Tyler was in a whirlpool.

Of fires and sand, earth and sky tipping both ways, his vision careening.

He could barely keep a straight run. He couldn’t even tell which way was up. It was a surprise he managed to keep to his lane. Because the distortion didn’t just afflict his vision.

His body was pounding maddeningly, vexed from the damning demand of power and oxygen – all of which he was giving, over-flushing his form till nerve endings jumped like jittery sparks. Yet at the same time, he could nary feel it, gone strangely numb. It was like his senses both dulled and intensified at the same time.

He was swallowing mouthfuls of air, vaguely aware of the abysmal technique – it was out of rhythm, so was poor facilitation of pace.

His limbs sprung, highly energized, but strangely, overtly so, or more out of sync with one another, like an automation, rigid, tensed, and not moving fluidly as a single unit.

It might have resulted to his legs overcompensating, kicking off every step with more force than necessary. It caused his footballs to fall heavy, one step sending sharp lightning shooting up to his knees from his heel. Then on every other alternate step, he floated as if the torrid jumble of sensations fried his perception and ability to feel.

The dual sensations assaulting him every other fraction of a second was disorientating, to say the least, messing up his pace even more.

The race grounds bounced dizzyingly, in a manner that pounded his eyes and spun his head. Oranges and red flowers jostled inwards from the edges of his vision, soft and feathery one moment, then sharpened and glaring like claws the next.

At the back of his head, he barely kept his hallucinations at bay, forcing himself to keep it together. But paranoia was whipping wildly. As mad and asserting as the stones kicked up from his frenzied and uncontrolled steps, and the fiery beast that scratched the back of his calves more times than he could bear.

The path ahead was no longer clear and crisp. His end goal no longer discernible.

The colors and elements blurred, ground eroding into sky and rising in heights alongside towering trails of fire left in the wake of the faster Torches on his left and right.

A maze steadily loomed, growing and narrowing inwards in an ominous sign of his path closing, harkening the end of his life if he did not escape from this soon.

His heart clenched – a manner so twisting his lungs almost ceased to function.

No. No. No!

He could withstand no more.

He hightailed; last semblance of direction detecting the quickest way out, taking an abrupt turn.

Run!

He crashed through walls of serrated ambers – gates of hell that he refused to let stop him from his escape.

Scathing they were of his unwarranted path, and brutally scalding over his cowardly fleeing form. Luckily, he was saved from skin tearing burns by a thin breath of wind borne from his speed that cloaked him.

At last!

He burst out, and his legs promptly gave way once he was at a safe distance.

However, relief never found him even when he was down on his hands and knees on safe ground.

He shook like a weak leaf just thrashed about mercilessly by forces of nature.

How much did I lose?

The question weighed heavily on his mind.

He wasn’t sure at which point of the track that he abandoned the race, because judgement of distance was lost to his spiralling mind.

He only knew he had to get out of there, before he lose his rationality completely and become trapped within fiery grounds that would take him to an unfulfilling grave.

When the familiar plain, braided sandals of his owner stepped into his view, a different type of aghast swept into his core.

He ought to apologize, and explain how he was wrought with trepidation that filled his limbs and every fibre of his being, spinning him haywire like a curse with no intention to leave. But pride and dignity prevented him from admitting to that.

He should have known better, for the signs were there for the whole week since his recovery from fever. He had been stuck in a slump that mocked him during his practice runs. However, he forced himself to keep calm, convinced an adrenaline spike during the actual race would give the miracle boost he needed. It was obvious now that it was wishful thinking.

And worse than finishing last, he forfeited today’s race by not completing it. He couldn’t fathom the amount of points that would be taken off his culminated score because of this.

Bitterness filled him, dreading the extension of his contract period that this slip up would cost him.

And he especially hated the thought that he might be losing his speed. It was too depressing. He didn’t want to repeat seasons like Clement did to pay off his debt.

So in self-preservation, to keep himself from falling apart over his abysmal performance, he looked up into Kovan’s stricken eyes, and blurted in an agonized but resolute manner, “Next time, I swear I will do better. I will train harder over the next two weeks, and make up the points I have lost.”

Kovan’s lips, already in a grim line, became thinner, tightening till his lower jaw looked split from the rest of his face.

“No,” his started in tone as sombre as his expression, and then his next words came as a surprise, “You won’t be doing any training over the next few days. I think a short break is in due.”

Tyler gaped at him stupidly, blinking against the glaring sun-burst pointed tips peeking from behind Owner’s head.