I have earned many titles and accolades in my long life. I have seen for myself how the name “Star Swirl” will resound through the ages. Legends will blend together, and my deeds, scattered across time as they are, will be supplemented by those of unicorns history will otherwise forget. Even before she rises, the Fourth will revere my name as though I were a prince myself. By all rights, the pony she will think she knows might as well be one.

But none of it would have happened without a chance encounter when I was an apprentice lens grinder, scarcely out of colthood. Even now, I am likely the only pony who remembers the name Wide Aperture. Indeed, the miserly son of a goat deserves little remembrance. But without his shop, I would not have been where I needed to be when that mysterious stallion came calling.

ven now, every detail of that fateful encounter is clear in my mind. Well do I remember the scarcely lit storefront, the cramped space behind the counter, the pieces meant to show Master Aperture’s craft: spyglasses, telescopes, jeweler’s loupes, and the like.

Even better do I recall the strange stallion who entered as the sun set. He was garbed as a wizard in robe and pointy hat. His mane and long beard were a soft rose in the dusky light, his coat grey. His mark was obscured by his clothing, and strangely, he had chosen not to place it thereon. Most wizards’ marks were known as well as their names and deeds, and they made sure all three were very well known indeed. A wizard who made himself blank was as strange as a pegasus clerk would have been in those foolish times. Still, if he did not wish to be known save by occupation, I would not ask.

He gave but a glance about the store before settling on me. “Good evening,” he said.

I bowed to him, for however strange the wizard, disrespecting him is dangerous indeed. “Good evening, sir,” I returned.

He looked about for a bit longer, but seemed only to be doing so for the look of it. After that short span, I mustered up my courage and squeaked out, “Forgive me, sir, but the shop is closing soon. I will be happy to fetch Master Aperture, but I do not know if he will be able to accept your custom before the morrow.”

He looked back at me, as though he had forgotten I was there. “Tell me, colt,” he said, “wouldst thou call thy master a fair one?”

I was unsure where Wide Aperture was. For a portly stallion, he could be quiet as a shadow when it suited him. Thus, I answered, “Fairer than some, sir. He beats me rarely, and not much.” This was true; the stallion’s magic was meant for fine work, and violence by horn or hoof was tiresome for him.

The stranger nodded. “And why does he beat thee?”

“Idleness,” I said. “Dancing with breezies when I should be aiding him or watching the shop.”

“Ah. Dreams of fillies, I assume.”

I felt myself flush and shook my head. “No, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Colts, then?”

I started. “No, sir!”

He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with it. Far too few mares find their way up a wizard’s tower. One must make do with the company one keeps. But if thy fancies be not of love, what are they?”

“Naught but foolishness, sir.” I looked down and pawed at the floor with a hoof.

“Well, all the better for me.”

“Sir?” I looked back up and saw him smiling. I shivered. A smiling wizard is almost as bad as a frowning one to the laypony.

He chuckled, and my bowels clenched. “In my experience,” he said, “the fool is oft the wisest member of a court. Certainly wiser than the wizard, who all too rarely lives up to the name. Share with me thy folly, colt, and we can see what wisdom can be found there.”

I hesitated. “It would only be a waste of your time, sir wizard.”

He barked out a laugh. “Is that what troubles thee? Worry not, colt. In the court I serve, I be fool and wizard both.”

I had never heard of such a thing. “How—“

"'Tis a difficult trick, but one well worth performing.” He smiled, and his claims did nothing to gentle my fear. “So, if thou wilt not share wisdom with a wizard, perhaps thou wilt share folly with a fool?”

The stallion was clearly mad. I hoped humoring him would hasten his leaving. “Well, sir, I sometimes wonder about time.”

“Time?” In a moment, he grew serious. All smiles were gone; now he looked the very model of a wizard, all stern and solemn. ”Well, there is certainly much to wonder there. Its flow is constant, yet there’s never enough of it when you need it, and all too much when you want it to pass by. And ‘flow of time’ is a troublesome concept itself. Is time a river? How might we then ford it, or redirect it, or even just get out of it and be allowed to dry off?”

I gaped. I had wondered all these things in my passing fancies. For such a stallion to echo my thoughts… It meant I was either wise or mad. I had to share more, if only to learn which. “And I also wonder about magic itself.”

“Another wondrous subject,” he said. “What is it? From whence does it come? Why does it show those colors, make those sounds, follow those rules? And what of magic beyond the unicorn’s?”

“Sir?” I shook my head. Surely he was speaking nonsense now.

He gave me what I still think of as “the wizard’s look,” an exasperated gaze that makes it clear just how stupid somepony is being. “The pegasus walks on clouds. The dragon breathes fire. The cockatrice turns its prey to stone. Be that not magic?”

What could I say to that? “I… I suppose.”

“Thou art an impressive pony, to so blend humility and arrogance. But when thy folly is so wise, it should come as no surprise.”

I ducked behind the counter. There are few things more dangerous than a carelessly rhyming unicorn, for any couplet might carry a spell.

“Oh get up, get up,” the stallion grumbled. “Thinkest thou I cannot control potent poetry?”

“No offense meant, sir,” I said as I edged my way upright. “Better safe than sorry, as they say.”

“Aye, I suppose so.” He smirked. “More foolish wisdom. Thou mayest be able to repeat my trick, colt.”

I blinked. “Do you think so, sir? Ponies always tell me those are foals’ questions.”

“And where be the shame in that?” he asked. “Foals know nothing and thus want to understand everything. Adults still know nothing, but they have grown satisfied with it, and answer foals with the same nothings their parents told them. If we are to truly know anything, we must begin with foals’ questions.”

"I..." I shook my head. "I am no sun mover, sir, no master of will. It is a pleasant dream, but that is all it is."

He whickered disdainfully. "And yet thou thinkest thyself a prophet? We drift backwards on time's river, colt, never able to see what lies ahead. 'Never' is brother to 'always,' and neither has any place in a thinking mind."

"But..." I clapped my forehooves over my treacherous mouth.

The stallion raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

I shut my eyes. At least I would not have to watch my doom. "But you just said that we are never able to see what lies in the future, sir."

He laughed, much to my surprise. "Good, you were paying attention! Mark my words, colt, you're already a better wizard than half of the ponies who claim the name."

I had never received such praise before. "Sir, I—"

A voice bellowed from the back room. “Star Swirl! Palladium’s horn, colt, what art thou doing out there? Chase out the vagrant and close up shop! And don’t think I’ll be paying thee a penny for thy dawdling!”

The stallion before me chuckled. “It seems I must take my leave. Star Swirl, was it?” After my mute nod, he said, “I think thou hast a bright future ahead of thee, young Star Swirl. Keep thinking thy foolish, foalish thoughts. Ask questions. Take chances. Make mistakes, and learn from them.”

He left the shop. I never saw him again. At least, I do not think I did. Many wizards were pale of beard and grey of coat, and without his mark, I would have had to ask many stallions of ill humor if they were the one who happened by that shop. My mentor of sorts may have told me to ask questions and take chances, but it is hard to learn from mistakes after being turned into a frog.

Instead, I sought to join their ranks. I saved my meager wages as best I could, practiced my magic, expanded my horizons. Spellcraft had never interested me before, all “sixth circle” this and “bat guano” that, but it came so easily! The old graybeards muttered about “nontraditional techniques,” but they couldn’t deny my skill. And the rest is quite literally history.

I still wish I could have seen that stallion again. He changed my life. I wouldn’t have even grown my eponymous beard were it not for hi•

---

The quill halted in midstroke. Star Swirl stared, not seeing the words or the growing ink blot. ”Oh, piss.”

“Worry not, friend.” Luna moved to his side, three of her paces enough to cross his little corner of Castle Everfree. She smirked. “’Tis to be expected of stallions of thy age, and thy robe hath caught it.”

Star Swirl merely grumbled and blotted the page.

Luna blinked. “I knew thy mane had grown thin, friend, but thy skin? What troubles thee?”

He slammed the journal shut, rattling the scrolls in their racks along one wall, and spun to face her. “What troubles me is that after years of careful travel along the corridors of time, I must now cause a paradox, or all is naught!”

Luna tilted her head. “I was given to understand from thy rantings that paradoxes were bad things.”

Star Swirl turned away, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment and sketching out the first of many arcane diagrams. “Aye, they are.”

“And yet thou hast need to make one.”

“Aye, I do.” He huffed out a breath. “I must travel back to Wide Arsehole’s shop in the days of my youth and convince myself that I am slightly less addle-pated than I then believed.” He tugged at his beard with a fetlock. "I even grew this damnable chin scruff in that stallion's honor. In my own honor! How absurd! From whence came the idea for this ridiculous second mane?"

"Didst thou not grow it because thy fellows believed that the sole measure of a stallion was the length of his horn or beard or—"

"And that, and that, yes, yes. Aren't you supposed to be a princess?" Star Swirl pressed down hard enough to snap the quill. "Damn it to the darkest depths of Tartarus!"

“Well.” Luna’s tone was more prim. “We wish thee safe and pleasant journeys, though the first seems guaranteed and the second all but.”

Star Swirl sighed and looked back to see Luna’s muzzle in the air. He dipped his horn. “Forgive me, Your Highness. To learn that after years of careful courtship, I must cross Dame Fate…”

She looked back into his eyes and smiled. “I am not surprised. Thou wert always hopeless with mares, be they flesh or metaphor.”

A hint of a grin made it across Star Swirl’s own face. “Mock all you like, moon shrew. Mayhaps I should stay here and now, let myself learn the spyglass craft. Celestia and thou canst flounder without my guidance.”

Luna paused for a moment, looking back and forth. “It seems thou shalt not.”

Star Swirl sighed. “Aye, so it seems.” He returned to his equations. “I best do this soon. We are not all timeless, and I do not think that my remembrance be coincidence.” He sketched out the last rune in a sequence and circumscribed them, then gave a laugh. “Closing a circle. Aye, that’s what I must do.”

“I shall not disturb thy circles, great master,” said Luna, and silver-shod hoofsteps sounded against the floor.

Star Swirl's eyes widened. “Luna!” he called.

She halted at the entrance to his study and turned. “Yes?”

“I—“ He shut his mouth and shook his head. “Thank you. Friend.”

She smiled. “Any time.”

Star Swirl watched her go, then sagged as he sighed. He went back over his calculations, nodded to himself, and flipped the parchment over. Taking quill in field, he penned the thought as quick as he could:

The words twist in my gut. They demand to come out, and I dare not commit them to my journal. I had nearly let myself forget, but thy visit brought them back to my ancient mind. No doubt thou hast some jibe for this. Alas, I can never hear it.

Forgive me, Luna, but there is no choice. If the Fourth does not cut her teeth on thee, then she will be unable to face her future foes, the ones with genuine malice in their hearts. I wish I could avert this, but I have seen the alternatives, and all end in our extinction. Thou art too clever not to know I saw this coming, so I only hope that any bitterness thou shalt feel will fade with time and Harmony.

With a thought, Star Swirl burnt the sheet to ash. He wiped at his eyes with a fetlock. The stallion he met that day had had no sign of tears. He changed his hat and robe for a set without bells and lit his horn, holding in mind the values that would take him when he needed to be.

"For all my power," he said to himself, "I cannot change destiny for the better." He hummed at this. "At least, not yet."

Star Swirl shook his head. "Don't get distracted now, old stallion. First things first." With that, he vanished in a burst of light and wind.