Xera

6|Galene

Even on a rock like Raiyfe, there were press events. At least, there were now. For all Galene of Vawe knew, this had always been the case. He had never thought much about the planets outside Vawe. Though he certainly ventured to them many times, they left his head the moment he returned to his pure-white mansion. This was his first time on Raiyfe. It wasn't as though many would've jumped at the chance to visit, before now. So far, he couldn't say he was a fan.

He was used to the celebrity treatment, no matter where he went. It had been that way ever since he won three speed-needle races, in a row. All that was different about Raiyfe was the lack of anything of interest. This was a far cry from the vibrant night life that he was normally exposed to. When he wasn't racing or practicing, he was out at bright night clubs filled with the most affluent of whichever planet he happened to be on at the time. Spending every night in run-down saloons didn't sit right with him. Even those that had been touched up on the outside sat dilapidated on the inside. What a wreck. Was a thought that kept coming to him, every time he looked around the planet.

He was looking forward to sweeping the grand prix and never having to venture to this planet ever again. This cocky demeanor didn't come out of nowhere. His parents had practically raised him from birth to be a prodigy. They just didn't know what field this would be in. They tried instruments and painting before they resorted to sports. He got his first speed-needle at fifteen cycles and immediately started racing in the junior circuit. This beefed up his overall victory statistics, as the losses he suffered there did not count toward his professional record.

He tried not to remember these days. The days where he was no one. Just the child of wealthy parents, like so many others on Vawe. Those other children who were larger and far meaner than him. The ones who turned him into the man he was today. It certainly wasn't his parents who instilled his superiority complex. They were far too unconcerned with his emotions for this to be the case. They weren't the ones who tried to dismantle his confidence: that would require talking to him. Their schedules were far too booked with their positions within the government. In all his time spent with them, Galene still wasn't sure what their exact titles were.

Their interactions had been brief throughout his entire life. Early dinners spent giving bullet-point rundowns on their successes of the day. No words wasted on the losses. Their home was no place for those that were willing to talk about their failures. Only news of victory before trotting off to their beds to face the next day. Galene wasn't alone in this regard. Most Vawian children of status didn't have loving relationships with their families. Being raised in wealth gave them that shared lack of familial affection. No time for emotions: only money.

It wasn't like Galene was complaining. It was the only life he had ever known and he quite enjoyed it. The thrill of hearing the crowds shout his name as he rounded the final lap was enough of an endorphin boost to compensate for what parents would normally provide. At least, that's what he told himself. The rush of the race is all there is. That was his philosophy. Just as his father's place had been...wherever he worked within the royal government, Galene's place was behind the wheel. It was where he felt most at home, where he belonged. Where he didn't belong was a dressing room in the XGP Complex, waiting to strut in front of bleachers filled with Raiyfians and broadcast cameras. Yet, that's where he found himself at this moment.

He didn't care for the pageantry that came with his job. He would much rather race and then drink in the adulation. No phony smiles put on for bogus interviews that did nothing to give him an actual advantage. I don't need to play to these losers. Not anymore. I'll be projected to win from the get-go. This was a reliable assumption. Galene's legendary status all but guaranteed he would be the projected winner. From there, all he had to do was make good on that bet. In his eyes, victory was assured the second he raced out of the gate.