The moon hung low over the branches of the mulberry tree, its silver light swaying in time with the night breeze.
It was long past midnight, that quiet, liminal hour when the neon hum of the city finally began to fade. One by one, the parents who worked the late-shift factory lines or the late-night diners arrived at the Little Red Pony Academy to reclaim their children. Their bodies were etched with exhaustion, their shoulders slumped under the weight of a twelve-hour workday, yet the moment they saw their little ones, their faces transformed. A light kindled in their eyes—a weary but profound joy. The struggle of the day was over; these few hours before the cycle began again were the only ones that truly mattered.
The academy was a sanctuary of silence now. In the thick grass of the co
