you did have honorable intentions.”

“Does that mean…?” Twilight said, her ears perking back up.

“Nopony is perfect, Twilight, and we do not require perfection. We require abiding by the principles embodied in the Elements of Harmony and the willingness to learn from your mistakes.” Once again, Celestia faced the panel and stretched a wing across Twilight’s back. “I do appreciate that you endured that shame in your friend’s place,” she said softly.

“And you took on the potential rift between her and Lyra. If Moondancer eventually tells her what really happened, and I think she would, your sacrifice may well inspire Lyra to forgive her. In the end, friendship wins out. The Princess of Friendship must have found that too enticing to pass up,” Celestia added with a wry chuckle.

Well… that was the point of the test, right? Twilight had stayed true to herself, and if that made her unworthy, then… she’d have to live with it. She guessed.

No, no! She’d fought harder for magic than anything else in her life, and she wouldn’t give up on that now! Like Celestia had said: she wanted unicorns who would tell her when she was wrong. A light tremor shimmied up Twilight’s body. “P-Princess Celestia…”

“I know,” Celestia answered quietly, tightening her wing’s grip.

“But—”

“I know.” Celestia leaned into Twilight’s side, and the tremor abated. She gave Twilight another squeeze and peered up at the chancellor. “I believe we are ready.”

The chancellor nodded vigorously, his jowls quivering, and in any other situation, Twilight might have snickered at him. “Very well,” he said. “Miss… Spaaaahkle, you may wait outside whilst we confer.”

With pursed lips, Twilight walked to the heavy wooden door, silently pushed it open, and slipped through. On the other side, a pink blur nearly tackled her.

“Aaaaaaaaa, Twilight, we’re so so so happy for you!” Pinkie Pie shouted.

“Oh!” Twilight yelped, her heart thudding as her forelegs automatically hugged Pinkie’s neck. “You girls came!” All five, and behind them, her parents, brother, and sister-in-law. That… was rather sweet of them! And maybe premature.

Applejack gave a sharp nod. “Sure did, sugarcube. It’s an important moment for you, and we wouldn’t miss it.”

“So where’s your egghead note?” Rainbow Dash said.

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

“Your… um… diploma.”

Twilight’s face burned. “Oh, that. Well—” she angled her muzzle toward the door “—they’re still discussing that inside.”

“Um… they must be deciding how many…” Fluttershy hid her eyes behind her forelock. “How many pluses to put on the ‘A’.”

Twilight cracked a small smile, and Applejack chuckled. “Land sakes, Fluttershy tellin’ a joke?”

“That’s not it,” Twilight said. They all stared, waiting for something more, but what else to say?

“So what did they have you do, darling?” Rarity asked.

Twilight shook her head. “I’m not allowed to tell. It’s a secret ceremony.” She still had a hoof across Pinkie’s shoulder, and at least that nice, warm coat against her kept her from shaking again. Her family gave warm smiles and nodded at her. They knew. They’d all gone through this themselves.

“You can tell us!” came a voice from down the hall, and Twilight snapped her gaze up—

“Moondancer! Lyra, Lemon Hearts, Twinkleshine, Minuette!” Twilight rushed up to them and hugged Moondancer. “How’d you girls know about this?”

Moondancer circled a hoof in the air. “Word gets around. So how did it go?”

With a shrug, Twilight said, “I don’t know yet. How long does it normally take them to decide?”

“Ten minutes, maybe?” Moondancer replied. She glanced around at the others.

“Twenty for me,” Minuette said. Lemon Hearts and Twinkleshine nodded along.

“Over an hour,” Lyra mumbled through her frown. All eyes widened at her. “What?”

Twilight hugged her, and Lyra’s stiff posture relaxed. “It doesn’t matter. You all passed. Thank you for coming.” She extended a hoof back toward the door, and she walked them over to her other friends. Good thing Lyra wasn’t still mad at her. And Rarity, smiling at her. Rarity understood—she’d stuck by Twilight when nopony else—

No, that was all… Twilight held a hoof to her forehead. “It’s like waking up from a dream. You know how you sometimes have one where somepony makes you angry, then you feel strange around them all day, even though you know they didn’t actually do anything to you—”

“Yeah,” Twinkleshine answered, rolling her eyes toward a bouncing Pinkie Pie, “but don’t say too much.”

“Oh. Yeah.” So after making the obligatory introductions, Twilight sat on the floor, against the wall, and waited. The little bits of conversation among the rest had died off, and the longer the silence carried on, the more they fidgeted and conspicuously tried not to look at Twilight. But she could feel their eyes on her. How long now? Twenty-five minutes? Half an hour?

Just when Twilight thought the buzzing in her nerves might cause her whole body to vibrate, the door opened again, and the panelists all emerged, in single file, without affording her so much as a glance. Off in their own little worlds, laughing and chatting. And finally bringing up the rear, Princess Celestia. She stood over Twilight and smiled down at her for a moment.

“Um… well?” Twilight asked.

“I told you, my most faithful student, you had nothing to worry about. Of course you passed.”

“Woo hoo!” Pinkie shouted, and the rest all erupted into cheers. Then a sound like a whistling rocket, and a clump of confetti exploded above them.

“Heh,” Spike said, trundling down the hall with Pinkie’s party cannon. “Sorry, Pinkie. I think I found the trigger.”

Twilight rushed over to him and swept him up in a hug. “Oh, the girls brought you, too?”

He responded with a sharp nod. “Yeah! I wouldn’t let them come up here without me!”

By the time she’d carried him back to her friends, Celestia had already turned to leave. “I’ll catch up with you a little later,” she said. “Please. This is a time for friends. And congratulations. Besides—it felt like months to us, too. I could use some rest.” Only now did Twilight notice the dark circles under Celestia’s eyes and the way her wings drooped.

Twilight stared after her until she’d disappeared around the corner into the next hallway. Strange. But Twilight had to stay until morning anyway, so she’d still have time to meet up with her again. Seemed like she had something more to say, but Twilight guessed she’d have to wait.

“Hey,” Twilight said after flicking her gaze to the hoofsteps echoing from the adjoining corridor, “why don’t we all go out to lunch? My treat.”

“That’s… generous of ya,” Applejack replied. “But there are… one-two-three-four-five… fifteen of us. Sixteen, includin’ you. That’s a mite steep.”

“Please. I don’t get the opportunity very often. It would mean a lot to me to take my friends out.” Twilight gave them a little lopsided smile, and with a collective shrug, they all stood.

Her family started toward the back way out, though, in the direction of her parents’ home. “We’ll see you tonight, dear,” her mother said. “Share this time with your friends.” Of course Mom would say something like that, and good luck arguing with her.

But Spike tugged on her mane. “Can I leave that here?” he said, pointing at the cannon.

Twilight chuckled. “We can drop it off in my old room on the way. C’mon, girls.”

They’d talked and gabbed for hours. It would have made Twilight feel bad, but the restaurant wasn’t full, so at least they hadn’t been clogging up the table all that time. And as the afternoon had drifted toward evening, her Ponyville friends had offered their thanks and gone off to catch the last train. Tilted back their glasses for the dregs of drink and conversation, then walked away.

Except for Minuette and Lyra. They’d stay overnight at their parents’ places. As long as they’d come to Canterlot anyway, might as well squeeze in a family visit.

And not five minutes later, Lyra leaned over the table and cast a wary glance at the retreating waiter. “So, who sided with the earth pony rebellion?” she said in a low voice. Twilight nearly dropped her glass. Everypony but Twinkleshine raised a hoof, and Twilight slowly added hers.

“Yes!” Minuette hissed. “I knew you’d be one of us!”

Twilight’s eyes shot wide open. “Wait, can we—?”

“Sure,” Lemon Hearts said. “Not a secret with any of us now. Except for Twinkie there.” She let out a snort.

“Look, I told you,” Twinkleshine said, her teeth bared. “It was different in mine. They put my ex-coltfriend as the leader, and he kept hounding me to give Celestia’s soldiers a good beating. How could I not turn him in?”

“Well… up until Celestia finishes her story, and you feel like you might have just made a huge mistake for letting them go,” Lyra said with a shake of her head.

Wait, they all had the same test? Over their laughter, Twilight said, “I guess I figured the test was unique. I mean, it took friends of mine with very specific personality types to fill the roles well.”

“Everypony knows somepony similar enough,” Moondancer replied. “Besides, if they had to invent new scenarios for every graduate, they’d drive themselves crazy.”

True. Then that meant… “So, who decided to push themselves to graduate high school?” Twilight ventured. They all stared back as if Discord himself were standing on her horn. And knowing him, she rolled her eyes up to check.

“C’mon,” Minuette said. “This crowd? They can dumb us down, but they can’t change who we are. Like, of course we’d all choose to study.”

Also true. Not much to say there. Except… “I think there was a good lesson in there, though,” Twilight said. “We take it for granted that learning comes naturally to us. But that’s not true for everypony, and I think it was important for us to see things from their side, to know how much of a struggle it can be.” The other girls only smiled and nodded. Of course, they’d all figured that out long ago.

So, the third test…

Everypony looked down at the tabletop. Yeah, that one had proven surprisingly difficult. Difficult to go through, to justify… to admit.

“I turned in Lemon Hearts,” Minuette said softly. “I found her signature on the forms, but the committee told me afterward that she’d been set up, so I totally missed that one. Not a bad outcome, still, but… damn, I couldn’t look her in the eye for a week afterward.” She picked a hoof at her napkin.

Yeah, like… like a dream that felt too real to ignore upon waking.

“I figured out you’d forged the documents,” Lyra said, turning a weak smile on Twinkleshine. “I made you go to the police, but you were crying so hard about it, you could barely talk to them. Ugh, why couldn’t it have been someone I hated?” She flung a hoof toward the anonymous diners at the other tables, as if they’d all sell their own mothers for some quick cash.

Lemon Hearts pursed her lips and gathered her forehooves to her chest. “I caught Lyra, but I didn’t tell her. Not knowing any better, I went straight to Ledger, who of course pinned it on her. He took the plea deal, and Lyra got the heat for it.” She looked up at Lyra and mouthed a “sorry.”

A low growl sounded from Twinkleshine. “I waited too long to act. Let it go for three days, and by then, the police came knocking on their own. Got that one wrong, too.”

It could have been an hour before Moondancer spoke. No, just time playing tricks. But it did take a while. “You went so quietly,” she finally said. “I told you I knew, Twilight. And you just left. You nodded, gathered up your things, started crying, and left. I didn’t even stay to see where you went—I-I ran down to the vault and…”

She looked up, and tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “That wasn’t long after you’d left for Ponyville. For real, I mean. And I couldn’t…”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight whispered. She patted Moondancer’s hoof. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know, I know. We sorted that out already. I don’t blame you anymore. But for the longest time, it hurt, and the testing committee couldn’t have known, and…” Moondancer wiped the tear streaks from her face. “It’s okay now. It’s better.”

Twilight gave her hoof a squeeze, and Moondancer smiled. She’d press the matter, but she’d known Moondancer long enough to recognize the set of her jaw. It really was better. And even a month ago, Moondancer probably wouldn’t have been willing to say that in front of everypony, so good for her on that count. In any case… Twilight’s turn, then.

“I chewed out Lyra for forging the papers, then realized Moondancer had actually done it. Then I…” Twilight shut her eyes, hard. “I doctored the records to make me look like the guilty one. I made the plea deal to get Ledger. Lyra was furious, I’m sure. Accusing her of fraud at first, then getting dragged out for it myself?”

Lemon Hearts gave a low whistle. “Wow. I wouldn’t have thought of that one. You’re just trading your situation for Moondancer’s, then. How’d you think that would work?”

“I-I planned to sell the research. I could have lived off that, easy.”

Twinkleshine raised her eyebrows. “Research?”

Waving a hoof in the air, Twilight said, “You know. The risk theory work.” Her friends all gave each other blank looks.

A sinking feeling settled into the pit of Twilight’s stomach. Now she had another question for Princess Celestia.

“Right this way,” came the waiter’s voice from somewhere over near the door, and a few seconds later, of course Princess Celestia trailed him to their table.

“Please,” she said, “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

But the other five had already gotten up from their seats. “It’s alright,” Moondancer said. “We’ve all been here before. It’s an important time.”

Twilight smiled, but… “Wait, you all hadn’t discussed your tests before? You didn’t know?”

An even broader smile graced Moondancer. “Not the third one. It’s tough to talk about. But you bring ponies together, Twilight.” She put a hoof on Twilight’s withers. Twilight opened her mouth to respond, but what could she say to that? “How about breakfast tomorrow,” Moondancer said, “in time for you to catch your train? Our treat.”

Twilight nodded, and soon, they’d gone. Silently. They could say their farewells tomorrow. So she sat, and Celestia said nothing, just wearing a smile as she might on the first day of a long vacation.

After the flickering candle at the table’s center had burned down a little more, Celestia said, “She’s right, you know.”

Twilight could only sigh. “Sometimes I think ponies put too much faith in me.”

“A sign of a good princess.”

“What if I’d failed?” Twilight asked.

“We would have removed your memory of the test.”

A reasonable answer. But Celestia had pushed the answer out quickly, saving her breath for…

“You said only two students before me had implicated themselves,” Twilight said. Celestia didn’t flinch at all.

Instead, she trained her gaze on the rising moon outside. “I did.”

“And how many students before me had the risk theory as part of their tests?”

A crescent moon, rather like a smile. Rather like the smile that grew on Celestia’s lips. “Now, Twilight, you managed to get yourself arrested and possibly imprisoned in two of the three scenarios. I shudder to think how you might have done so in the middle one as well, but I wouldn’t put it past you. Your curiosity got you in quite a bit of trouble.”

“How many?”

Celestia shut her eyes and chuckled. “Two.”

She gathered her words in her throat several times, but only after wrestling them into submission did she allow them out at a trickle. “You wouldn’t recognize either name. But they both showed great promise. They both fulfilled great promise, too. Not that I liked their answer, but when they’ve repeatedly chosen to sacrifice themselves for their friends…”

“Unicorns who will tell you when you’re wrong…”

Celestia laughed out loud. “Yes. I still think that option was on very shaky moral ground, but I do find it curious that my best students consistently chose it.”

Interesting. But soon enough, one more thing that had nagged at the back of Twilight’s mind. “Unicorns who will tell you when you’re wrong,” she said again.

After a few seconds, Celestia nodded. Then she poked a hoof at the pair of breadsticks remaining in the basket, levitated one up, and took a bite. “You feel like the exam is too… intense.”

Twilight didn’t answer. That was part of it, but not really, and—

“They are very important moral questions. Have you ever posed a scenario to somepony and had her respond that she couldn’t say how she might handle it unless actually faced with it?” Twilight bowed her head, but Celestia never looked over. “So… we make you actually face them. If we merely asked them as questions or put you in a dramatization you recognized as such, it would be too easy to give us the answer you thought we wanted.”

“But… most of the things I did were snap decisions. I could have easily gone the other way on any of them.”

Celestia shrugged and swirled the stump of breadstick through a cup of marinara sauce. “It doesn’t matter. The moral struggle behind the choice is the important thing. Remember what I said before: far more important than your decision is the reason why. You could justify different outcomes on any of the tests. Character still shines through. And nothing we did to tailor your memories in any of them would change that.”

True. Twilight opened her mouth to reply—

“Yes, the tests are rather taxing,” Celestia continued. She patted a napkin to her lips and turned to face Twilight once more. “Reality can be as well. These are unicorns who we hope will take on leadership roles throughout Equestria. We need them to be prepared.” A tired smile flashed as the napkin dropped to the table. “Yes, various committee members have questioned the—” she circled a hoof in the air “—intensity, as you said, but I believe it helps more than it hurts. It evolved over time into the form it takes now, and it has remained unchanged for the last eight hundred years or so. Except for minor details to keep it modern, of course. Maybe, given time, you’ll find you agree with it. Or maybe you’ll convince me to alter it.”

Celestia had managed to anticipate all of Twilight’s questions. So she waited for the last one. It took less than a minute.

And Celestia’s smile relaxed into one that reminded Twilight of wispy clouds. “You also want to know why we had you take the exam after all you’ve done for Equestria.”

Yes, and… and no. That question had tumbled around in Twilight’s head, but something about it hadn’t quite fallen into place.

“I told you when I first brought it up that it was only a formality. I meant that. For two reasons.” Celestia took a long breath and leaned back in her chair. “The committee members all know about you. They know you’ve proven yourself time and time again. They wouldn’t deny you this. But I already knew you had the strength of character to pass anyway, so it never came into question.”

Well… okay. But still that little suspicion that she couldn’t give form.

Celestia grinned and reached for Twilight’s hoof. “Through the years, I’ve gotten to know you very well. You’ve always felt like it’s important that nopony see you as better than anypony else. Or that anypony feel that you think you’re better. From your days as a student to becoming a public figure, you’ve never wavered from that.” Just a hint of a smirk played at the corners of her mouth. “If you had found out that such a test existed and that we had waived it for you…”

Twilight jerked upright in her seat. The last piece of the puzzle. Celestia was right. Of course she was right. “I would have insisted on taking it.”

Celestia nodded once more. “Lastly, I want to point out how often you try to take others’ burdens on yourself. You can’t solve everything on your own. I hope you will continue to learn how to let your friends return the favor.”

No more words passed between them. No waiter came to check on them. The nearby tables eventually emptied out, and the moon climbed high into the sky. And Twilight had never felt so warm, so comfortable.

“I am very proud of you, Twilight Sparkle,” Celestia said. Then she stood, and Twilight hastily wrote out a check, left it tucked under the bill, and followed her out. The lock clicked in the door behind them, and the two started down the sidewalk. The jeweled sky overhead, a nip of night air around them, and firm stone underfoot.

Twilight only had to be herself. Celestia had never asked anything more of her, and she never would. Celestia had never harbored a single doubt. And Twilight would never do anything to violate that trust.

Before heading off to her parents’ house, Twilight walked Celestia back to Canterlot Castle. In silence, side by side.