It was a perfect day.

Celestia’s sun shined bright in the skies over Fillydelphia, the sky blue for as far as the eye could see. The clouds were being pushed by a busy team of pegasi to and fro, doing their best to provide comforting shade. There was a cool and constant breeze from the west. A perfect day.

Sparks hadn’t noticed though. Not the blue of the sky or the silver of the sun off the clouds. The breeze that slowly ruffled his mane as he trotted slowly homeward left no impression. The only part of the perfect day that crossed his downward facing eyes was the occasion when his shadow would leave him, swallowed up by all-encompassing greyness.

As he slowly clip-clopped his way down Fillydephias 4th avenue, he didn’t see anything but the pavement. He heard though. He heard a pair of old friends order a champagne. A Stallion and a mare talking about whether they should see a movie or go to the park once they finished deserts. A group of elementary schoolers pointing in excitement at a passing airship.

A little fillys voice speaking in a hushed tone. “Look at the size of that blank flank.” Giggling.

Sparks shot a look at the source of the voice. A little pink filly wearing an intricate diamond tiara and her grey spectacled friend hurriedly cut off their laughter and faced the other way. Sparks stood immobile for a second, staring at them in disgust. Finally he lowered his head again and continued his march. He glanced back at the fillies once. They were now staring at him with curiosity. ‘How could a pony grow so old and be a blank flank,’ they probably wondered. He faced front, and left them behind.

For the first time since he had walked out of the offices of Fillydelphia Water and Power he looked around. There was a small café to the left, and a park across the way. It even had a carousel. Everypony was so happy. He had to get out of there.

He looked behind him, and luckily enough a yellow earth pony cabbie was bringing an empty taxi down the lane. Sparks raised a hoove, and the cabbie pulled over. Sparks quickly hopped in as the cabbie glanced backward.

“Where to, gov’ner?” the cabbie asked with a broad smile. He was missing a tooth. At least he was still happy.

Sparks spat his answer back out, “376 Churchill Street.” The cabbie tipped his hat with one hoove, gave a curt little nod and a big incomplete grin indicating that he didn’t notice Sparks tone.

“Right-o, 376 Churchill,” He said as he started off at just above walking pace. Sparks leaned back until his head hit the back of the carriage with a ‘thunk.’ Now he could just relax and try to put the last few hours out of mind, if only for a few minutes. ‘Oh hayseeds, I have to tell my folks. What’s he gonna-‘

“Beautiful day out, ain’t it, gov’ner?” the cabbie called out from up front. Sparks closed his eyes, ‘why can’t everypony just leave me alone,’ he thought.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” he spat out again, annoyance dripping off of the sentence. The cabbie glance back at him, then laughed.

“Don’t worry gov’ner, I don’t like these beautiful days much meself. Everypony decides to walk on a beautiful day, and that ‘urts me pockets.” Another glance back. “So why is this beautiful day gettin’ to you?”

“Because everypony is having a great day while I’m having a horrible one.”

The cabbie nodded as he made a left turn onto Keeneland road. “Is your lack of cutie mark what’s gettin’ you, gov’ner?” Sparks sat up in his seat and glared the Cabbie down.

The Cabbie nodded. “Based on that, I think it is. Well gov’ner, it isn’t all bad. You see, once you have a mark that’s it for you. Take me. I wanted to be a professional runner, wasn’t half bad. Get my mark, and it’s a cart. So now I’m stuck having to pull stuff for the rest of my life, I just get to choose if it’s ponies or cargo. I chose ponies, ‘cause I can at least talk to ‘em. I s’pose I could talk to the cargo too.” The cabbies grin grew even bigger and goofier than before as the carriage rolled up to Sparks’ apartment building on Churchill Street.

“Oi, ‘ere we are gov’ner. That’ll be ‘leven bits.” Sparks levitated twenty from his saddlebag and placed them in the carriage’s pay slot.

“Keep the change, it’ll help with the slow business.” Sparks said. The cabbies good mood was beginning to brush off on him. The cabbie tipped his hat again.

“Much appreciated gov’ner. You ‘ave a better day now.” Sparks nodded, the cabbie grinned, and then started back onto the street with a fading ‘clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop’ into the distance. Sparks turned and faced the apartment block. It was time to give them the news. He marched through the door.

Sparks opened the door of his apartment, and wasn’t even given the chance to step his hoove in when he heard the question he had been dreading since he had left Fillydelphia Water and Power.

“Good afternoon son, you get the job?”

His father sat at the kitchen table reading the Friday edition of the Fillydelphia Flyer. Right now he was looking to Sparks with anticipation. Sparks dodged the question as he stepped in and shut the door.

“Where’s mom?”

“Your mothers out at the market right now, something about getting something for her little colt.” He was still smiling expectantly. “Did you get the job?”

Sparks couldn’t look him in the eye as he gave his answer. “No, I didn’t.” He waited for whatever would happen next, and he didn’t have to wait long. His father sat at the table chewing it over for a minute, then shrugged and went back to the newspaper.

“Oh well, not getting a job at Fillydelphia Water and Power isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened. Did you have a good interview?”

Sparks stood in confusion for a moment. Of all the reactions that his dad could have had, this was the one that he least expected. Indifference.

“I didn’t get the job,” Sparks repeated.

“And Fillydelphia Water and Power didn’t get a perfectly good electrical engineer,” he responded matter-of factly responded. “Did you have a good interview?”

“Yeah dad, the best I ever had. You aren’t upset? Or annoyed?”

“Not at all son.” His dad said as he started on the papers crossword. “You did what you could. I may be a little annoyed with Water and Power, but not with you.” Sparks walked across the room and sat down opposite his dad. For a moment the room was silent, save for the scratching of a pen on newsprint, and the occasional voice from the street outside. Finally Sparks spoke.

“When am I going to get what I want?”

The scratching stopped as his father looked up from the paper. “You mean the job?”

Sparks shook his head, “No dad, I mean anything. All I’ve wanted in life since I was a colt was to be an electrical engineer and to have a cutie mark. I’m twenty one years old. I’ve gone to Fillydelphia University and gotten my degree, with a 3.7 no less. And after all of that I still have nothing. Today I was called a blank flank by two little fillies. They couldn’t have been more than 10, and they have their marks. When am I going to get anything that I want?”

His father took a sip from his coffee, and held up a hoove to get Sparks to wait. He replaced the coffee gingerly, and then resumed looking at the paper. “Have I ever told you about how I meet your mother?” he said without looking up.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Sparks responded flippantly. His father still didn’t look away from the paper as he levitated the pen and went back to the crossword.

“Have I?” his father asked again.

“No, dad, we’ve never talked about it. What does it have to do with anything?”

His father continued with the paper. “Well, I was in school, was about 19, a bit younger than you. I was on the track team, and one of the exercises was bucking. Hit a block at the bottom and bang! This little metal ball would go flying up and hit a bell at the top, if you hit it hard enough anyway. So one day, we’re doing this, this bucking exercise, and I wanted to win a bet, or something like that. So I hit it as hard as I could. Turns out that block is a bit harder than I anticipated, and I hit it wrong.”

“So I end up on the ground screaming, my leg broken and bending in ways it shouldn’t, and I got sent to the hospital. Your mother was nursing there. Once they set my leg and I stopped my screaming we got talking, and that’s what got the ball rolling.” His father stopped talking, and penciled in another word on the crossword.

Sparks was still annoyed. “Alright Dad, great story. What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m getting there, son. You could say that the best thing that ever happened to me, and certainly the best thing that ever happened to you, was me shattering my leg on a metal block in order to win some 20 bit bet. Without that, I wouldn’t have met your mother, and you wouldn’t even be here. You could say it was a miracle,” he looked up at Sparks for the first time in the conversation. “Do you think that it felt like a miracle when I noticed my leg was bent the wrong way?”

“No.”

“Hay no did it feel like a miracle!” his father said as he slapped the newspaper down on the table. “It about made me faint! Made me cry like a filly that got her balloon stolen, and in front of all of my friends as well. But it was a miracle nonetheless.” He picked up the paper again and resumed the crossword.

“What I’m trying to say son, is that everything happens for a reason. You didn’t get the job, and you haven’t gotten your cutie mark, and I know that that sucks right now. But maybe you aren’t supposed to get the job or the cutie mark. Not yet.” He glanced back at Sparks. “And don’t worry about your cutie mark. What is a cutie mark?”

Sparks knew the answer by heart. “A pony’s destiny.”

His father nodded once in approval, then leaned across the table towards Sparks. “Yes, destiny. Sparks, I want you to remember this. Destiny will always find you, one way or another. You can’t run away from it, but you can’t force it either. It’ll happen precisely when it needs to. So don’t worry about your cutie mark. Alright?”

Sparks smiled a little as he heard those words. His dad always seemed to know what to say and how to say it. “Alright Dad, I’ll remember it.”

“Good,” he nodded as he sat up. “Now a job you do need, and a lot more than some dumb thing on your flank,” he looked at Sparks now intently. “So what do you want to be?”

Sparks cocked his head ever so slightly to the left. “An electrical engineer, what I’ve always wanted to be.” His dad shook his head.

“Nonononono, I phrased that wrong. What do you like?”

“How?”

“What interests you? Do you have any hobbies, that sort of thing?” his father said as he levitated the Flyer and pen again.

“Uh, well, I like writing. Running. Maybe bowling?” Sparks listed as he thought of things that he liked. He didn’t say any of them with conviction.

“You like movies, right?” his dad asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then you should work with movies,” his dad said matter of factly as he filled in another blank on the crossword.

Sparks scoffed. “Yeah, how? Las Pegasus is thousands of miles away, and I have nothing.”

His dad shrugged, and grandly circled something on the Paper. He set it on the table and slid it over to Sparks with a grin. “You have to start somewhere.” Sparks looked at the paper with mild curiosity. Circled in pen in the jobs section was an advertisement:

It was the last day of training, and Sparks was afraid.

He lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling, occasionally a blade from the solitary large fan would whoosh in and out of view, but apart from that the barracks was empty. He had come in here after morning PT, and everypony else was at the mess hall. He was happy he was alone. Now nopony could see his fear.

He wasn’t afraid of death, or unicorns. He was afraid of failure.

Once lunch had ended, which it would in 28 minutes, each squad would undergo final evaluation, and anypony who had yet to meet a go-no go requirement would have one last opportunity to pass. Failure meant that he would be sent back home. Sparks had still yet to pass the body drag. That’s why he was afraid.

‘Maybe this isn’t my destiny,’ he thought. ‘Maybe I’m supposed to go back to filly, to Amber and my family.’ A part of him wanted to. To get away from the war and get back to his loved ones.

But it was only a part. Sparks couldn’t let down his squad, his country, or his family back home. He had to pass the body drag. And he didn’t think that he could.

Spark heard the barracks door squeak open, and the clip clop of hooves on the wooden floor.

“What’re ya doin’ away from all the festivities, partner?” Repeater called out from across the room.

Sparks scrunched up his face as he tried to think of a good excuse. “Well, I, uh, just wanted to…”

“Ta get away from everypony so that we can’t see ya freak out over the body drag?” Repeater finished. Sparks looked over, and nodded in admittance. “That’s what ah thought ya would be doin’. Everypony has kinda suspected it, seein’ as how you’re the only pony in the squad who hasn’t passed that yet. Would ya like ta talk about it? Ah always find that talkin’ helps out plenty.”

Sparks sat up in his bunk and looked down at Repeater, who was standing at the foot of the bed. He nodded, “Yeah, I would like to talk about it.”

“Alright Partner, talk.”

Sparks sighed as he gathered up his thoughts.

“I’m afraid that I’ll pass, and I’m afraid that I won’t. I afraid that I’ll die, but I’m afraid to let everypony down. I’m afraid because I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He paused. “I’m afraid because I don’t know what my destiny is.”

“Ahhhhhh,” Repeater said with recognition. “It’s about ya’re cutie mark again, ain’t it? Destiny and all that?”

Sparks nodded. That’s what it all boiled down to at its core. “I’m just tired of not knowing. My father told me that destiny would find me someday, I just wish that it would.”

Repeater perked up a little, “Would ya mind elaboratin’ on what your dad said on destiny?”

Sparks nodded, and reached back into his memory. “He said that destiny will always find you, one way or another. You can’t run away from it, but you can’t force it either. It’ll happen precisely when it needs to.”

Repeater cocked his head. “So he said that destiny is just gonna happen all on its own, without any work?”

Sparks frowned a little and though about it, thinking back to his father’s story. He reached a conclusion. “I think so.”

Repeater shook his head, “Well, ah’m sorry partner, but the notion that anything is gonna happen just on its own without any effort, especially destiny, why, that’s the height of hubris right there.” He looked up to Sparks now. “Let me ask ya a question. If me and all sorts of other settler ponies never started down south ta settle Appleloosa, would there have ever been a Appleloosa?”

“No.”

“A’course not, but every settlerpony thought that having a town down south where we could grow our apples in peace was our destiny. So by your fathers reckonin’, Appleloosa would have just willed itself into existence.”

Sparks sat on his bunk quietly, thinking it over. He was a little annoyed with Repeater telling him that his father was wrong, but at the same time what Repeater was telling him made sense.

“No partner, it wouldn’t have. Me and all the other settler ponies believe in what we call Manifest Destiny. Basically, destiny ain’t gonna happen unless somepony makes it happen. Appleloosa would never have existed if nopony built it. Do ya understand? Ya gotta make your own destiny for yourself.”

“So concerning this body drag that ya gotta pass, it ain’t gonna happen if ya don’t make it happen. Ya can’t go into it thinkin’ ‘if ah don’t make it, then it just wasn’t mah destiny’. No partner, ya came into this ta find your destiny, and ya found it, now ya just gotta make sure it happens, ya understand?”

Sparks nodded once. “Good then,” Repeater said.” Now ya do what ya need ta in order ta prepare yourself, ‘cause I need a good pony like yourself ta stay in mah squad. Ah’ll leave ya be.” Repeater turned and trotted out of the barracks.

The Artist trotted slowly down the parade ground, a clipboard of squad evaluations carried in hoove. Third platoon stood before him on the parade grounds, at attention for the past ten minutes. The Artist looked briefly at the evaluations, and then glanced at the squad before him. The ponies all stared past him in their full battle dress, gear tucked away neatly into saddlebags and weapons glinting in the sun. The Artist nodded in approval.

“All members of Fourth squad cleared for combat duty,” he said curtly, as he began trotting to the next squad in line. A quick glance at them seemed to show that fifth squad was just as squared away and battle ready as fourth. He looked to his clipboard again. He looked for a few seconds, then his eyes widened ever so slightly, and his head backed from the clipboard.

“010518412?” he asked, looking up at the squad expectantly. Sparks had been waiting a half hour for the moment to come, sweating it out in the barracks watching the seconds tick by. Now it had come. It reminded him of how he felt waiting for a test to start in engineering school. ‘Most important test of my life right here,’ he thought briefly.

“Sir, yes sir,” was how he responded though. The Artist smiled a little in recognition.

“Ah, the hero!” He tapped the clipboard with a hoove, “It says here that you have yet to pass the body drag, is that correct?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Sparks responded promptly. The Artist pointed to Joe immediately,

“Soldier, I want you to march out 25 paces, then play dead,” he pointed to Sparks. “You bring him back to the squad on my mark. If you take longer than 30 seconds, you take the train home. Understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Sparks said. ‘Joe’s second biggest pony in the squad’ was what he thought. Joe dutifully and carefully marked out his twenty paces as The Artist trotted over to Spark’s side. He leaned over briefly.

“Remember your strengths, son.” That was all he said. Sparks almost broke attention trying to contemplate what that meant. Joe reached the 25 paces and then flopped over onto the ground. The Artist fished a pocket watch from his uniform, and stared intently. “5…4…3…2…1… GO!”

Sparks was off like a shot, sprinting towards Joe at a full gallop. He dug his hooves into the earth and slid to a stop next to him. Immediately Sparks wrapped his forehooves around Joes and jammed his rearhooves into the dry dirt, pushing as hard as he could. Joe’s body moved painfully slowly over the grass. ‘I can’t do it thought,’ Sparks with panic, ‘he’s just too heavy.’

And just like that all the pieces fell into place.

‘Remember your strengths son’, Sparks remembered. Sparks also remembered his talk with The Artist. ‘You can use magic, so use it.’

Sparks had never been too proficient at magic; about the largest thing he could levitate was a set of four film reels, which was only 100 pounds, and left him drained for the rest of the afternoon that he did it. There was no way that he could levitate Joe. But as Sparks pushed against the ground trying desperately to move the giant pony his horn lit up with a blue glow that bathed Joe’s body. Sparks could feel the strength leaving every corner of his body as he dug his hooves into the ground and pushed again.

Joe’s body slid along the ground with ease. Sparks tried again, and again Joe’s body slid. Sparks closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping as much of Joes weight off of the ground as he continued to drag him backward as fast as he could.

Suddenly he ran into something, and upon hitting it his body surrendered to the incredible fatigue that using his magic had. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, Joe’s dead weight falling heavily on top of him. Sparks was only just aware of a voice, and then the weight was lifted from him. His entire body was numb, but then he felt something touching him. He opened his eyes.

“Stand at attention private!” he heard. The voice sounded like it was being said from a block away. Sparks shakily got to his hooves, and returned himself to the line. His body was so numb that he could barely feel the parade ground beneath his hooves. A strong breeze blew over the field, and Sparks could hardly stand up straight against it, swaying slightly back and forth with its ups and downs. Some part of his brain that was still functioning compared it to how he felt in the dye bath all those weeks ago.

The Artist stood before him, pen in mouth. He wrote something on the sheet, then replaced the pen on the clipboard and looked up at the squad.

“All members of fifth squad cleared for combat duty.” He turned and trotted over to the next squad. Sparks looked off to his left, and saw Cold Blooded give curt little nod, and Joe a wink. He shifted his eyes right, Repeater giving off maybe the biggest smile that he had since he had gotten there. Finally it dawned on him. ‘I did it.’

The Artist finished his evaluations and faced the platoon. “You are all dismissed, reveille until tomorrow at 1000 hours. At that time, we get on the train and ship out. Congratulations, you are all officially inducted into the Equestrian Royal Calvary.”

The Artist turned, and as soon as he had the ponies of third platoon erupted into celebration. He paused for a minute, just to hear the elated whoops of the platoon.

“We did it!”

“BUCK YEAH!”

“ROYAL CALVARY!”

In the midst of all of this celebration, Sparks received a monstrous WHAP on his back. “YA DID IT PARTNER!” Repeater yelled in triumph. “YA SAW YOU’RE DESTINY AND YA MADE IT HAPPEN! JUST LIKE AH SAID YA WOULD! MANIFEST DESTINY, PARTNER, MANIFEST DESTINY!”

Sparks had barely recovered from the drain that the body drag had caused him, but he looked around at all the ponies of his squad celebrating. Cold Blooded was giving Joe a noogie. Muddy Ruts and his twin were galloping off to the mess hall, probably for drinks. The other four had vanished into the cheering mob that third platoon had become. Sparks looked tiredly to Repeater, who gave him a solid whap on the back once more. He smiled, maybe for the first time since he had joined.

“Repeater, ‘Manifest Destiny’ does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Repeater paused from his celebrations, smile fading from his face as he thought about what Sparks said for a moment. Then it lit right back up.

“It certainly does, Manifest Destiny, it certainly does.”

Author's Notes:

Congratulations! you did it! After 30,000 words of only generally interesting happenings you have finally finished reading the training! YOU DID IT! pat yourself on the back, you've earned it.