I pushed the doors open, a loud bang echoing through the room.


    At that precise moment, the academy was giving their final speech in the stadiums, as well as informing all the applicants who hadn’t met the cut-off score. But there was no reason for me to go there.


    Because I knew exactly where I stood.


    “Fuck…”


    I was at the back, in one of the stables—the place where they would keep the dragons before the races. All cages were empty, a weak sunlight passing through some cracks in the roof and walls.


    Though I could feel Styx''s presence behind me, I had no courage to turn back to face him.


    To have his piercing eyes stare into my soul and judge my failure.


    “Hah, this is ridiculous… This is pathetic.”


    The smile was solidified on my face, painfully stretching its every muscle. A smile that reflected all the bitter frustration I was unable to swallow.


    “Damn it…”


    My hands were shaking. No, not my hands—my entire body. An anger I could not control, I could not express, one I could barely contain.


    “DAMN IT ALL!”


    I kicked a metal bucket, sending it flying and crashing against the wall.


    My eyes burned, yet I refused to let the tears fall. Those tears filled with rage, despair, and grievance. Tears that would make me ever more pathetic, even more pitiful.


    I let out a shaken breath, one stuck between a laugh and a sob.


    “Hah, fuck this…”


    I bit my lip, opening its wound again as I clenched both my fists. For the past months, I had endured an insane training.


    Forced my body to go beyond its limits, time and time again. Learned the very basics of how to ride a dragon, just enough I wouldn’t fall. Enough that I knew how to dive, how to steer to the sides, how to move.


    I had spent all the money Angus gave me with a dragon. I had been living at a stranger’s estate and using their facilities to train.


    I had no money or worth in my name. No other possessions, apart from Styx.


    As Jackal and as Vex, I had nothing left.


    The agreement was that I would get accepted at Ergos and pay for my lodgings. Because Ergos would give me the opportunities to get sponsors and participate in races. To earn my own money.


    Yes, I could wait for next year and try again. By then, I would have trained with Styx for one year. I could ask Angus for more money, Emrys for more classes, the mysterious benefactor for more time.


    Just like a beggar, I could keep pleading for more crumbs.


    People didn’t do favors out of the goodness of their hearts—they did it because they wanted something in return. The more favors I had to ask for, the more I demanded and begged for…


    I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t own anyone. Not more than I already did.


    Something suddenly caught my attention, pulled my gaze as if begging to be noticed and seen.


    A painting.


    I almost choked due to the cynical laughter stuck in my throat.


    “Of course you would be here…”


    At first, I wondered who had been the enlightened being who chose to place a painting that size on the stables. Even if it was protected by glass, even if its frame was part of the wall, even if it was positioned higher.


    But then I recalled where I was, and who that was.


    Mounted on their dragon, both fully equipped. The person whose name made every ounce of my blood boil, who every scholar would never stop studying, who every rider looked up to.


    Ikarus, the greatest dragon rider to have ever lived.


    The rider who became the first Diamond Wing.


    The rider who had been ranked first place for decades, ever since they were first classified. The rider who right after reaching the apex of their career—


    Had the most crushing defeat and plunged to their death.


    Styx was suddenly right beside me, glancing at the picture above.


    “People keep comparing me to this person, you know…”


    My voice was a low whisper, sharing words I wished to conceal and bury in the dirt.


    Styx remained silent. Still.


    “Right after my first official race as Jackal…someone wrote an article.”


    The pungent memory tasted like rot—a memory that every time I tried to erase would come back even fouler. As if it was mocking me.


    Proving its veracity.


    “In the article…I was complimented, at first.” The words fell heavily from my mouth, reluctant. Yet there was no way Styx was going to share them with someone else, and that truth gave me just enough courage to open my mouth and speak. “At some point, the author mentioned Ikarus and started to make all these comparisons between us. They ended the article saying they doubted I would last ten years in this business. That I was fated to share the same end as the great Ikarus.”


    It was the article that made the name “Jackal” known; both in the underground as well as in the upper city.


    “I didn’t mind it at first. This author was known for mentioning Ikarus left and right—as if they were a fanatic admirer, in a sick way. But after that one, every other article that came out about me…it would always be accompanied by that name.”


    The laugh that escaped my lips scratched my throat as if it were made of thorns dipped in poison. It stung, it burned. It bled.


    In the end, I guess they were right…


    I turned around, meeting Styx’s gaze for the first time since we finished the race. His eyes delved into mine, their color vivid, almost electrifying, and in those eyes, there was no prejudice or judgment. They carried the same hunger I noticed when we first met.


    The same curiosity and intensity.


    I took a few steps back, looking away—uncomfortable, guilty, nervous.


    Clearing my throat, I turned for the doors. “Let’s go to the infirmary. We need to get your wing treated before we go back.”


    And as I walked back, I tried to ignore the unsettling feeling of Ikarus’ eyes following me.


    Waiting to see if the Jackal would plum to his death—


    Just like them.


    <hr>


    To my surprise, there had been no fatalities. Though many had come quite close.


    From dislocated shoulders and torn muscles to broken bones and spines. Many applicants limped their way out of the infirmary, refusing treatment due to the obscene costs. Of course, some did not have that choice.


    I glanced to my right, the rider who got shot by the arrow lying in a bed with a tube connected to his mouth and a big, round flask. Though he had bandages wrapped around his torso, I could still see the red spots.


    “Excuse me, are you here to see a patient?”


    My focus shifted to the nurse standing in front of me, his clothes a blend of deep blue and a wine red—the colors of physicians.


    “No, I came to get some supplies.”


    The nurse nodded, their eyes falling to the wood board in their hand and he adjusted his glasses. “Of course, what do you need?”


    “Some gauzes, and a dozen leaves of sage.”


    “Is it for a rider or a dragon?”


    “Dragon.”


    He looked at me, squinting his eyes for a brief second while leaning a little bit closer, his glasses glimmering for a split second. “You strained quite a few muscles. Don’t you wish to get some—”


    “I’m fine.”


    The man paused, his mouth still open. “Are you sure? From what I can see, your arms are quite damaged. If you participated in the exam, we have a discount for all riders who—”


    “I said I’m fine. How much for the gauze and the sage?”


    Though there was no great amount of pain yet, I could feel my arms throbbing. Weak, even, as if all strength I had in them had been sucked dry. I knew I had torn at least a couple of muscles. But there was no way I was spending another penny in that place.


    The only reason I was paying for Styx’s treatment was because it would take a couple of hours for us to return to the estate, and the injury covered quite a big area in his wing.


    Also, although I had brought a few herbs and potions, I still needed the sage and gauze to fully treat his burns.


    I got back to Styx, who was waiting just outside the infirmary ward.


    He was lying on the grass, his eyes closed. I looked at his wing, checking the severity of the burn. Though I could not check if the area was redder or darker, I saw blisters in the wing tissue.


    My eyes glanced back at Styx, who had this peaceful and unbothered air around him.


    He is likely in a lot of pain right now…


    “You really are a professional racer, huh?” I mumbled under my breath, starting to mix the potions I had with the sage leaves.


    I placed them on the burns, wrapping the gauzes only tight enough so they would keep the region protected without falling over.


    I sat by Styx''s side, my arms beginning to throb and ache. Glancing at the sky, I felt the breeze brush over my hair, carrying the scent of flowers, sweat, and defeat.


    “I fucked up this time…”


    I had another option—one less than ideal, yet my only option, nonetheless.


    There were three other academies still accepting applicants. Their level was nowhere near Ergos, however it would still provide me with some level of training and education.


    Profit.


    I could use the little opportunities they provided to enter a few races and try to compete. Then, when Ergos opened its doors again, I would apply for a transfer.


    Since I was still set on Ergos, perhaps my mysterious Benefactor would not demand too much from me, in exchange.


    The black crystal in my wrist suddenly glowed. As I read the new message, I was unsure how to feel about it.


    <The race was very entertaining; I had a great time. Your new dragon is quite amusing.>


    <You two make a nice pair.>


    The fact I knew Angus was not mocking me or being sarcastic in any way made his words worse—their taste even bitter.


    However, when I read his last message, I stood up.


    My heart began to race against my chest.


    <Congratulations on entering the waiting list. The winged goddess must be smiling at you today.>


    In the same second, I unlocked the metal chains that tied Styx down to the post, taking us to the stadium. To where they still had the silver orbs floating, showing the list of applicants that had passed the cut-off grade.


    Of course, my name was not there.


    Yet in a smaller orb, floating just below the main one, were around a hundred applicants listed.


    Applicants who would be judged separately, not by their current grades but by the potential they showed during the race.


    The applicants who, if chosen, would be forced to enroll in special reinforcement classes, yet who would still be able to enroll on Ergos at the beginning of the semester.


    And on that list...


    On that list, I could see my name.