ISLAND BLOODBATH: Ouyang’s Season in Jeopardy?
The 2024 CRA season got underway yesterday on Partridge Island, headlined by hometown hero Cien Fumador picking up where she left off with yet another dominant victory.
Fumador’s performance was overshadowed, however, by the horrific injuries suffered by 17-year veteran Reese Ouyang, who put up a valiant challenge for 19 laps before crashing out at Fortune Hill on the final lap.
The dramatic nature of the accident notwithstanding, experts have been left scratching their heads as to how it actually occurred. At the press conference following the race, Lingshu’s team principal Daorun Kong could only offer that he and his team are “combing through all available data in order to produce a credible explanation”. As for the pilot himself, he was airlifted directly to Basinside General Hospital and admitted to the ICU, where he’s understood to be in a serious but stable condition.
While the nation prays for Reese Ouyang’s swift and uncomplicated recovery, speculation already abounds with regards to his racing future, both within the current season and beyond. After Lynx Giallo’s retirement, Ouyang is currently the oldest active—
With a sharp intake of breath, Rowen put down the newspaper, the latest issue of the Imperial Epoch, suddenly feeling too ill to read on.
There was nothing ‘imperial’ or even particularly newspaper-like about the Epoch, which Rowen considered to be more of a tabloid rag than anything. But for some absurd reason no one could explain to her, it was the only physical ‘news’ medium being sold at the concession stand nearest the palace. Which meant it was also the only ‘newspaper’ Auntie Donna could smuggle into Rowen’s room every morning. Which therefore meant it was her best and only source of unfiltered news about the world outside her heavily firewalled place of residence.
She tried to keep her emotions in check whenever she read the news. Easier said than done, especially when the news could often be rather upsetting, as this morning’s certainly was. But she must—she reminded herself—continue to strive for perfect neutrality with regards to all public and state matters.
For Rowen Summersend, seventh in her line and the reigning Empress of Stormvast, had a duty to her people. Duty to the the Imperial Archives. And such duties didn’t entail having an opinion about the goings-on in her own country.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t at least be curious about them, as long as she maintained a perfectly neutral stance. After taking a calming sip of chrysanthemum tea, she picked up the Epoch to resume her morning readings—and immediately failed another attempt at maintaining neutrality.
HIDING HER TALONS OR SIMPLY HIDING: Lotus Shen’s Slow Start and What’s Next for the Nation’s Most Controversial Racer?
The season opener on Partridge Island was also marked by a prominent absence, namely that of Lotus Shen, who made waves last year as GCC’s flagship pilot, in the controversy-ridden team’s return to the circuit after a well-publicized three-year absence.
Having narrowly missed out on victory at the 2023 Morrowtide GP right at the death, Shen’s return to asphalt has been eagerly anticipated by fans and detractors alike. They were therefore sorely disappointed to learn that she didn’t register for the Partridge Island GP, opting instead to start her campaign at the Orchid City Trophy, to be held two weeks from now.
When reached for comment, GCC Team Principal Iver Gambit had this to say: “After careful analysis of both our pilot’s and Chakram’s current conditions, we made the decision as a team to target a tier-II race to start the season. We’re excited to get back on the racetrack and show our supporters a new and improved Lotus.”
However, speculation already abounds with regards to the real intent behind dodging the Partridge Island GP. Could it be that the team felt themselves inadequate to take on the formidable double threat of Fumador and Ouyang? Despite Gambit’s optimistic words, one can’t help but wonder how Lotus Shen could possibly be 'new and improved' after losing Akashic Field, the Mythic-rarity Aegis many considered to have been a ‘crutch’ the rising superstar had relied on during her rookie—
Rowen threw down the newspaper a second time, this time in secondhand indignation. Speculation abounds? As if you’re not the ones fanning the speculation in the first place…
It wasn’t always easy to keep her emotions in check, especially when the news concerned her favourite pilot. Rowen liked to think of herself as something of a Chakram racing fanatic, at least as much of a fanatic as someone who’d spent most of her childhood cooped up inside a firewalled palace could realistically expect to be. And she’d found her latest obsession in the ‘nation’s most controversial racer’.
Admittedly, she’d known literally nothing about Lotus Shen this time last year. Albeit, strangely enough, she didn’t seem to be alone in that. But what little she managed to catch of Lotus’s races—the last-millisecond overtake at her debut, the improbable comeback at Seaforth, and of course, that ill-fated duel versus Lynx Giallo at the championship—had made her a fan for life. Her appreciation for Lotus, Rowen knew, was in no small part due to the fact that the two of them were of the same age.
In Rowen’s eyes, Lotus Shen was everything a twenty-year-old woman ought to be: courageous, talented, and striving every day toward a clear and noble goal. And yet, compared to her idol, Rowen herself was—
“Empress?”
There was a knock at the rosewood double-door, and before Rowen could answer, both sides of the door swung open. The pinched figure of Courtier Soho strode into the room, his eyes darting this way and that in sanctimonious inspection.
What’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to barge in anyway? Despite another flash of indignation, Rowen nevertheless blushed as she quickly slid a breakfast tray over the newspaper she’d been (trying to) read. The prospect of having a tabloid rag confiscated didn’t bother her so much, but she didn’t want Auntie Donna getting in trouble on her account.
“Yes?” she called out, voice remarkably calm despite her pounding heart. “What is it?”
“The Audience, Your Glory,” Soho said with a bow that was a shade shallower than was customary. “It’s today. They’re here already.”
The Audience. Of course. Rowen couldn’t rightly blame herself for forgetting, considering the unusual circumstances surrounding this particular edition of the annual tradition. Considering that the new CRA season had already started, and especially considering that the actual champion herself wouldn’t even attend.
Rowen rose to her feet before looking down at her own attire. She was still in her chamber clothes: plain tunic and long skirt held together by a sash, and just the one hairpiece to keep in place a simple bun. Good enough. She shrugged, then joined her Head Courtier. She wasn’t about to expend any extra effort on guests she didn’t even want to receive.
Soho gave her and her outfit a sidelong glance, and looked about ready to say something. Then he thought better of it and led her out of the room.
As Empress and courtier made their way through a spacious corridor adorned by scroll paintings and jade statues, Rowen’s mind stayed with the tabloid articles. As such, she turned to Courtier Soho, a man who was as knowledgeable as he was sanctimonious.
“Did you hear about what happened to Reese Ouyang?”
Soho threw her another sidelong glance, one that said how would you have heard about Reese Ouyang? But he answered politely enough, “Yes. A real shame. He’s well-respected, not just in racing circles but also in the larger community. Does a lot of charity work, some of which the Imperium is involved with.”
“Do you know how it happened?”
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“Not exactly, no. Only that he was trying to overtake Cien Fumador, and that the latter did activate her Aux during the sequence, though it’s unclear how that might’ve—”
“Do you think it was the Danyao?”
Soho turned to her fully with wide eyes, which he then directed up and down the corridor to check for potential eavesdroppers. Then he replied in a lowered voice, “No, and I know it wasn’t.”
“Blood test’s already come back, has it?”
“Yes, and it’s negative. Fumador is in the clear.”
Sometimes, it was hard to maintain neutrality, especially when the news was more distressing than reassuring. When the news meant that Daphne Novacoda and her minions had finally devised a way to replicate—or perhaps even surpass—the effects of the Danyao without having to actually ingest it…
“Why are we allowing this Audience, anyway?” Rowen snapped, made petulant in her distress. “The season ended more than three months ago. And Lynx Giallo herself is already retired.”
“Yes, well… Mme Novacoda had a prior arrangement, and had reserved the right to postpone the meeting until such time that she deemed it opportune for her and her team.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Why would we allow such a thing?”
Why do we keep bending the rules to accommodate this vile woman?
“… Might I suggest, Your Glory, that you let this matter rest? There are forces in this world that are beyond our control. You need only to perform your duty, and let nature take its course.”
Rowen’s lips twisted into a pouty grimace. Forces in this world? Why don’t you just come out and say it: that the right amount of money went to the wrong sort of people? Nevertheless, she did drop the subject, knowing it was her duty to do so. Knowing also that it was no use to argue.
Daphne Novacoda—and her new would-be-champion Cien Fumador—were already seated inside the gazebo at Reverie Garden, just outside the entrance to the Imperial Archives.
Novacoda herself was dressed in her usual elegant yet overdramatic style. The woman was no doubt beautiful—almost unnaturally so—and knew how to make the most of the latest fashion trends. Yet, she always managed to wear at least one item that made Rowen raise an eyebrow. Today, that item was a linked set of gold chains that dangled—or rather, jangled—from under her left breast all the down to her thigh. The woman never failed to ensure that no one else in Stormvast looked quite like Daphne Novacoda.
“So lovely to see you again, Your Glory.” Daphne stood and bowed (at an appropriate angle). When she lifted her face, one of her eyebrows was visibly raised, possibly in reaction to Rowen’s own ‘unusual’ attire. The woman then went on in a lilting voice, “And may I just say, it truly is a pleasure. You grow more beautiful by the year, if you don’t mind me being so forward.”
Rowen bowed stiffly in response, struggling to keep her own expression neutral—as was expected of her. Then she turned her even gaze toward the second guest, offering Daphne the window to make introductions.
“This… firecracker here is Cien Fumador, Equinox’s newest flagship pilot. I believe this is Your Glory’s first time meeting her, and I can only hope it’ll be the first of many.”
The two younger women now bowed to each other, both stiffer than the other. Rowen had already formed her own impression of Fumador from articles and interview clips, but the real deal somehow proved more difficult to pin down.
'Firecracker' had clearly been said in jest. The tall wiry pilot, dressed in a rather loose-fitting qipao of black-and-silver sequin, simmered with a silent menace that would’ve been out of place in most social settings, let alone an Audience with the Empress. Most disturbingly, Rowen found it impossible to predict exactly what Fumador was agitating to do. She looked just as likely to break out in maniacal laughter as she might take a swing at Rowen’s head.
Perhaps the woman’s eccentricity felt so striking only in contrast with her famous uncle: the champion racer Valen Fumador, who’d leveraged his athletic prowess and larger-than-life charisma into equally successful acting and political careers post-retirement. It was hard to imagine how two people could be outwardly more different, and yet, Valen and Cien were both powerful racers that hailed from the same storied pedigree.
“I know you’re busy, Your Glory, so what say we get straight down to business?” Daphne sang, having already retaken her seat.
Rowen followed suit, though she couldn’t help but keep her eyes on the younger guest, transfixed by something akin to a primal instinct. Something akin to fear. But how could that be? Duty-bound though she might be, Rowen was still the host—the Empress of Stormvast, for Akasha’s sake. How could she be afraid before her own people? Inside her own palace?
“First, Your Glory, I’d like to thank you for your… special accommodations,” Daphne said, still smiling despite—or perhaps because of—Rowen’s obvious unease. “Running a racing team is complicated business. Even though I have the best experts in the world working for me, breakthroughs can sometimes come from the most unexpected sources. And it’s only in the last few days that Cien and I were able to hone in on our question. The next step in elevating our project to ever greater heights.”
Rowen frowned, rankled both by Daphne’s circuitous speech and its insinuations. What more could you possibly want? After the Danyao, and after what you’ve done to Reese Ouyang, how much further could you possibly ‘elevate’ the havoc you wreak upon the Chakram racing world? Duty-bound as she was, however, she kept her voice even-keeled in her response.
“Think nothing of it, Madam. The Audience is a sacred tradition and pact between the Imperium and the nation’s champion, dating back centuries, to times long before Chakram racing became a professional sport. It’s my honour to be of service, in any manner that’s required of me.”
If Daphne had noted Rowen’s pointed emphasis on the word ‘champion’, she didn’t show it. The woman’s smile never faltered as she said, “The honour is mine, Your Glory. Not just honour, but excitement. You see, over the last several years, I’ve become something of an expert myself. On Moshous, or more specifically, on how to get a tune out of them in ways that could be deemed unconventional in some circles. And one of these Moshous recently sang for me an interesting little ditty. One that points to the oldest among them—the First Rider—and the things his ancient soul still has left to teach us humans. The question turned out to be so simple in the end. So simple that it’s a wonder that no one else has thought to ask it in the preceding… centuries, did you say?”
With this, Daphne turned her smile toward her companion: the false champion whose right to ask a question of the Imperial Archives had been given rather than earned. Cien Fumador hadn’t spoken a word since the Audience began, and that didn’t change now as she wordlessly slid a folded piece of paper across the table. Rowen unfolded the paper and read:
To where does the Rider’s Path lead?
The Empress looked across the table at her two guests, unable to fully hide her skepticism.
“This is your question? You’re sure of it?”
Daphne smiled. Cien nodded.
Rowen couldn’t help but glance back at Courtier Soho, who stood behind her now and would’ve furtively read the question over her shoulder. Their eyes met, only briefly. The aging man, who’d witnessed more Audiences than Rowen could count the years of her life, gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Very well.” Rowen stood. “Please follow me.”
The locked entrance to the Imperial Archives was an imposing fusion of metal and wood: enormous gates of heavy iron embedded into the trunk of a prehistoric ginkgo tree. As if that by itself weren’t mystical enough, its most striking feature was the contraption at its base: numerous large gears joined into a complex mechanism, all connected in sequence to a Chakram.
The Chakram, though clearly not as old as the ginkgo tree, was nevertheless ancient in design, with a thin skeletal frame that looked downright flimsy when compared to its modern counterparts. Even so, no engineer living today could build another Chakram like it, with its sheen of ghostly blue that looked at once lustrous like new and rusted beyond repair.
For Gatekeeper was made entirely of pure Anamnium—solidified using an ancient technique that had been lost to the vagaries of history. And true to its name, this Chakram and the gate it guarded was as far as most Audiences went. For even though Stormvast and her people had singled out a champion among them every year for centuries, it wasn’t every year that the champion could compose a worthy question, one specific and compelling enough to resonate with the Original Void and the myriad secrets that swirled therein.
As Rowen stepped toward Gatekeeper with Cien Fumador’s paper gripped in her hand, she could only hope that this question would be deemed unworthy. To where does the Rider’s Path lead? So simple. So vague. How could such a half-baked attempt unlock the Imperial Archives when so many others had failed? Even the Equinox woman herself had said: it’s a wonder that no one else has thought to ask it in the preceding centuries.
Yet, what the Empress hadn’t accounted for—and what Daphne Novacoda had ascertained from her ‘sources’—was that the world and the repository of its memories were inconstant, always changing. And on this day in the early spring of 2024, as a dutiful young Empress led a false champion to be judged by the Void, no question rang truer—more imperative—than the one held in her hand.
Gatekeeper’s entire flimsy frame glowed ghostly blue as its engine churned and its wheels turned. Then, as Rowen watched on with barely concealed horror, the heavy iron gates to the Imperial Archives rumbled to life.