The bird-man dodges the first lunge and slips from the grip of a second. Someone fires a pistol, filling the room with smoke and an echoing bang. The bird-man makes the hallway. Three of Bastian’s soldiers chase, following the nightmarish screeches and answering with more gunshots from their pistols.

I ignore caution and run after them. There’s another loud screech, then a thump, and I turn the corner to see the bird-man fall, feathers pluming out. He ran far enough to get back outside the walls. The darkened valley is quiet except for the sounds of him dying at the hands of Bastian’s men. I’m shouldered out of the way as Bastian presses past to stand over the corpse.

“What was that?” I ask.

He spits down, looks at his men, then at me.

“The Curiosity.” He says the name like a curse. “Their god of vision and prophecy. This is one of his priests. Whatever he just saw, they can see. It means they’re coming.”

“Who?”

“The Ashlords,” Bastian replies darkly. “It means they’re already here.”

Chapter 39: A Small Request

The fourth day of riding is flawless.

You can almost see the smirk on Maxim’s face as he confirms your record-setting pace to a national audience. Revel started the day impossibly far ahead of you. But as your phoenix burns down in preparation for another night, your bracelet shows that you’re only four hundred paces back now. If you hadn’t gone back through the caves, it’s likely you’d be close to first place. But Etzli would also be dead. Quinn would have abandoned you.

How heavy would that crown have been?

There’s a storm curling to life over the distant plains. You nestle in safely beside Quinn at the mouth of a shallow cave. The other riders are situated along the course’s western valley, along the route you intended to take with Bravos. As rain starts to fall, you imagine the other competitors hunkered over their ashes and trying to survive the night.

This isn’t over. Four hundred paces. Not impossible. In a way, you like that your name isn’t on the leaderboard. It allows you to strike more fear in their hearts when it finally does appear. Deep down, you know that only two riders have ever come back from this distance, but you were born to break records. If a miracle is to happen, let it be one of your making.

“We’re going to win.”

Quinn nods. “I believe that now more than ever.”