The Shadow of the Fallen Titan

Part 1 : Chapter 3 | Aeolian

Neon lights flood the ally, bouncing off sheets of metal that line the street. The hum of engines and squeal of racers fill the crisp nighttime air. The dried sweat from the afternoon freezes against my skin in the desert at night. We walk towards the run of vehicles that rev, pouring smoke between the bodies that line either side of the street. The rovers that fill the venter of the ally glow, tracing the outlines of the spikes that trim oversized tires and sharp hooves that clomp silently in the sand around us. Lynxes much larger than the one we saw playing in the crowd earlier prowl behind leather boots, hissing at bodies that step too close. Their golden coats prowl between bodies that line the streets, shining yellow under amber streetlamps. Hovercrafts like Dakota's hum to life in the street, casting blue and white shadows across the ground. Other racers with spike-lined wheels and glowing red turrets tower over the street. Bactrians clomp their six hooves and chortle, extending their long necks to nip at each other as their riders meander from their stalls.

The muffled sound of the crowd sounds through the streets, bystanders murmuring their bets to one another, some whispering prayers to the titans and gods. Bodies pace, stepping back and forth on their feet along the street in anxious anticipation to see the racers mount their rovers. Bodies lined with scales, shells, and feathers intermingle, and I pick up on at least three dialects amongst the crowd. We trot up to a wooden table. Behind it is seated a small figure whose skin is lined with yellow scales tipped in ebony. Two pearly black eyes peer up at us, reflecting the midnight sky in its gaze. The eerie scan of its face sends chills up my arms.

"How many?" the words croak between slimy lips.

"Three," Dakota steps in front of me towards the table with a grin.

The guttural laughter spurts from its bobbing throat. "Human," it croons, dipping its webbed fingers into a satchel to pull out three slips of parchment. Its eyes grow larger as it scans me again, taking up more than half of its rounded, scaley face.

"There are whispers of exerts racing tonight," its raspy voice slithers across my skin.

"Watch your back."

"Thanks," he scoffs pulling the parchment from its grasp. He turns, pressing his hand to my back and leading me back towards the line of rovers. Konnor's head bobs above the crowd at the end of the line.
There is a buzz in the air as money is exchanged, waiving hands float reflective coins through the air to bet on the lethality of each rover. Speed isn't the only prized measurement for the races, and exerts provide a distinct advantage. Groups of twos and threes huddle as spurts of flame light up the air around us as we shuffle through the crowd, making our way to the bright orange vehicle. Dakota's face glows in the nightlight as he looks proudly over his weapon. I joined Dakota to pick up our racers an hour before the match, where we found Mav huddled over in the stockroom, a fresh black eye swollen on his face and a nearly empty bottle of ale in his hand. Drips of bright red blood grazed the neckline of his shirt and a few wires poked out of his bent bionic leg, but he didn't mention the grey skinned collectors or the debt he owed them. He handed Dakota the keys, quickly lectured us on how to not wreck a rover, and kicked us out, slamming the garage door behind us. The sun already began cresting the edge of the sand-dunned horizon when we mounted our rovers to drop them off here.

The orange hood shined brightly under the street lamps that line the street. Alara and Konnor's bodies curve against each other, covered in shadows between buildings. My loose curls blow in front of my face as the crisp air of the desert night bites my fingers before I tuck them under my arms, clutching my black leather jacket closer to my skin. Alara giggles, pulling away from Konnor, her lips grazing his before she strides towards me.