The final barrier shattered like glass as Ashen burst through, trailing heat and fragments of blue flame.
He shot into open sky — no more tunnels, no more rings, just an endless stretch of metal tracks, suspended above the abyss. Below them, clouds churned with stormlight, flashes of lightning illuminating the course in violent rhythm.
The Overdrive Zone.
A place built not for learning, but for breaking limits.
Even instructors cautioned to avoided it — the air pressure alone could tear a glider apart if pushed too long.
But now it hummed alive, two blurs streaking across its length.
Ashen and Kieran.
Their figures raced along the suspended tracks, weaving through glowing arcs that generated shockwaves every time they passed. The world behind them blurred into noise and motion.
Kieran was ahead — just barely.
His every stride was clean, efficient, terrifyingly stable. His legs drove him forward like turbine pistons, each movement propelling him with inhuman precision.
No one understood how his body was even withstanding the speed without any protection.
Ashen could feel it — that rhythm, that mechanical heartbeat. It wasn't like watching a man run; it was like chasing a machine that refused to break.
But Ashen wasn't the kind to yield to logic.
He was built for chaos — for the unpredictable, for the moments that couldn't be calculated.
He gritted his teeth, slammed his hands down on his glider's side handles, and rerouted the stabilizers.
His HUD flashed warnings: OVERLOAD DETECTED!! SYSTEM INTEGRITY — 43%.
But he ignored them.
"Come on," he hissed. "Just a little more."
Blue fire roared from his boosters, brighter than ever before, wrapping around him like wings. The engines screamed as his acceleration spiked, the metal track beneath him glowing white from the heat.
He closed the distance — meter by meter.
The crowd above was a blur of faces — gasps, shouts, disbelief. The sound of the storm below swallowed their noise whole.
Kieran didn't look back, but Ashen could feel it — that awareness, that quiet acknowledgment that the boy behind him wasn't done yet.
Ahead, the track split into three narrow bridges. The first was stable but curved high. The second dipped dangerously low into the storm clouds. The third — flickering and unstable — led directly to the finish arch.
It was a trap.
A design meant to test decision-making under maximum stress.
Ashen didn't hesitate, he dove for the unstable one.
Metal shattered under his boots, sparks blinding his vision, but his glider absorbed the force. He ducked low, twisting through debris, his mind blank except for one thought — faster.
Kieran noticed this and instead of taking the safe route, he dropped from his own bridge mid-run, falling straight toward Ashen's broken one — using gravity itself to accelerate.
Ashen saw the shadow overhead and barely rolled aside as Kieran landed in front of him, the metal exploding beneath the impact.
The force knocked Ashen off balance, spinning him toward the track's edge. His left wing scraped against the guard rail, alarms flaring across his HUD.
But even then, he didn't stop.
He cut one engine completely, using the imbalance to spin faster, then kicked off the edge — using that momentum to rocket forward.
Kieran looked over, eyebrows narrowing. For the first time, something flickered across his face — surprise.
Ashen caught up again, and side by side, two blurs tearing through stormlight, each trying to outmatch the other by pure will.
"Don't tell me you're still going easy on me!" Ashen shouted through his comm.
Kieran didn't answer.
Instead, he gave a faint, knowing smile — the kind only a teacher gives when a student finally earns his full respect.
Then his voice came, low and calm: "Well done Ashen."
And then—
He vanished again.
The sonic boom hit a split-second later. Kieran broke through another speed barrier, the shockwave knocking Ashen sideways.
He barely caught himself, jets screaming under the strain.
The finish line shimmered ahead — a glowing arch suspended in the storm, maybe a kilometer away.
His system was red-lining, his arms ached, every breath hurt.
But then he remembered Renn.
That weak, tired smile from the hospital bed.
The hopelessness in his eyes.
'Not again.'
Ashen's teeth clenched. "Not again!"
He slammed both hands onto the console, overriding his limiter.
The glider roared as if coming to life for the first time.
Blue flames turned white-hot, bending the air around him. His whole body screamed in protest — the vibration so intense it blurred his vision.
His human body wasn't built for this level of strain.
He was probably moving close to the speed of light.
But he didn't slow.
He pushed harder, tearing through turbulence and lightning, chasing that red glow ahead of him.
He reached Kieran's shadow — almost there —
But the instructor wasn't done either.
Kieran's voice came again, steady as ever. "Accelerate."
And then he exploded forward.
The air behind him split like a thunderclap.
Ashen's entire world turned white.
The finish line approached — too fast to react.
He reached out, trying to force one last surge, but his right thruster gave out — sparks erupting behind him. His speed dropped just as Kieran crossed the finish.
Half a second, that was the difference.
Ashen slammed onto the track, sliding on one knee before collapsing, chest heaving, vision spinning.
His HUD flickered out.
The storm fell silent.
Then the crowd roared.
But he didn't hear them.
He just lay there, panting, eyes unfocused, watching as Kieran turned around. The instructor's breathing was steady — but his prosthetic legs hissed, faint wisps of smoke rising from the joints.
He'd pushed himself too.