Nio wrapped his arms around himself, edging closer to the corner of the bunk bed. As much as he gritted his teeth, he kept shaking. The chain around his ankle rattled. He looked down, not wanting to meet the gaze of his ten-or-so roommates staring up or down from their own little two-by-two spaces.

This was his new reality. A throbbing head, tense muscles, and a complete lack of privacy, forever surrounded by too many men making too much noise. He hated every click.

"Five years in Soulgrave, or a fine of two hundred thousand dons," the judge ruling over his case had said.

Either they must have had a good laugh, or it was bitter revenge for being woken in the middle of the night. Whether you were sentenced to one year, three, or twenty, it didn't matter; anything longer than a few months in Soulgrave might as well be the death penalty.

And of course, the fine had been high enough that no petty criminal like Nio could afford it. He didn't have rich parents who would bail him out. Before they had stripped him of his clothes and forced him to put on this blood-and-other-stained suit, he had been the proud owner of two don and an old button. He wouldn't have to count on the clan. Even if Ru had a shred of loyalty or remorse in him, the ringleader would have to think with his head instead of his heart. It was better to give up Nio than risk exposing his people to the authorities.

Nio couldn't blame Ru. Faced with the same choice, he would make the same call.

He chewed on his lip, scratching his left heel right where the bullet had scraped his foot. The spot was red and blistered. Not that digging at his skin brought any relief, but he was too bored to stop.

The entire construction of quadruple bunk beds stacked on top of each other shook.

A growl sounded from below. A man with bald patches in his otherwise long hair stood up. One of his eyes appeared cracked and misshapen, intensifying his already menacing stare.

"Quit it, or I'll make you quit," he snapped.

Nio continued rubbing his knuckles over the itch. "I'll die here, anyway. If you want to kill me, I won't stop you."

The man grunted something incomprehensible as he sat down again, rocking the beds more than Nio had.

"I felt that," Nio said.

"You have a death wish?"

"I don't see what else there is to wish for here."

A huff was all the reply he got.

Others started to speak in low, buzzing voices. Nio thought he heard the word 'Kotayi', but chose to ignore his guts. If he was going to spend the rest of his life with these men, within these four walls, he should at least learn to keep his mouth shut. It wasn't going to be easy. One night in Soulgrave, he could already feel his spirit breaking, crushed under the weight of the gloomy atmosphere. He didn't want to die, but he didn't want to live like this either.

Holly Hobblers—what was he going to do?

He winced as, suddenly, a harsh scraping sound reverberated through the small cell. Steam bowls were shoved through the slot in the door, then the little gate slammed shut again.

A long-bearded man with a missing thumb, whose bed was the closest to the door, groaned as he got up to fetch the food. Nobody questioned him touching the inside of the bowls as he handed them out one by one, as if there was a clear pecking order Nio was too new to understand.

Unsurprisingly, he came last.

The others were already eating when the man held up Nio's portion in a trembling, outstretched hand, one foot on the lowest bed. Nio scrunched up his nose at the undefined grey sludge with the unbearable stench, worse than the smell of unwashed sweat he was slowly getting used to.

 He nearly gagged. "Not even a guzzler would touch that."

"Take it, or leave it, flat-faced demon. I haven't got all day."

"Time is all you have here," he blurted out. "You might as well learn my name. Nio, Nio Barn."

The man scoffed, revealing a missing tooth. "You can call yourself Princess Takina for all I care. Are you gonna eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Suit yourself, Kotayi. You're not the first to refuse breakfast—just know that lunch and dinner are worse."

"How can they be worse?"

The man chuckled contemptuously, then said with a wide smile, "There's none."

Nio's breath hitched as manic laughter filled the too-small room. How long would it take for him to become like them? It seemed inevitable, like he was on the outside, looking at his future self. Still, he refused the bowl. There might come a day when he would fight over scraps, but that wasn't today. He still had some dignity left in him.

"You surprise me, Nio," the balding man from two bunks down said. "I would have thought that you, of all people, would appreciate the food that's served here. Isn't it a massive improvement compared to starvation?"

More snickering.

"I've always had a full belly," Nio said defensively.

It was a far stretch from the truth, but that didn't matter. His cellmates didn't care, too lost in their fits of laughter. 

"Please spare some food for the poor, starving children in Kotai. They need your help," the thumbless man said, ridiculing a voicebox commercial from a few dry seasons ago. He poured Nio's portion down his throat, and then his own; the slimy sludge dripped down his chin.

"At least the children of the south are free," Nio mumbled, soft enough not to have an audience.

Which was for the better. After two decades of war, with no sign of peace, many Kotayi had known nothing but hunger and misery. This wasn't a contest. Like choosing between slowly choking and bleeding to death, no one would tread either path voluntarily.

Except, Kotayi children were innocent, and he had no one to blame but himself. In fact, his ever-growing greed and defiance could have landed him here years earlier. The luck spirit had saved him occasionally, like that one time when he had crawled through an abandoned gas pipe after almost getting caught with a cart full of illegally cut wood. Then there had been the fight on the airship back from Kvyiania. He had pretended to be mute to escape questioning. Last night, he had come so close to outsmarting the coppers once again...

Balls! It had been his own stupidity that had done it in the end. He should have gone up the mountains instead of down to the harbour.

It was too late now. It could take days, weeks, or months, but his life would end within these four murky, nail-scratched walls, with no company but this raggedy bunch of insanity. Still, he didn't regret taking that airship to Oa all those years ago. In the clan, he had found the thrills he craved, even if he had never become a Speed Sprinter like Luis Serrano. Not that anyone knew how the circus of speed and glory recruited their racers; it must be the best-kept secret in the world.

Out of nowhere, an alarm started blaring, a harsh, mechanical tone that seemed to well up from the foundations of the prison complex and resonated through the core of Nio's being, drilling into his skull, making his teeth clatter and hands tremble.

The men fell silent, looking at each other with a mix of distress and resignation. Abandoning their breakfast, they scrabbled up to tie themselves to the nearest bedpost, either by their arm or ankle.

Nio glanced at his own fetters. Why he didn't know—he hadn't realised they were only supposed to be chained during certain moments.

"What's happening?" he asked nobody in particular.

"Could be counting," said the man sitting on the bed next to him. He had a swollen cheek and a black eye. "Or an execution."

Nio gulped. A growing sense of panic spread over him. The relentless alarm didn't help; each endless click a constant assault on his senses. Something terrible was going to happen. If he could run, he would. Run until the end of the world, far away from Soulgrave, from civilisation, from glaring eyes. His muscles screamed to get up and flee, but he couldn't. He was trapped.

Biting his already bloody lip, Nio kept a straight face as four big, burly men in long green coats entered the cell, their faces stern and unyielding. Three of them carried long rifles.

One weaponless guard stood behind his three colleagues. "Nio—where is Nio?" It was more a command than a question.

Nio cowered as a sigh of relief went through the block; his stomach dropped. They wouldn't call him just to count him. His sentence had been revised. He would be executed, after all.

"Deaf mongrels," the guard barked. "Don't make me ask twice."

At least four fingers pointed towards him. One voice, which Nio couldn't locate said, "It's him, up there."

"You?" the guard asked, annoyed. "Are you Nio?"

Nio nodded.

"You have a tongue, haven't you? Speak up!"

"I'm Nio." He could barely get the words out, which was something that had never happened to him. He wasn't the type to worry or get nervous, but now his heart banged in his chest like he had just jumped into a car and was racing into the sunset.

"Get down here."

His uncontrollable defiance bubbled up. "Why?"

"That is for us to know and you to find out."

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Nio mustered all his courage. Whatever awaited him couldn't be good, but he couldn't stay here either. He fumbled with the chain, releasing himself. Then he slid down the pole, passing three other men but not meeting anyone's gaze.

He approached the guards, his head high. As scared as he was, he would go down with pride, celebrating the life he lived instead of mourning his death. Whatever was going to happen next, it was better than slowly rotting away, day by day, losing his strength of body and mind until the passing of time finally took him.

The alarm died as they escorted him out of the cell. They made their way up the spiralling stairs, which went on and on forever. No sound but the echo of their heavy footsteps.

"I don't fear death," Nio said after a while, tired of the silence. "You can kill me, and I'll consider myself lucky. I'll go fast."

One of the rifled men snorted. "You'll go fast for sure."

Nio raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of that statement. 

At the top of the stairs, an iron-barred door opened as they approached, revealing a circular office with a window for a roof. The walls were lined with books, steam-powered miniature airships, strange artefacts with too many gears, and a single picture of a black and white slobbermouth.

In the centre, at a desk below a gilded chandelier with fake candles, sat a person, neither a man nor a woman, in a three-piece suit with a pink bowtie and a top hat slanted to the side of their head. They were talking amicably to a man with curly grey hair and a bushy moustache who was bouncing his knee up and down. When he spoke, he rolled his r's and had the tendency to pronounce every letter. A Grunnwaldian.

The lead guard coughed. "Mistrum Kamu. The boy's here."

"Nio Barn, welcome," they said, gesturing to him to sit down on the empty chair. Nio kept standing. "I have here Mister Steinnemann, the owner of the car you stole and..."

"And drove magnificently." The man practically leapt up to shake Nio's hand.

"It was magnificent," Nio said, flabbergasted. "I've never driven any car like it."

"I may hope so—custom-made by Lady Kristiana herself. Top speed of nearly five hurricanes, and it goes to three in seven clicks. What did you like best—the acceleration or the slight oversteer in the corners?"

"The speed. I didn't notice any oversteer—the car reacted just fine."

"No, boy, you turn and she goes too far, just a smidge."

"Or you take her too far... just a smidge," Nio mocked him. He breathed as he remembered he was still facing execution.

The Grunnwaldian turned to Mistrum Kamu. "I like him."

The prison director picked up a sheet of paper from the desk. "I have to warn you, Gunder. This one has a knack for getting into trouble."

"Do you?" he asked Nio. "This list—that's everything you've done?"

Nio lifted his shoulders. "I can neither confirm nor deny—I don't know what's on the list."

"Cheeky. Still, you won't deny that you need help."

He cast a sideways glance. "My bail is two hundred thousand dons, Mister. I don't think anyone can help me."

The Grunnwaldian grinned. "You're faster in a car."

"I don't understand, Mister."

"I'm here to help, Nio. As good as Mistrum Kamu's spice tea is, I'm here for you. I want to offer you a deal."

"A deal?"

"I want you to drive for me."

Nio's mouth fell open as he realised who he was talking to. Gunder Steinnemann, the owner of Stone Racing Team. They weren't Scuderia or Malachite, but a small midfield player looking to step up their game. They didn't have the best reputation; whenever the voicebox reporters talked about the team, one of their cars was breaking down or already into the wall.

"You're asking me to become a racer?"

"Yes."

Nio brought his hands to his face and chuckled. He pinched his cheeks. This couldn't be real. Moments ago, he had come close to accepting death; now his lifelong dream was coming true.

"This is a trick. You have two drivers."

"I had two drivers. Romi was testing the new car up in Luntalinna. Lap after lap, she clocked in fast times. Out of nowhere, it went horribly wrong, in a fraction of a click." He snapped his fingers. "Her hands are burnt to the bone, her lungs damaged. Even if she makes a full recovery, she won't ever race in the Speed Sprints again. Her time in the limelight is over. Yours is about to begin, Nio."

"But why me?"

 "I can teach any spirit to drive, but you're naturally fast—the instincts are there. In a sea of fading stars, you're the full moon."

"A poet too, Mister Steinnemann," the prison director said.

"I'm a man of many trades, Mistrum Kamu." He smirked.

Nio blinked twice rapidly, trying to wrap his head around the mind-boggling situation. At any moment, he expected to wake up and still be chained to the bunk bed. 

"So you'll pay my bail, and that's it." He gesticulated widely. "I become your driver."

"Well, technically speaking I'll own you. You'll be free once you bring the title of Speed King to the team." 

The man brushed it off as a detail, but Nio wasn't that naïve. There were nineteen other Speed Sprinters, the best in the world, with years of racing experience. Stone Racing Team did not have a championship-winning car.

"That can take forever. SRT has never won a race. Your sprinters either die, retire, or are bought by better teams. I don't want to be your slave."

"It's not slavery, per se. Consider it an arrangement between two consenting adults," Steinnemann said. "And we'll have the edge over the other teams this year. I promise—there will be victories, bubble wine showers, and eternal glory. Come on, boy, why are you hesitating? It's me or Soulgrave—it can't be a hard choice. All you have to do is what the team asks of you."

Nio crossed his arms. The wound of the Scaletail's betrayal was fresh enough to mistrust any offer that sounded too good.

"I can consider it if we sign a contract, with blood. I'll be yours until I'm the Speed King or five years, whichever comes first. Also, I want decent food and a roof above my head. And between sunset and sunrise, I can do what I want."

"You're smarter than I give you credit for." The Grunnwaldian was fidgeting with the feather on the hat he kept on his lap. "I can agree with everything, but I'll need you until midnight. Late meetings and sponsor balls."

"Eleven o'clock. You want a well-rested driver, don't you?"

He reached out his hand, which Nio took. Loudly he proclaimed, "We've got ourselves a deal. Mistrum Kamu, prepare the parchment and the blood pens."