The anticipation in the air was electric. Seven riders, each mounted on their prized horses, lined up at the starting area of Blackwood Track. Their names carried weight—each one a recognized talent in equestrian circles.

       Jareth Hoeven. Kira Tassin. Rhys Aveldon. Cassian Rell. Elias Torrence. Selene Veltier.

       And lastly, Celythena Millesernan.

       Seranna sat elegantly beside Lorcan and Jason, her sharp gaze observing the riders with keen interest. Across the stands, the VIP guests whispered amongst themselves, their excitement restrained but undeniable. The exclusivity of the event made it all the more exhilarating—an elite competition, held not just for prestige but for something far more personal.

       Dressed in fine suits and evening gowns, the audience watched as the riders were instructed to introduce themselves.

       Seranna’s eyes flickered toward her, gauging her composure. This wasn’t just about skill—it was about proving she belonged among them.

       The riders sat tall in their saddles, their horses restless beneath them, sensing the weight of the moment. The announcer stepped forward, microphone in hand, and with a nod, the first rider introduced himself.

       Jareth adjusted his gloves, his piercing gray eyes scanning the competition before settling on the crowd. His voice was deep, steady, and filled with quiet authority.

       “Jareth Hoeven, riding Stormbringer. This isn’t just a race to me—it’s a statement. And I intend to make it loud and clear,” Stormbringer, a powerful black stallion, stomped his hoof as if in agreement, his breath misting in the cool air.

       Kira leaned slightly forward in her saddle, her sharp amber eyes glinting with excitement. A smirk curled on her lips as she flicked a loose strand of hair from her face.

       “Kira Tassin, riding Solstice. I don’t just race—I dominate. So, if you plan to win, you’d better be faster than lightning,” Solstice, a striking chestnut mare with a golden sheen, snorted, ears flicking forward as if challenging the other.

       Rhys let out a soft chuckle before speaking, his tone laced with effortless charm. He ran a gloved hand down his horse’s sleek mane, appearing completely at ease.

       “Rhys Aveldon, riding Shadowbane. If you think this is just about speed, you’re mistaken. Strategy wins races, and trust me—I have plenty of it,” Shadowbane, a midnight-black gelding with a white streak down his face, flicked his tail, exuding the same confidence as his rider.

        Cassian sat tall in his saddle, his dark blue riding coat immaculate. He gave a curt nod, his words simple yet firm.

       “Cassian Rell, riding Ironheart. Strength, endurance, and discipline—that’s what wins battles. And a race? It’s just another battlefield,” Ironheart, a muscular bay stallion, shifted slightly, exuding a quiet, controlled power.

       Elias adjusted his grip on the reins, his gaze sharp yet calm. His voice was softer than the others, but there was a quiet intensity behind it.

       “Elias Torrence, riding Windchaser. A true rider knows—it’s not about the destination. It’s about the ride. Let’s make it a good one,” Windchaser, a sleek gray Arabian, tossed his head as if agreeing, his energy barely contained.

       Selene sat poised, her elegant navy-blue riding attire crisp and pristine. Her voice was smooth, measured, yet filled with conviction.

       “Selene Veltier, riding Astraea. Speed means nothing without control. And control? That’s something I never lose,” Astraea, a graceful white mare with silver dapples, stood perfectly still, her presence as regal as her rider’s.

       The crowd hushed as the final rider took her turn. Celythena Millesernan straightened her posture, her grip firm on Monerach’s reins. She exhaled slowly, then lifted her chin, her voice steady as it carried across the track.

       “Monsieur and Mademoiselle, I’m Celythena Millesernan,” she declared, each syllable crisp and deliberate, “And this is Monerach—my partner, my strength. We ride not just to compete, but to claim our place among the best,”

       There was no hesitation, no wavering in her tone. Only certainty.

       Monerach tossed his head, as if sensing the confidence in his rider. A murmur rippled through the audience—some impressed, some curious. In the VIP section, Seranna smirked, her gaze sharp with approval. Lorcan remained still, unreadable, while Jason let out an amused chuckle.

       The introductions were over. Now, all that remained was the race.

       The stands trembled with the force of thousands of voices. The anticipation was a living thing, thick in the air, pressing against the riders as they lined up at the starting gate. Celyth sat tall atop Monerach, her fingers curled tightly around the reins, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath her. Around her, the best riders in the region prepared to launch forward, their expressions carved from stone.

       To her left, Jareth Hoeven adjusted his grip on Stormbringer’s reins, his gray eyes locked on the track ahead. Kira Tassin rolled her shoulders, loose and confident, the smirk on her face almost daring the others to challenge her. Rhys Aveldon shifted in his saddle, deceptively relaxed, while Cassian Rell and Elias Torrence remained silent, their focus unshaken. Selene Veltier sat with unshakable poise, her mare Astraea standing as still as a statue, waiting.

       The official stepped forward. The flag rose.

       Celyth inhaled deeply, pressing her heels lightly against Monerach’s sides. His ears flicked back, listening.

       The bell rang.

       A wall of sound exploded from the stands as the riders surged forward, the ground trembling beneath the thunder of hooves.

       Jareth was the first to claim the lead. Stormbringer’s sheer strength carried him ahead within seconds, his massive strides eating up the track. Kira wasn’t far behind. Solstice moved like fire, each step a blur of gold as she cut through the dust, her rider urging her forward with precision.

       Celyth held Monerach steady, resisting the urge to push too soon. A race this long wasn’t won in the first stretch—it was won in the moments when the others faltered. She let him settle into rhythm, his breathing controlled, his hooves striking the dirt with practiced ease.

       The first turn approached. Riders jostled for position.

       Kira took the inside, skimming dangerously close to the edge, her gamble paying off as she slipped ahead of Jareth. His stallion resisted, fighting to maintain his lead, but Solstice was faster, more agile. Jareth’s advantage was slipping.

       Celyth saw her opening.

       She guided Monerach forward, cutting between Rhys and Elias in one swift, decisive move. Rhys swore under his breath as he lost the position. Elias only chuckled.

       “You always this reckless?” he called, but Celyth wasn’t listening.

       She had already moved past them.

       The track stretched long and open before them, the smooth dirt perfect for an all-out sprint. Kira led. Jareth and Celyth chased. Behind them, Cassian remained eerily silent, waiting.

       Monerach wanted to run. She felt it in the way his muscles coiled, the energy contained just beneath his surface. But she held him back.

       Not yet.

       Jareth pushed Stormbringer harder, trying to reclaim his lead. He was gaining on Kira, inch by inch. She felt him coming and leaned lower, whispering something to Solstice. The mare responded instantly, lengthening her stride, fighting to stay ahead.

       Celyth matched their pace, but she wasn’t the only one.

       Cassian had made his move.

       She caught the flicker of motion in her periphery—Ironheart, powerful and steady, cutting through the chaos with ruthless efficiency. Cassian didn’t waste energy. He didn’t push too soon. He waited, then struck.

       He was right behind her now.

       Waiting for her to make a mistake.

       Celyth knew Cassian was there, could feel his presence pressing in just behind her. He was waiting for her to falter, waiting for the smallest mistake he could exploit.

       And she gave him one.

       It was subtle—barely a miscalculation—but in a race this tight, it was enough.

       She took the curve a fraction too wide.

       Cassian seized the opening instantly.

       With a sharp nudge to Ironheart’s sides, he powered forward, slipping through the gap she had left unguarded. One second, she had the advantage; the next, he was ahead, his horse’s hooves kicking dust into her path.

       Celyth gritted her teeth, frustration flaring in her chest.

      She had let him in.

       Monerach, sensing her frustration, snorted sharply, his ears twitching back. She exhaled, steadying herself, forcing the mistake out of her mind.

        The race wasn’t over yet.

       Ahead, Jareth had finally caught up to Kira, his relentless pressure forcing her to push Solstice harder than she wanted. He edged forward, and for the first time, Kira’s smirk wavered.

       Jareth wasn’t just catching up—he was taking control.

       Celyth narrowed her eyes. Cassian may have stolen her position, but she wasn’t about to let him keep it. She adjusted Monerach’s pace, preparing for the next opportunity.

***

       Jason shot up from his seat, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd, “CELYTH, C’MON!!”

       His raw enthusiasm was contagious. Within moments, the once-silent VIP section erupted, voices rising as they cheered for their chosen riders. Names were called, hands clapped against the railing, and the dignified air of the event cracked under the weight of pure adrenaline.

       Seranna’s gaze flickered toward Lorcan, catching the subtle shift in his expression. He didn’t speak, but she knew—they were both watching something unfold, something far beyond a simple race.

        Just then, movement behind them drew their attention. Lorcan’s parents had arrived, slipping into their seats with a quiet grace that carried undeniable weight. Their presence alone commanded notice, a reminder that this was more than a sport—it was a spectacle, an unspoken statement.

        And then there was Celyst.

       Unlike the composed figures beside her, she was practically bouncing in her seat, hands clenched as she leaned forward. Her eyes burned with excitement, her focus locked on Celyth. It wasn’t just support; it was belief. Unwavering, unshaken.

       The race had yet to begin, but in this moment, it was clear—Celyth wasn’t riding alone.

       The thunder of hooves pounded through the air, drowning out everything but the race. Celyth leaned lower over Monerach’s neck, her heart hammering to the same frantic rhythm. The finish line was in sight, but so were her competitors, each of them pushing their limits, clawing for victory. Kira and Jareth were still ahead, their duel growing fiercer by the second. Solstice and Stormbringer tore through the track with unmatched ferocity, their riders locked in a ruthless contest of speed and endurance. Neither was willing to yield, their determination as sharp as the biting wind against Celyth’s face.

       But she wasn’t out yet. Cassian was just ahead of her, Ironheart maintaining his relentless pace. Every muscle in his stallion’s body moved with mechanical precision, controlled, unyielding. He wasn’t reckless—he was calculated. Every stride had a purpose, every movement a strategy. Celyth clenched her jaw. If she wanted to take him, she had to move now.

       She shifted her weight forward, urging Monerach to accelerate. He responded instantly, his muscles surging beneath her, hooves digging harder into the dirt. She veered slightly to the right, inching up beside Cassian, the gap between them narrowing. Cassian noticed. His eyes flickered toward her, unreadable, but his body tensed ever so slightly. He wasn’t going to let her pass without a fight.

       Monerach’s breath came hot and fast, his strides stretching farther than before. He was strong, but she knew she was pushing him to his edge. Still, she couldn’t stop. This was her moment. The roar of the crowd swelled as Celyth surged forward, Monerach pulling even with Cassian’s Ironheart. Dust kicked up around them, the air thick with the scent of sweat and earth.

       For a fleeting second, she thought she could take him. Then Cassian made his move. With expert precision, he angled Ironheart just enough to box her in—subtle, legal, but enough to cost her precious seconds. Celyth’s pulse spiked. She tried to maneuver around, but the track’s layout forced her to either fall back or risk an even tighter turn. She chose to hold position. And in those crucial seconds, she realized the truth.