#avishkar

“Let go of my-”

Aatchik was thrown violently from the driver’s seat. She began tumbling down the road, but quickly regained her footing thanks to several insectoid arms. Before she could skitter back toward the crash, however, a calm voice to her side interrupted her once more:

“I wouldn’t risk it,” drawled a fisherman, sitting on the track wall and holding his pole over the side. “That one’s practically a dragon, what with how fierce it guards its hoard.”

Aatchik did not turn. Her many-eyed gaze remained entirely fixed on the massive serpent pulling her vehicle off the track. “Nevertheless, I must try,” came her harsh, chittering reply. “Us Speedbrood’s vehicles are…us! Fellow insects, transcended to a higher form!”

“Well, to that thing, they’re just more stuff to collect. See?”

Hissing and spitting acid, but moving all the same, Aatchik’s vehicle finally disappeared beneath the surf under the track. The driver herself reacted much the same as her ride, angry spittle sizzling upon the pavement.

“How dare that snake! Singling us out!”

“No, it’s definitely not picky,” chimed the fisherman. “It’s already snagged plenty of other folks’ rides, if that’s any consolation?”

“…It does provide some catharsis, I must admit. But still! This is a most grievous…How many others?”

The fisherman shrugged. “No idea. But it’s roamed these waters for nine long years, and pulled quite a few under during that time.”

“It’s not a placed obstacle?”

“No way, all natural…Huh?”

Aatchik’s eyes began to sparkle. Her anger forgotten, she now leaned over the side and stared eagerly into the water.

“One of the most dignified ends I’ve ever seen for one of us,” Aatchik muttered. “No slow decline. No contrived sabotage. Just…an ending. To join so many other vehicles, what an honor. And, and, to rest as one! Forever!”

“Right…forever…”

The fisherman moved to stand in front of his bag. The scrap metal he had fished from the water bore markings from myriad vehicles, from many years past.

“Good morning, Rido. How were your post-race celebrations?” The receptionist’s tone remained completely stoic, even as she greeted the wildly unkempt man standing at the front of the line before her.

“Bad, Miss Shrabanti,” growled the Endrider. “We used too much of the booze for emergency fuel during the race and…Never mind that! I want to…uh…how did Far Fortune tell me to say it…”

“Would you like to file a complaint?”

Rido snapped his fingers in realization. “Yeah, that! The officials yesterday accused us of cheating by taking ‘shortcuts’? We didn’t even win!”

Shrabanti typed away at a computer briefly before nodding. “Let me see…Yes. The Endriders were issued demerits, but seeing as you are from a foreign plane, our ability to enforce them is…” she finally broke character, leaning in close to whisper, “limited.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. But we’d refuse the fines either way. Violently. But I just wanna say, the Cloudspire team did the same thing!”

Shrabanti arched an eyebrow. “Cheated in the race?”

“Yes! Did you see that flying bike? Went right off the track! The crowd cheered, and apparently you lot are none the wiser!”

“I’m…sure it was all part of Cloudspire’s strategy.”

“Yeah. Look.” Now it was Rido’s turn to lean in. “Can’t you just…dem…de- uh…”

“Demerit.”

“Thanks…Can’t you do them too?”

Shrabanti took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir. The race is over. But, to tell you the truth…I sympathize with you. The famous are often given disproportionate leniency here. An unfortunate holdover from the Consulate days.”

“Thank you! Finally, someone who…” Rido blinked. “Why tell me this? You got some skin in the game or something?”

“Ah. Apologies, sir. Yes, I participated in the race, and…now that it’s over, it’s back to desk work for me.”

“Yeesh. Sorry…” A pause. “Oh, so you probably-”

“I saw them cheat,” Shrabanti hissed. “I agree. Yet I can’t do a single thing about it.”

“Need a guide?”

“…Yes.”

Aware but uncaring to the glare he was receiving, the tour guide gestured to the much wilder-looking elf before him. “Oh, there’s no judgement here at all. I live here, and it still took me years to learn my way around Ghirapur.”

“I’m sure.” With an annoyed grunt, the wild elf shifted her walking stick to one hand, and pulled out her coinpurse with the other. “Let’s get this over with. How much to get me to the market district?”

The guide looked up at the rapidly setting sun. “Ohhh…come on. No charge.”

“…Really?”

“Sure. Why not. Business is pretty much done for the day, and home is there for me, anyway. Won’t be much sightseeing, though. Direct route. Still interested?”

“Yes...” The wild elf paused for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. “Right. Well. Let’s go.”

And with that, the curious pair set off. The guide led them off the main road and down a side street - still plenty lively, but nowhere near as crowded as the thoroughfare.

“My name’s Desmond,” the city elf greeted amicably.

“…Vaanya,” came the terse reply. But Desmond was not bothered in the slightest.

“I understand. It’s a lot to take in at once. And don’t worry, you’re far from the only one to get overwhelmed.”

“But in the wilds, I am a caretaker!” Vaanya snapped. “A guardian of nature. Here, I am…nothing.”

Desmond snickered. “Hey, me too. I have to show tourists around all day, every day. You’re a welcome change of pace - you’re not stopping every ten seconds to ogle the architecture.”

“I’ve seen quite enough of it, I think,” Vaanya smirked.

—

“Here we are! Market district!”

Desmond gestured grandly to the rows of stalls stretching as far as the eye could see. Vaanya nodded. She began to wade into the sea of shoppers but stopped herself at the last second.

“Desmond.”

“I already said, no charge-”

“Thank you. If you ever find yourself in the Cowl, I will gladly lead you.”

Desmond dipped into a theatrical bow. “Then I thank you, and await our next meeting with bated breath!”

“This one’s for my mom, and this one’s for me.”

Cheers echoed through the stadium as Chandra struck a two-pronged blow against Tezzeret. The half-metallic planeswalker stumbled back, stunned but largely unharmed by the flames.

“Fire again, Miss Nalaar?” Tezzeret smirked, after recovering. “Is that all you can do?”

“‘All’ is a strong word, but-” Chandra interrupted herself to punch the air with both fists. Again, fire shot from her fingers, catching Tezzeret off guard and sending him flying.

“Yeah, yeah!” Chandra gestured in a grandiose manner to the spectators gathered in the stands. “Let me hear you…huh?”

Chandra’s bravado failed her as she parsed the crowd’s reaction - lukewarm, in stark contrast to her attack. One particularly brazen elf even yawned to herself before falling silent.

“Hey, what’s the big idea!” barked the pyromancer.

“Uh…um…Yes!” Behind her, Tezzeret dragged himself to his feet while rolling with the punches, sinisterly chuckling all the while. “Don’t you see? They’re bored.”

“Wh- bored! This is a fight to the death!”

“And a dull one at that.” With a theatrical yawn, Tezzeret mimicked the crowd. “They already know the outcome - I beat you. The least you could do is put up a fight, make this loss look convincing.”

“I’ll show you convincing!” Another retort from Chandra, paired with yet another blast of flames. Though powerful for sure, Tezzeret braced himself, and kept his footing.

“If there was nothing else…” With a wave of his hand, Tezzeret summoned a small squadron of thopters to his side. “I’ll go ahead and wrap this meeting up.”

This taunt earned a raucous applause from the crowd, much to Chandra’s chagrin. “Why are you cheering!” she berated the fans. “He hasn’t even attacked yet!”

Chandra fired yet another two flames. The attack incinerated the thopters well enough, but the crowd did not even deign to respond this time.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chandra grumbled, as she refocused on the fight. “No one ever said being the good guy would be glamorous.”

Winter sprinted for the finish line. But Amonkhet’s chariot thundered across first, followed by an Alacrian rider, and finally the Duskmourn survivor. With victory and freedom so close yet fully out of reach, he fell to his knees, defeated.

“And…that’s the race!” A homunculus announcer sauntered into view, seizing Winter’s hand and dragging him to his feet with a surprisingly strong handshake. “Good race, good sir! You came in fourth. Or, well, we still have to wait for the others to finish, but it’s over for-”

“FOURTH!” Winter’s wraith magic sprung to life, igniting his hair and illuminating his skull with sinister blue flames. His voice carried a demonic echo as he blustered over a relatively minute detail, compared to his transformation, “What do you mean, Vnwxt! That was third place for sure!”

The MC tapped his earpiece before replying, “Nope, sorry! Our cameras are pretty high-tech. Replay crew says you’re in fourth.”

“You’re robbing me! Robbing me of…” Winter’s anger petered out, as did his flames, once he realized both first place and the Aetherspark were still beyond him. “Who came in third?”

“That’d be…The Quickbeasts!”

“And second?”

“…Amonkhet. Though, they’re the first racing team to cross the line, so they’ll get the thing.”

“What wretch won the blasted race, then!”

“One of our cameramen-slash-announcers.”

“THAT DOESN’T COUNT!”

Again, Winter caught flame. But with a wave of Vnwxt’s hand, the ghostly fire was doused just as easily, albeit much to Winter’s disbelief.

“That’s Duskmourn magic! How did you…Surely the cameraman doesn’t count!”

“Cameraman-slash-announcer!” Vnwxt corrected playfully. “And like I said, Amonkhet still wins. Don’t believe me? Here.”

The host snapped his fingers, summoning an instant replay into thin air. Sure enough, a quadrupedal vehicle sprinted across the line first, racing out of frame just as Amonkhet crossed the finish line.

“I can’t believe it…” Winter scowled, diverting his anger toward this new revelation.