The Starting Line
The Red Radiant hovered among hundreds of other vessels at the Rally's starting gates.
Around them:
Shrieking war-bikes.
Jagged smuggler frigates.
Customized corvettes bristling with illegal modifications.
Racing yachts sponsored by crime syndicates.
Neon banners crackled overhead:
"FIREFEAST RALLY — BEGIN OR BURN."
Commentators screamed across the system-wide broadcast:
"Welcome, you reckless lunatics, you cosmic maniacs — to the greatest, deadliest race in the Outlaw Belt!"
"Ready your blasters! Brace your engines! Try not to die too fast!"
Inside the Radiant, Plo strapped into the gunner's chair, bouncing with excitement.
Aerin whispered a blessing over the controls.
Iselyra silently checked defense systems.
Kaelen monitored the scanners —
grimly noting enemy signatures already locking onto them.
And Jaxen…
sat calmly at the helm.
One hand lazily on the yoke.
Eyes half-lidded.
Smirking.
"Watch and learn, Dawnbreakers," he murmured.
"This is my turf."
"This is my war."
"This… is my damn race."
Zaraya grinned wide, slamming a fist onto the console.
"Light it up, Jax."
The Race Begins
The signal blazed across the void:
"GO!"
Engines screamed.
Plasma trails ripped the darkness apart.
Ships collided, shoved, twisted through the first obstacle gauntlet.
Shattered asteroid fields spinning wildly.
Gravity traps pulling racers into death spirals.
Saboteur drones peppering random racers with EMP shots.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Jaxen Unleashed
Where others panicked,
where others fought their ships for control —
Jaxen danced.
He weaved the Radiant through spiraling asteroids with barely a meter to spare.
He baited two bounty-hunter frigates into crashing into each other — without firing a single shot.
He skimmed the edges of black-hole micro-singularities so close the Radiant's shields sparked,
then slingshotted them forward at triple their normal speed.
Inside the Radiant:
Plo shrieked and clung to her seat, screaming both fear and glee.
Aerin's prayers turned into whooping laughter.
Iselyra, for the first time, let a faint smirk touch her lips.
Even Kaelen's stoicism cracked — a slight, grudging nod of pure respect.
And Zaraya —
Zaraya laughed aloud, wild and free.
"That's my pilot!"
Jaxen only smirked.
Eyes sharp.
Hands steady.
This was his battlefield.
First Betrayal: The Black Circuit Attack
Near the second checkpoint —
amidst a twisted labyrinth of magnetic mines —
the Black Circuit agents made their move.
A heavy racing frigate, disguised as "The Grinning Jackal," veered sharply —
deploying a web of tractor mines aimed solely at the Radiant.
From its comms, a mocking voice snarled:
"Target: Jaxen Rhane."
"Capture alive. Kill the rest."
The mines latched onto the Radiant — dragging it off-course.
Energy snare turrets powered up.
Kaelen growled:
"Trap."
Zaraya slammed her fist into her gauntlet, cosmic energy crackling.
Plo cursed creatively in three alien languages.
Jaxen's smirk widened.
"They really think they can catch me?"
The Counterattack
In seconds:
Plo deployed countermeasures, jamming half the tractor mines.
Kaelen unleashed a burst of shadow to blind enemy sensors.
Aerin empowered the ship's shields with a surge of natural energy.
Zaraya charged the main cannon with a concentrated cosmic blast.
And Jaxen…
Jaxen did what he did best.
Cut engines — letting the Radiant "drop" in dead space.
Twisted manually through the tractor net.
Used the mines' own magnetic fields to catapult the Radiant behind the Grinning Jackal.
The Dawnbreakers returned fire —
blasting the Black Circuit ship into a smoking wreck in their wake.
The Radiant roared back onto the course.
"Nice try," Jaxen muttered under his breath,
"but you're a hundred light-years too slow for me."
The Starting Line
The Red Radiant hovered among hundreds of other vessels at the Rally's starting gates.
Around them:
Shrieking war-bikes.
Jagged smuggler frigates.
Customized corvettes bristling with illegal modifications.
Racing yachts sponsored by crime syndicates.
Neon banners crackled overhead:
"FIREFEAST RALLY — BEGIN OR BURN."
Commentators screamed across the system-wide broadcast:
"Welcome, you reckless lunatics, you cosmic maniacs — to the greatest, deadliest race in the Outlaw Belt!"
"Ready your blasters! Brace your engines! Try not to die too fast!"
Inside the Radiant, Plo strapped into the gunner's chair, bouncing with excitement.
Aerin whispered a blessing over the controls.
Iselyra silently checked defense systems.
Kaelen monitored the scanners —
grimly noting enemy signatures already locking onto them.
And Jaxen…
sat calmly at the helm.
One hand lazily on the yoke.
Eyes half-lidded.
Smirking.
"Watch and learn, Dawnbreakers," he murmured.
"This is my turf."
"This is my war."
"This… is my damn race."
Zaraya grinned wide, slamming a fist onto the console.
"Light it up, Jax."
The Race Begins
The signal blazed across the void:
"GO!"
Engines screamed.
Plasma trails ripped the darkness apart.
Ships collided, shoved, twisted through the first obstacle gauntlet.
Shattered asteroid fields spinning wildly.
Gravity traps pulling racers into death spirals.
Saboteur drones peppering random racers with EMP shots.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Jaxen Unleashed
Where others panicked,
where others fought their ships for control —
Jaxen danced.
He weaved the Radiant through spiraling asteroids with barely a meter to spare.
He baited two bounty-hunter frigates into crashing into each other — without firing a single shot.
He skimmed the edges of black-hole micro-singularities so close the Radiant's shields sparked,
then slingshotted them forward at triple their normal speed.
Inside the Radiant:
Plo shrieked and clung to her seat, screaming both fear and glee.
Aerin's prayers turned into whooping laughter.
Iselyra, for the first time, let a faint smirk touch her lips.
Even Kaelen's stoicism cracked — a slight, grudging nod of pure respect.
And Zaraya —
Zaraya laughed aloud, wild and free.
"That's my pilot!"
Jaxen only smirked.
Eyes sharp.
Hands steady.
This was his battlefield.
First Betrayal: The Black Circuit Attack
Near the second checkpoint —
amidst a twisted labyrinth of magnetic mines —
the Black Circuit agents made their move.
A heavy racing frigate, disguised as "The Grinning Jackal," veered sharply —
deploying a web of tractor mines aimed solely at the Radiant.
From its comms, a mocking voice snarled:
"Target: Jaxen Rhane."
"Capture alive. Kill the rest."
The mines latched onto the Radiant — dragging it off-course.
Energy snare turrets powered up.
Kaelen growled:
"Trap."
Zaraya slammed her fist into her gauntlet, cosmic energy crackling.
Plo cursed creatively in three alien languages.
Jaxen's smirk widened.
"They really think they can catch me?"
The Counterattack
In seconds:
Plo deployed countermeasures, jamming half the tractor mines.
Kaelen unleashed a burst of shadow to blind enemy sensors.
Aerin empowered the ship's shields with a surge of natural energy.
Zaraya charged the main cannon with a concentrated cosmic blast.
And Jaxen…
Jaxen did what he did best.
Cut engines — letting the Radiant "drop" in dead space.
Twisted manually through the tractor net.
Used the mines' own magnetic fields to catapult the Radiant behind the Grinning Jackal.
The Dawnbreakers returned fire —
blasting the Black Circuit ship into a smoking wreck in their wake.
The Radiant roared back onto the course.
"Nice try," Jaxen muttered under his breath,
"but you're a hundred light-years too slow for me."
As the Red Radiant surged through the next sector —
gaining on the front runners —
a slender figure atop a floating observation spire lowered her hood.
Lyren watched them —
watched Jaxen command the chaos,
watched Zaraya rally her crew,
watched the Dawnbreakers fight not for fame, but for each other.
She placed her hand lightly over her heart.
The stars stirred.
Maybe, just maybe…
The time to fight again was close.