Although the Little Red Pony Academy was nestled within the beating heart of one of the world's most frantic metropolises, the atmosphere inside the gates was unnervingly quiet. Thick, ancient trees—survivors of a time before the concrete giants rose—acted as a natural acoustic barrier, swallowing the roar of traffic from West Longpeace Avenue. From the windows of the third floor, the view was a sea of deep emerald, a verdant shield that isolated the academy from the city's neon pulse. It felt less like an urban childcare center and more like a hidden sanctuary, a place where time slowed down to the pace of a falling leaf.
Ethan Gray lay on his back in the darkened room, his eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling. In the silence, his mind churned. He sifted through fragments of two lives: the
