You dress in sponsored racing gear and head for the second room. On your left, a glass partition reflects back your image. You cross the room and knock twice. There’s a flicker of movement behind you in the mirror. Ghost and gone. You look back, but no one’s there.

Before you can start feeling like you’re going insane, the glass wall grinds to life. It lifts, revealing a second official who’s haloed in blinding light. “Step forward, contestant.”

White briefly scalds your pupils. You blink through the blind and find yourself staring into a room of white walls, white lights, white storage units. Seven cameras watch you step into the Powder Room. The feeds go straight to a vigilant team of infraction judges. It’s their job to make sure no one cheats during the crucial moments before the Races begin.

The official waits at the edge of a silver barrier. When you’re in position, she offers you the race-standard cubes. Five black boxes linked together, each about the size of a clenched fist. You inspect the container and nod your approval. The official takes it from you and inserts the plastic into fitting grooves along the fixed, circular railing. As it clicks into place, a series of automated systems hum to life inside the room.

“Five powders,” the official says. “You have five clockturns to decide.”

In the white cabinet grid behind the official, vibrant colors stare back at you. Thousands of powders sit in thousands of compartments. Every imaginable substance in the Empire can be found in the Powder Room. Each one collected, ground, and refined. You step up to the barrier and inspect the seemingly endless list inscribed upon the surface.

Some are so common you can find them in fields outside the city, but others are so rare that they’re nearly worth the cost of the entry fee. Endless combinations and endless rebirths. It makes the competition even more unpredictable. You know that the alchemy will matter as much as the riding. A rider can’t just be a horseman and a warrior. They have to be a scientist, too.

In spite of your anger, it’s Mother’s advice that echoes in your head: You get five choices. I’ve always believed in combination riding. Pick the two component combinations that make the most sense to you. I’d choose something reliable and consistent, something that fits the challenge of the course. But the fifth component should be your wild card. If all hell breaks loose, what’s the one component that could turn the tide in your favor? That’s your fifth choice.

You’ve doubted your combinations all morning. You calm yourself by quietly going back over the facts. There will be four rebirthings. And you know the route you intend to take if everything goes as planned. All you have to do now is trust you’re making the right choices.

“Gasping Mercies and Lingerluck.”