//------------------------------//
// Chapter 14: The Fosbury Conspiracy 
// Story: Harry Potter and the Prancing of Ponies 
// by The Guy Who Writes 
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The Best Young Flyer's Competition is a small segment of a larger event known simply as "Flight Week".

Flight Week is Cloudsdale's biggest annual attraction.

It's hosted in a massive colosseum made from material which could seat unicorn and earth ponies (unlike most other cloud structures). Pegasi attendees, who have better vision, are typically seated above the stadium itself, in more distant clouds. It lasts, as the name suggests, a whole week. The first day is the opening ceremony and various qualifying rounds. The second day is the teen's event, the Best "Young" Flyer's Competition, for ages 13-19. The third and fourth days are for the adults, called simply the "Best" Flyer's Competition. The fifth day's events accept pegasi aged 6-12. That's where Silver would compete, with the other colts and fillies. The sixth and final day is a Wonderbolts show and the awards ceremony.

Cloudsdale High/Elementary closes for the duration, to make scheduling easier for everypony.

It begins in twenty days, giving Silver plenty of time to prepare and practice his performance.

"I think I want to enter the race," Silver said after reading through the two options.

"Why not the flight showcase?" Twilight asked. "Wouldn't that be better for demonstration?"

"Probably under normal circumstances, but..." he pointed to the 'Astound the crowd with your best aerial display!' line. "Trying to wow the judges with what I can do when I can't do basic maneuvers..." Silver shook his head. "I can't imagine I'd get a good grade."

Like a competitive swimmer being told they should sign up for a diving contest when they've never practiced jumping off of a diving board, except recreationally. Not a good idea.

"But if it's just a matter of getting from point A to point B as quickly as possible..." Silver grinned. "That'll be my place to shine."

"It isn't just from point A to point B," Twilight corrected. "It's from point A to B to C to D to E to F to G to H to I to J and back to A again. You have to make it to all the checkpoints, and each checkpoint is a sharp turn."

"Even better."

"But sharp turns are a kind of maneuver, aren't they?"

Silver, still grinning, said, "Yes, but they're the one kind of maneuver I should be able to handle. I'll show you what I mean tomorrow."

"Why not today?"

"There's one other pony I want to rope into our conspiracy. Since I'll be demonstrating it to him anyway, I figure it'd be best to do it all at once so I don't have to repeat myself. On that note, could you write and sign a letter for me?"







"Remind me to never let a student convince me that field trip in the middle of a school day to the middle of nowhere is a good idea. Even if you have signed permission."

"Not to the middle of nowhere," Silver said to his coach. He pointed to the patch of clouds set aside by the Ponyville weather team, as per Twilight Sparkle's (i.e. Silver's) request. "See? There's Twilight over there."

Coach Formation pulled ahead, landing a few seconds before Silver and asking something he didn't catch in that brief interval.

Twilight shook her head.

"So," said Silver.

"So," said Coach, "now will you finally tell us what happened?"

"I'll tell you what I can. What do you want to know?"

"How'd you improve so quickly?"

"The how is easy enough," shrugged Silver. "I'm a scientist."

Coach nodded. "I know. I remember you breezed through the science exam. But how does that translate to flying?"

"I formulated a hypothesis, falsified it, formulated another one based on how the first one failed, falsified that one, then rinsed and repeated 'till something finally worked."

"Uh...huh..." said Coach Formation. "I still don't understand what that has to do with flying."

"Flying is a part of reality," said Silver. "And science has everything to do with figuring out reality. When you don't know how something works, the experimental method is the most reliable way to figure it out. And we didn't know how flying works."

"But we do know how flying works."

"Really? That's a relief. So you already know what I was doing wrong for the last few weeks, and I don't need to explain anything, right?"

"Um..."

"Right. Anyway, I'm about to demonstrate two things I learned along the way, but I need you to promise to keep them a secret for a month. After that, you can tell anypony you want. Deal?"

Coach Formation glanced at Twilight Sparkle.

"I already promised the same thing," she sighed.

"Okay, sure. I promise."

"Can you repeat the whole promise out loud? It would be more reassuring."

"Okay... um... I promise that I'll keep whatever you show me a secret for a month."

Silver let out a breath he'd been holding. "Alright."

He fell through the clouds, to the initial panic of Twilight and Coach Formation, but he quickly circled back up to show it had been intentional.

"You are now official members of the Fosbury Conspiracy," he declared. "Membership ends in one month. That was thing one, by the way." Without pause, he wound up a buck. "Ready for thing two?" Then he unwound. "Actually, could we have a race? I think you'll understand better that way..."

Coach probably expected a teaching race when he agreed, where he pushes his pupil to fly faster and points out any mistakes made along the way. He had probably not been expecting to have to work to win.

"What," Coach Formation panted, "was that?"

"Magic."

Of course, Silver didn't just leave it at that like the last time. He did explain how it was pegasus magic specifically, though he still didn't explain the theory. He only explained his goal.

Once Coach Formation understood that goal, he became the textbook definition of a great personal trainer. He was 110% behind Silver's idea, and he was going to make sure it succeeded the best way he knew how.

Practice, practice, practice.

After school later that day, he set up a private course far away from potential prying eyes. He said that Silver would train until he could fly it with confidence and competence, not just speed. He said that Silver could probably beat his fellow eleven-and-twelve-year-olds without any practice at all, but if he wants to wow the audience, he needs to look like he knows what he's doing.

Silver had to agree that his very first attempt at the course was very sloppy and probably didn't look good at all, even if he technically completed the track in less time than a pony his age should be able to. So, he needs to look like he knows what he's doing? Silver asked how, exactly, he was meant to focus on "looks" in a race.

Coach Formation answered that he shouldn't focus on "looks", he should focus on the race. On optimizing his performance as much as possible. On removing as many unnecessary movements as he could manage. On cutting corners as closely as he could. On practicing until he knew what to do by heart. The "looks" would follow naturally. Ponies, and especially pegasi, can see competence. That's why Silver would be practicing until he looked like knew what he was doing, because by that point he should know what he's doing.

On day two, Silver remarked that he hated doing the same thing over and over again. He especially hated failing at the same thing over and over again.

Coach Formation had finally listened to his pupil, composing a few other courses – some advanced, some simple – that Silver could try for variety, even though he wouldn't be flying them in the competition. Every single one of those courses had at least one sharp turn, and every single time, Silver would focus on the turnabout, because that's where he was struggling.

Coach Formation also had him fly the courses normally. Silver would have to pass qualification, and if he didn't want to give away the grand finale, he'd have to fly those rounds without air-bucking. This was the much harder task, but the freedom/determination discoveries made it possible to get a good time in time.

The three weeks flew by as swiftly as Silver flew through the tracks.

Slowly at first, before he knew what to do.

Then faster when he finally figured it out.

Then faster still with each improved iteration.







"And now," Celestia announced to the audience. "The moment you've all been waiting for: The Flight of the Colts and Fillies!"

A great cheer went up from the crowd, especially from the pegasus parents. It was the fifth day of Flight Week, after all other Competitions had concluded.

It was one of the most anticipated parts of the week, according to Twilight – when future talent shows what they're made of. (i.e. When the adults can prove themselves in a different way, by proving their child is the best.) And what better way to do that than a race? Well, three races, actually. The six, seven, and eight-year-olds would compete against each other, followed by the nine-and-ten-year-olds, with the eleven-and-twelve-year-olds bringing up the rear. Lumping everypony into a single race wouldn't have been fair to the youngest ponies. This meant there would be three race winners from this part of the event, just as there'd been three performance winners, for a total of six first-place winners.

They'd done this for the older age groups as well, meaning there'd already been twelve first place winners and thirty-six placers overall. They'd also gone from the youngest to the oldest age brackets at each other event, and it didn't seem like that was about to change.

In short: Silver's race would be the final event of the whole series, excluding the Wonderbolt Show / Closing Ceremony tomorrow.

Silver had mixed feelings about the fact that his heat was literally last. It was good for the rest of Cloudsdale that he wouldn't be messing up the other events, and it was good for his own ambitions that he'd be showcasing the technique at the climax of the competition. It had certainly been good for Rainbow Dash when she demonstrated her 'Sonic Rainboom' at the peak of the Best Young Flyer's Aerial Showcase three days ago.

But it sure wasn't good for his nerves. Despite the fact that he'd trained himself to not get nervous and not have stage fright, when all your planning and preparation comes down to a single moment, when your plot finally reaches its peak, it's hard not to let the excitement get to you. At least a little.

He decided to distract his mind by watching the younger age groups fly the course.

From above, it looked like a picture of a five-pointed star. Fairly straightforward, in other words. Also, it'd be easy for spectators to follow, elevated above the track as they were. It matched Coach Formation's primary practice course exactly, except that the distances between the checkpoints weren't as wide.

This was not how races were done at higher levels, according to Coach Flight. It was set up this way so that the ponies leaving each checkpoint wouldn't be flying into the paths of the ponies who'd yet to arrive, which is helpful for beginners.

The races of higher age groups introduced 3-d maneuvering. They required sharp turning angles, steep dives, and high climbs. They did not make recognisable shapes when looked at from above. But for the younger age groups, it was simple. And when the nine-and-ten-year-olds were up, the distances were lengthened, so it likely would exactly match memory by the time his own race came around.

"You ready?" asked Coach Formation when the final heat before his came to a close.

"Hold on." The checkpoints were widened one last time, and Silver breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes."

He knew the track inside and out, which helped calm his nerves even as his group was called.

"Flyers, to the starting line."

Thirty eleven-or-twelve-year-olds stepped up to the wide tape marking the beginning and end of the race, including one gryphon.

"Hey, look," Silver heard to his left. "It's the flightless wonder."

At a glance, it seemed to be one of the ponies that had seen him his very first day of school, during his placement tests, but none of the days since. Not even during the qualifying rounds.

"Guess we'll be racing twenty-eight other flyers," he heard to his right, "not twenty-nine."

Silver barely managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. A single, dismissive thought entered his mind.

How cliché.

Then, on second thought, he realised that in this particular case, he could actually use the cliché to his advantage. He did need to enter the proper state of mind, after all, and help was always appreciated. For his own way of getting determined, it was nice to have someone specific he was determined to prove wrong.

"Yup," said Silver. "You will be racing against twenty-eight flyers."

The colt on his right snorted-

"Flyers to your marks," said the referee, belaying further banter.

Silver narrowed his eyes. He had been planning to say the next part out loud, but thinking it would work almost as well. He walked up to his mark.

"Get ready..."

You won't be racing against me, Silver mentally continued. 

"Get set..."

Because there'll be nothing to race against.

"Go!"

I don't race.

The others kicked off, wings beating rapidly.

"Um... fella, I said go," repeated the ref.

Silver wound up his legs for a buck.

I win.

And the sound of a thundercrack filled the stadium.







Alternatively:

One of the many Chaos Legion mottos thundered through his mind.

"Flyers get ready."

I'll show him.

"Get set..."

I'll show them all!

"Go!"

He laughed evilly and exhilarantly as he shot forward like an iron ball from a canon.







Silver had not chosen the name of his now-obsolete conspiracy at random. 

Dick Fosbury was the Olympic Gold Medalist in the high jump category of the 1968 Summer Olympics.

His victory was extremely unusual as far as gold medalists go. He didn't win through the usual route – having a good helping of genetic luck followed by an extremely dedicated training regime to become the best.

Dick Fosbury was a civil engineering student. He examined the mechanics of the human body, thought about how they might relate to the high jump, then invented and implemented the 'Fosbury Flop', where he went back-first over the bar instead of straddling it. Nobody had seen this technique before. Nobody else knew how to use it except Dick Fosbury during the 1968 Olympics. During the 1972 Olympics, everybody was using it.

Dick Fosbury beat his competition through technique, not raw jumping power. Through brain, not brawn. Though to be perfectly fair, he did have to build up a respectable amount of brawn to become internationally competitive, at least according Silver's father, who had taught him the anecdote as a lesson on lateral thinking.

It was Dick Fosbury's first, and last, appearance as an Olympic athlete. He won gold on his first, and last, attempt, forever changing how top athletes approached the high jump along the way.

Silver had not told this story to the other two members of the Fosbury Conspiracy for obvious reasons. He wanted to, because the story underpins the entirety of his enterprise. He used it as an outline after he adopted an ambition much greater than merely winning first place: he sought to introduce new flight techniques to the pegasi of Equestria in one grand debut.

Just like Olympic high jumpers use the Fosbury Flop to this day, he wanted to ensure that pegasi at the highest levels of flying understand their own magic. If they want to stay competitive, that is.

Even if air-bucking isn't adopted, even if it's banned from competition, this ambition should be achievable, because of the nature of what he'd discovered.

The more he could maintain a mindset of freedom, the more deeply he could feel it, the faster he could go. Or rather, the less he would be slowed down. He also felt lighter as he felt freer. Reduced drag. Reduced weight. Pegasus magic does actually do that, and it probably is channeled through fur/skin. The unicorn theorists weren't wrong. They just didn't have any idea how it's done.

For everypegasus else, the how is simple: instinct. They do what they've done all their lives, since the moment they were born.

For Silver, who lacked instinct, the how is also simple: science. That is, use science to understand, use understanding to improve, use improvement to build habits, build habits until "instinct" is acquired. A roundabout way of achieving the same end result, plus a few extra benefits along the way, like cloud-phasing.

Free flying alone would've won the competition for him if he were a better flyer. It had certainly been enough to pass qualification without betraying his ability to air-buck. But the problem is that it's not a visible gamechanger. It's too subtle to be seen without cloud-phasing, something he wouldn't be able to dramatically reveal until after the fact.

Therefore, he would first introduce- scratch that, he has just now introduced- the second technique he discovered.

With a full wind-up, a buck to the air can grant a great deal of thrust. Like pushing off the wall of a swimming pool to propel yourself forward through the water. If the checkpoints had been more spaced out, Silver would have demonstrated that he could perform another buck mid-air without breaking his glide to generate more thrust, though not as much as the initial kickoff had produced. It would be like if a swimmer could maintain the aerodynamic – or perhaps hydrodynamic would say it better – dive/pencil position for their entire swimming session, only ever leaving the form to coil up and push off a wall that manifested at their feet whenever they wanted it to be there. But the distance between checkpoints doesn't necessitate that meta-ability, so he'd save it for another time.

Bucking the air can also – as Silver showed to his surprised competitors at the first checkpoint – instantly redirect momentum down a different direction.

That is, perhaps, its true benefit as far as races are concerned. Pivots eat up the most time in any race no matter how you handle them. Even his own method took a whole second. In a race, even one second really matters. 

Everypony else was either doing a wide-angle turn (no lost momentum but more flying distance, his own preferred method in qualification) or a sharp turn (decreased distance but increased effort, where you slow down and speed up again, pumping your wings all the while).

Unlike in qualification, when he reached the flag this time he simply beat the air with another buck and instantly accelerated himself to near-top speed once more. This meant he could do the slow-down-and-speed-up strategy far faster than the other corner-cutters could, and he could do it without exhausting himself three checkpoints into the race, like he would have if he'd used his wings. He is a pony, after all. His leg muscles are still the part of his body best suited for heavy-duty horsepower. Literally. (Well, ponypower, if you want to be extremely literal, but Silver wasn't about to let himself even think a word like that.)

In fact, pure power had been his primary problem during private practice. His initial buck was too powerful. It gave him too much momentum, and unlike his peers he wasn't a skilled enough flyer to slow down with minimal effort and clever wing maneuvers. He had to find a different way.

Trying weaker bucks hadn't worked; if he slowed down to the point that he could easily handle the corners, he lost his advantage and he risked going so slow that he touched the 'ground' when he reached the checkpoint, which would have been an instant disqualification. 

So his mind had suggested a certain creative solution in response to the problem of too much momentum.

And no, that solution was not the Arresto Momentum spell.

(Well, his mind had suggested that idea, but then immediately discarded it. He'd yet to learn any wandless magic except Emergo, and according to Mr. Book, learning any individual spell wandlessly at his current level would take a few months of dedicated practice/tutoring to that one specific spell, with more time required for more difficult/complex spells. Even if he could learn Arresto Momentum now, since it was a second year spell, it probably had some restriction like "you can't arrest your own momentum, just like you can't levitate yourself". He hadn't read the spell description back when he discovered it, having closed the book in disgust after reading the incantation, so he didn't know its constraints, but Murphy's Law suggested he'd encounter a problem like that, plus the solution was regardless unworkable in under a month.)

The first viable solution was... better, but not ideal. It was almost the same solution that increased the safety margins of his original air-buck test.

Silver's brain suggested that he ask Mr. Book for broomstick bones.

He could have done that.

He could have cheated.

In Mr. Book's words, cheating is technique – rather, losers will whine and complain and call it 'cheating' while winners will laugh and boast and call it 'technique'.

Silver had been sorely tempted by the easy out, but he didn't want to mar his debut with actual cheating. Legal unfair advantages are one thing, but illegal cheating is something else entirely. Like all those stories of athletes being caught with steroids in their bloodstreams, only worse. Worse because, if he was found out, there'd be many uncomfortable questions about an enchantment nopony had ever seen before.

So instead, he had to develop a third technique, on top of the others, to deal with the dangers of speed. And 'on top of the others' is meant literally, because it puts the first two discoveries together.

As he approached the second checkpoint, just like when he approached the first, he visualised the air in front of him as a big cloud of mist.

There is such a thing as mist here. He'd learned that as part of his weather class curriculum two weeks ago, entirely by chance. Coach Formation said it was taught whenever the opportunity arose, due to the rarity of the natural phenomenon. Then he instructed Silver to attempt to fly through the morning fog without phasing.

Silver had observed that it felt more like swimming than flying, as if he were moving through molasses. Wouldn't it be great, he had thought, if he could mimic the effect at each race checkpoint, which he had been failing to circumnavigate all week.

Boom. Instant inspiration.

As for the implementation...

As he approached the second red flagpole (the other competitors far behind him) he grew progressively more determined to stop. This caused the air to progressively slow his speed like a massive air cushion. It felt like a stray mist cloud would have felt if there had been one in his way. When his momentum was almost entirely eaten and he noticed himself falling into projectile motion, he became determined to go that way, bucked the air, and caught the wind under his wings in another glide. He'd practiced that particular set of movements more than anything else, not stopping until it became one seamless sequence. 

Between each checkpoint, he enjoyed the freeing feeling of air beneath his wings. He hadn't flapped them yet, and he didn't plan to flap them until he crossed the starting line and turned it into the finish line. He still needed to flap a few times to land properly.

In about a tenth of the time that his age group normally took to complete this track, Silver flapped his wings.

"I heard you the first time," he said to the ref, who seemed too shocked to call the race's champion, or even respond at all.

Silver looked around the stadium, magically keen eyes gauging facial reactions. He had enough energy to do this calmly – the race had been exciting, but not tiring. Well, not physically. The constant mental gymnastics had taken an emotional toll, and his magic was aching, but his muscles weren't worn or weary at all. One of his discoveries' many benefits was that, when he used them in tandem, it took little effort to get lots of speed and distance. Like pushing a scooter on a straight street, or riding a bike downhill, or doing a perpetual downward dive.

The pegasi in the audience looked much like the ref. The fact that they were supposed to applaud the victor had been forgotten long ago. The non-pegasi in attendance looked confused... except for Twilight, who was cheering wildly, and her non-pegasi friends, who were cheering along even though they looked as confused as everypony else. Rainbow Dash was staring at him like all the other pegasi, and Fluttershy was... clapping shyly. Wait, they call it clopping, don't they? Whatever.

He moved on to the more important ponies.

The wealthy-looking ponies (i.e. the clothed ponies) looked as confused as everypony else. The Wonderbolts whose faces weren't obscured by their uniforms had a wide range of reactions, from surprised to disbelieving to skeptical to angry. That last one probably meant they thought he cheated, and/or that he'd just beaten one of their children.

Eventually, his eyes settled on one pony. Probably the only pony whose initial reaction actually mattered.

Princess Celestia.

She wore a thoughtful frown for the brief moment before she noticed him watching her.

Then she smiled warmly.

This was a good sign.







The final day of the Flight Week, which didn't even host any competitions, just a Wonderbolt show that reminded him too much of Quidditch, was actually rather boring.

Or it would have been boring under any other circumstance.

For Silver, it consisted of yet more magical scans to make sure he hadn't somehow cheated with unicorn magic. After so much rigorous scanning and questioning and probing, he was extremely glad that he hadn't used broomstick enchantments, and that he could honestly say he hadn't broken any rules.

Almost all of the other colt and filly racers had quite understandably called him a cheater as soon as they crossed the finish line. And not just them. Some rather upset parents had been sorely outspoken, along with many other ponies who had innate distastes for unfairness.

In retrospect, it didn't help matters that he replied to each and every accusation by repeating his mentor's proverb about cheating being technique.

His competition took offense that he admitted to 'cheating'. Some of the adults understood his point, but most didn't. Celestia herself eventually had to intervene. She tried to put all the arguments to rest by voicing that even she could not detect any forms of foul play.

Ponies had still been skeptical, voicing that maybe he'd found a way to avoid detection.

Silver had asked if there were any forms of magical truth-detection that might exist.

Celestia had begun to say "Not since-", then stopped with wide eyes, and then she called a certain pony from the stands to come forth, directing Applejack to ask him certain straightforward questions. 

Silver, guessing that the Element of Honesty might be able to detect lies, answered truthfully.

He could honestly say that he hadn't used external devices. He hadn't used drugs or stimulants. He hadn't used any unicorn magic, or other foreign magics to give himself an advantage.

He had only used pegasus magic. He had practiced that magic under the watchful eye of Flight Formation – former Wonderbolt Captain – who vouched for him, and Element of Magic Twilight Sparkle, who also vouched for him. Silver had used an unfair advantage, but it was one that any pegasus could have used, if only they understood their own magic better, so in a way it was an entirely fair advantage. 

He still hadn't explained how any pegasus could have done it, how they might understand their own magic better. He was saving that for when he would be given the spotlight at the awards ceremony. Sort of.

When he was given the spotlight at the awards ceremony, standing on a stage of cloud in front of a stand of trophies...







Nineteen days ago:

Dear Princess Celestia,

Do winners of Flight Week get to talk to the crowd at the award ceremony? If not, I think it would be a good idea to give the best flyers a chance to thank everypony who helped them get where they are, and maybe say a few words to inspire others so they can become good flyers too. And maybe you could also ask the younger flyers what they want to be when they grow up. I think that would be a good question that everypony would enjoy. But they don't have to say anything if they don't want to.

Your Faithful Student,
Twilight Sparkle







...Princess Celestia asked him, "Would you like to say a few words? I think everypony here would like to know your secret."

Yeah, right, thought Silver. Some of the many secrets he knew most ponies would never want to know flashed through his mind. Azkaban. Voldemort. Most of human history. But he quickly disregarded those thoughts in favor of his pre-prepared speech.

"Thirty days ago," Silver said in a voice amplified by Twilight's magic, "I couldn't fly a single mile without collapsing in exhaustion."

He now had the attention of the entire stadium.

"Twenty-six days ago, I could fly three miles without breaking a sweat. I could fly it normally, without air-bucking."

He paused for dramatic effect. Also, to let the name he'd coined seep into the general vernacular.

"This wasn't because of training. It wasn't because of difficult, physical work. It wasn't even the result of research." He stood tall. "My victory is the fruit of hard mental labor, not physical training. My success came from creative problem-solving, not flying talent. My achievement involves ingenuity and originality, not muscle." He looked towards the unicorns and earth ponies in the stadium. "Before I figured out what I was doing wrong, I thought I could find the answer to my problems in books." He shook his head. "I couldn't. And not because they were too hard to understand." His next sentences he spoke with as much confidence and clarity that he could put into his young voice. "It's because the books about pegasus magic weren't helpful. They don't contain the correct answers. In some cases, they were even wrong." A small number of ponies audibly gasped, especially some segments of the unicorn population. "They are wrong." His gaze drifted more to the pegasus areas above the stadium. "Anypegasus who's ever read a book on pegasus magic, none of which were authored by actual pegasi, by the way, if you take anything away from today, take this: I figured out how my magic works- how it really works- by disregarding what I read and figuring it out for myself. If you ever want to replicate what I can do, you'll have to forget what you've read and start thinking for yourselves."

A brief scan of the audience showed Silver that the pegasi were, on average, thoughtful; the earth ponies were, on average, confused; and the unicorns were, on average, offended.

"And if you're not a pegasus..." Silver shrugged. "Then it shouldn't matter to you what we pegasi believe about our own magic, especially if it works in the real world, as opposed to mere words on a page." He turned to Princess Celestia. "I... think that's all I wanted to say about the secret to my success."

She was favouring him with an intrigued expression. "Wouldn't you like to explain at least some of the theory? You may never get a better chance."

Silver deliberately snorted. "And deal with the inevitable backlash from a certain type of pompous pony belonging to a certain prestigious magical institution?"

The eyes of the monarch widened slightly, and her smile became slightly fixed.

"No thanks," he answered his own rhetorical question. "I'm pushing it as it is."

He'd managed to get through that entire speech without once saying the word 'unicorn' – Twilight had made him promise not to say anything that could be construed as an insult to her species, or she would stop amplifying his voice – but he probably wouldn't be able to keep that up if he kept going.

"Would you like to thank the ponies who helped you get this far?" Celestia asked, now speaking as if reading from a script, and still wearing that fixed smile.

"Sure. I'd like to thank Twilight Sparkle for helping me prepare for today, and for treating me like a pony, not just a pegasus, and for dealing with my strange and stressful requests, and-" his voice almost caught, but he caught himself "-and for looking after me. Coach Formation was a big help too. He's my flight tutor. And I guess I'd also like to thank my mentor; he knows who he is and what he's done. I'd also like to do the opposite of thank my mentor. He knows who he is and what he's done."

"That's... interesting. Would you like to share your hopes for the future?"

"Absolutely," said Silver, smiling at the success of one of his minor side plots, the one where he asked Twilight to send a letter asking Celestia to ask that exact question. He gave his pre-prepared answer. "I'll be starting a class where I teach other pegasi about their own magic. Thestrals and gryphons can sign up too if they want to join, though I haven't confirmed if they can do this yet." Cloud-walking implied they could, but you never did know until you tried. "I don't have all the details worked out yet, but it should start sometime before the end of the month. Anypony who wants to learn how to air buck can find me at school, or talk to superintendent Flight Formation."

"How... practical of you," Celestia said in a tone that suggested she hadn't been expecting anything along those lines. "And I am glad you shared it. Ponies should always strive to teach others what they know. But I was wondering if you could share your more... long-term hopes. In particular, I would like to know what you want to be when you grow up. I suspect we won't get the typical 'Wonderbolt' answer."

Silver almost answered directly. He almost articulated his intended career path.

"Oh! That reminds me." But two things stopped him: intuition on the probable unicorn reaction to a pegasus striving to become a scientist, and the fact that a much better idea had come to him in the moment. "My mentor said something about ambitions for the future a while ago, and I think it's appropriate for this occasion. Do you mind if I quote him? Well, paraphrase, actually?"

"Go ahead."

Silver nodded to the monarch, then confronted the crowd. "Keep in mind that my mentor is a bit cynical, and I'm sorry in advance if this sounds harsh, but not all lessons are nice. Anyway, as adapted to the current circumstances, what he said went something like this."

He lowered his voice, taking on Professor Quirrell's cadence. He was able to go purely from memory, because this particular bit of advice was extremely memorable.

"Only a very small number of ponies ever do anything interesting with their lives," he said in a scornful voice. "What does it matter to you if THEY are... mostly unicorns, or mostly pegasi, so long as YOU are not among them? And I suspect you will NOT be among them, Ms... Darke, for although you are ambitious, you have no ambition."

He got another impulse, and went with it.

"That's not true!" he whined in a voice that didn't sound like Tracey at all, but was about as close as he could get. "And what's it mean?"

"You... are cunning, Ms. Darke, and I expect you will grasp at any opportunity for advancement which falls into your hooves. But there is no great ambition which you are driven to accomplish, and you will not MAKE your opportunities. At best you will grasp your way upward into..." Silver paused only slightly to think of some good pony examples. "Into Mayor of Cloudsdale, or Captain of the Royal Guard, or star Wonderbolt, or some OTHER high position of unimportance..."

He smiled widely at the effect he'd just had on the crowd, including the judges... especially the judges, all of whom (except Celestia) were Wonderbolts. He did enjoy making the lives of others surreal, and a young pegasus colt who'd just won the racing segment of the Best Beginner Flyer's competition calling the Wonderbolts 'unimportant' is probably about as surreal as it can get in Cloudsdale.

"...never breaking the bounds of your existence," he finished the memory.

And just as he did, just as he realised and reaffirmed that he was breaking the bounds of his own existence this very moment, he felt something like a pressure on his flank.

He turned and saw that, with a glow of light, his cutie mark was changing. No longer did it depict a Vitruvian earth pony.

(A/N: Gonna have to use your imagination. I'm not a skilled artist, photoshopper or otherwise, and the original "Pony Sapiens" image borrowed from AgentTasmania didn't didn't have wings. Go back to chapter 1 if you want a refresher on what it looks like, then imagine it with wings, and there you have it.)

"My cutie mark has wings now?" Silver asked aloud, his articulations still being amplified. He ignored the collective gasp from the crowd, just as he'd ignored every other audible noise they'd made over the past few minutes. "I guess that's appropriate." He turned back to Celestia, who had also gasped. "I'll let Twilight take my trophy."

He tapped the material beneath him with a hoof. The stage seemed hand-crafted by a weathersmith for this occasion, and while the stands for the audience could hold other species, the field itself was a standard-issue pegasus arena, complete with cloud floor. Meaning...

Silver turned again to the wider audience and said, still in that amplified voice, "It's been fun, everyone." Not everypony, because there were a few gryphons in the crowd. "Bye!"

With the thought that he would continue breaking the bounds of his own existence – and with the overwhelming feeling of freedom that came with that thought – Silver fell through the stage, then the floor beneath it, sinking like a stone through water.

Once clear of the colosseum's cloud, he launched himself towards Canterlot mountain, far off in the distance. He could have used his portkey, but he felt like flying.