The canoe drifted without wake or sound.

  Claude sat at the bow, his feet dangling just short of the water, hands wrapped around a fishing rod that had not twitched once since they arrived. Across from him sat the Fisher, older by decades, maybe centuries, his blue skin weathered and calm beneath a wide yellow hat whose rim shaded eyes that never seemed to blink. Their lines vanished into water so clear it barely felt real, blue-green glass stretching outward in every direction.

  The lake reflected the sky perfectly. Dark purple overhead. Clouds white as polished bone. No shore. No ripple. The horizon curved gently in every direction.

  Neither of them moved.

  When the Fisher finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of certainty, smooth and deep, unbroken by age or hesitation.

  “Do you know why I brought you here, Claude?”

  Claude didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on the mirrored sky below the surface.

  “I do not,” he said. “But could you make it quick? My friend, his mom just died. He needs me.”

  The Fisher’s mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile.

  “You will only be gone a second,” he said. “Time is kinder here. Still, your concern speaks well of you. Friends matters.”

  Claude frowned.

  “Friend,” he said. “As in one.”

  “You will have more,” the Fisher replied.

  Claude shook his head, dismissive. “Friends are trouble. Except Kane.”

  The Fisher nodded once, as if that name confirmed something long settled.

  “They will be good for you,” he said. “For both of you. Fifteen years from now, the two of you will meet others. Some will begin as obstacles. Some as threats. Circumstance will reveal which ones are worth keeping.”

  Claude turned then, brow creased. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve heard of Coalition Carnage,” the Fisher said.

  Claude scoffed. “Who has not?”

  “You and your friend,” the Fisher continued, “will be Superstars in a future one.”

  Claude’s eyes lit instantly.

  “Cool!”

  FUTURE

  Year 1050

  Day 2

  The Papuru Inn smelled faintly of polished crystal and recycled air.

  Claude walked beside Kane through the corridor, their footsteps muted by a carpet woven in alternating bands of purple and grey that ran along the floor and curved seamlessly overhead. The ceiling rose high, interrupted only by hanging crystal fixtures that refracted soft light across the white walls.

  At measured intervals, holographic profiles of past Superstars shimmered to life, figures frozen mid-pose, names and records scrolling in clean glyphs beside them. Species varied wildly, covering nearly every one found within the galaxy.

  A serv-tek glided past, scrubbing residue from the base of one display. Nearby, a cluster of employees leaned close, whispering animatedly until their manager rounded the corner. They scattered instantly, expressions snapping into professional blankness. The serv-tek did not react. It simply continued its work.

  Claude slowed, eyes tracking the displays. Kane glanced at the figures lining the hall, then forward again.

  “Our images will be up here after this is over,” he said.

  Claude’s gaze lingered on the glowing figures along the corridor. “Hopefully not postmortem,” he said.

  Kane snorted. “You’re not losing faith now, are you, buddy?”

  “Of course not,” Claude replied. “When you said ‘our,’ I assumed you meant all the Superstars. I get the sense some of them won’t last to the end.”

  Kane nodded slowly. “With people like Van Black and Rampage loose in the bracket, that’s not exactly pessimism.”

  Claude’s attention shifted to a particular hologram further down the hall; its form heavy with white fur, four powerful legs, and broad body with mechanical attachments, unmistakably Ja’ir even in static projection.

  “The Ja’ir Superstar still hasn’t shown himself since the Opening Ceremony,” Claude said. “If memory serves, he’s even more formidable than before.”

  Kane grimaced. “Those Ja’ir and their hypernetic implants. You think he’s upgraded since last time?”

  “There’s nothing new in the SRC,” Claude said.

  “Huh.” Kane scratched the back of his head. “Any ideas for dealing with a walking mech suit?”

  “Not yet,” Claude said. “You?”

  Kane’s smile turned crooked. “Going full Van Black. Break everything until something important stops working.”

  Claude exhaled. “There’s one matchup I’m not eager to face inside a geodome.”

  Footsteps cut through the corridor.

  From the opposite end, a slim figure closed the distance with purpose. Avia moved fast, long ears pulled back, expression set hard enough to part the air in front of her. She stopped a meter from them and stared in silence, eyes flicking between the two men.

  Claude glanced sideways. Kane was already looking at him.

  Kane spoke first. “Uh oh. What did you do?”

  Claude raised an eyebrow. “I was about to ask if you’d been caught spying on her again.”

  Avia’s stare sharpened.

  “Why were the two of you following me yesterday?” she demanded.

  Claude looked to Kane again. Kane sighed and faced her.

  “Hard not to notice someone jumping from building to building,” he said. “Thought you might be up to something.”

  “How generous of you to assume,” Avia replied.

  Claude stepped in smoothly. “We were involved in a terrorist incident before the Opening Ceremony. They threatened to detonate a bomb at the Tower of Laws. Given the timing, it was an easy mistake to make.”

  Avia continued to glare, though the tension in her face loosened slightly.

  “Pians get around the best way we can,” she said. “Better than riding those flying devil disks.”

  Kane blinked. “What is it with you people and hating technology?”

  She shot back instantly. “Why do you rely on it so much?”

  “Makes life easier.”

  Avia scoffed. “That explains why your two species are as soft as Cycloids. Strip away your shiny metal devils and you’re helpless as newborns.”

  Kane tilted his head. “Are you always this hostile?”

  “Have you always had such a punchable face?”

  Claude closed his eyes for a brief second.

  Kane smirked. “Maybe you should go talk to The Dawn. You’d get along.”

  Claude stepped in before Avia could respond. “Technology has its place,” he said calmly. “Not everyone clings to it the way you assume.”

  Her gaze shifted to him. “You mean yourself.”

  Claude inclined his head. “Those of the Spirit Caste live with minimal modern comforts. It keeps us fit for communion with planetary spirits.”

  Avia stared. “What kind of nonsense are you talking about? What are planetary spirits?”

  Claude smiled.

  Kane groaned aloud. “Oh no.”

  “Come with me,” Claude said.

  “We were heading to Gambler’s Hall,” Kane protested.

  “You can gamble any time,” Claude replied.

  “The battleball game starts in an hour on Earth.”

  “And you knew Dycord runs on universal time,” Claude said. “That one is on you. No Syncs to blame.”

  Kane pointed accusingly at the sky. “I blame your planet’s lazy rotation.”

  They exited through the hotel’s main lobby into the courtyard. The open space buzzed with low activity. A few patrons lounged near the sitting section or clustered around the outdoor café. Lergi trees stretched overhead, their blue bark catching the light while red leaves filtered the sun into shifting patterns below.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Beyond the courtyard’s security shield, a distant crowd of carnies spotted them. Shouts and excited screams carried faintly through the barrier as fingers pointed and hands waved.

  Avia glanced toward the noise, then stiffened as wind surged beneath her feet.

  She gasped as the ground fell away.

  Kane rose beside her, eyes wide. “Hey, this wasn’t agreed on.”

  Claude lifted smoothly between them, calm as the air was before. “It’s me,” he said, voice steady.

  Avia’s panic eased as they climbed higher. Below, the carnies erupted, some cheering, others shouting in disbelief, all eyes fixed on the three figures drifting upward.

  Avia continued to glare, though the tension in her face loosened slightly.

  “They really do love you,” Avia said, watching the distant crowd shrink beneath them.

  “You as well,” Claude replied. “Superstars are well regarded here.”

  The wind carried them away from the sprawl of Topaz City and out over open water. Kane noticed Avia’s posture stiffen as the ocean stretched endlessly below. He felt a small, petty sense of satisfaction and said nothing.

  Land returned beneath them soon enough.

  Beacon City rose into view, its structures squat and elongated, clustered close to the ground. Sunlight struck the metal surfaces at shallow angles, causing the buildings to gleam with a steady brilliance that lived up to the city’s name.

  Claude slowed them above the largest structure at its center. A cathedral dominated the skyline, set near an embankment overlooking the Serhipoth Ocean. Claude guided them down in a controlled descent until their feet met solid ground. No one spared them a second glance.

  “This is my home,” he said. “The House of the World Voice.”

  Kane blinked. “You live in a church?”

  “It isn’t unusual,” Claude said. “Some prefer modern residences. I value the quiet.”

  Dycordians moved through the plaza wrapped in their own thoughts, expressions subdued. Some passed through the cathedral’s heavy double doors, each etched with intricate markings and operated by hand rather than automation.

  “This is where you worship your gods?” Avia asked.

  “Not only here,” Claude said. “Every structure in the city serves a faith. This cathedral belongs to the World Voice. Pilgrims from across the galaxy come here to learn how to commune with their own planets.”

  He paused before continuing.

  “And I wouldn’t call it worship. We listen to what the planet speaks, tend to its people, and act as its voice.”

  Inside, Avia frowned at the off-white interior.

  “And this planet spirit of yours doesn’t mind all the metal?”

  “Why would he?” Claude said. “Metal is born of the planet’s minerals. Nothing off-world was used that might offend.”

  They moved through winding corridors, Claude explaining the artwork as they passed. Murals and paintings depicted Dycordians receiving visions, answering unseen calls, or sitting in deep meditation.

  One portrait stopped Avia cold.

  It spanned nearly the entire wall. A Dycordian stood before a vast, fog-shrouded figure that consumed most of the canvas. Light poured upward from the speaker’s mouth toward the towering presence.

  Claude joined her as Kane lingered nearby, visibly restless.

  “Speaker Omal of Wirth,” Claude said. “Painted over eight hundred years ago by his son, Baylith. It shows Omal persuading death itself to spare his child and succeeding."

  Avia studying the work. “The wrist articulation is flawless. The texture work says everything about his state of mind. He was devoted. What became of them?”

  “They both went on to win Coalition Carnage,” Claude replied.

  Avia’s ears twitched. “Impressive. Which years?”

  “Thirteenth and fourteenth.”

  She nodded. “So Omal of Wirth defeated Redgewiir.”

  Kane frowned. “Who’s Redgewiir?”

  “Pia’s Superstar at the time,” Avia said.

  Kane shook his head. “And I thought I knew obscure Superstar lore.”

  “I know every Superstar to come from the Zareil Kingdom,” Avia said.

  Claude glanced at her. “Is that your homeland?”

  “Yes.”

  Kane’s eyes widened. “Wait. Your last name is Zareil?”

  “What gave it away?”

  He gestured vaguely. “The resemblance to Zella Zereil. Plus, you act exactly like a royal pain in the—”

  “I live back here,” Claude said suddenly.

  Claude gestured them through a stone archway into a narrow hall lined with doors.

  As he moved ahead, Avia slowed, her eyes tracing the stained-glass windows set high along the walls. Each panel depicted a different planet in vivid color. She paused at the far end, studying Pia’s likeness longer than the rest.

  Claude opened the last door on the right. Inside, the room was nearly empty.

  Kane and Avia both stopped short. A single cot rested in one corner, a thin mattress laid over it. The tiled floor was bare. No decorations. No devices. No personal effects.

  Kane looked around once more, just to be sure.

  “This is it?”

  Claude nodded. “I do not truly need the bed. Sleeping on the floor does unpleasant things to my back.”

  Avia folded her arms. “Not even a shadow-puppet setup. What do you do all day?”

  “I pray.”

  “All day?”

  “Until recently.”

  She studied him, then gestured vaguely at the room. “And what does the world say back?”

  Claude didn’t answer. He met her stare evenly, saying nothing.

  Avia huffed. “Right. Same as this place. Nothing.”

  “Do Pian deities answer you?” Claude asked.

  “I don’t pray to imaginary gods,” Avia replied huffy. “That’s your people. We get where we are through our own strength. Nothing else.”

  Claude inclined his head. “As you say.”

  Kane threw his hands up. “My God, Claude. You can’t possibly live like this. You need a holoview or games table. Something.”

  “The mind weakens when it consumes irrelevant stimuli for too long,” Claude said.

  Avia nodded. “He’s not wrong.”

  Kane shrugged. “Then don’t watch reality shows.”

  PRESENT

  “I won’t even have a holoview?!” Child Claude said, incredulously. “I’ll just sit around talking to you all day?”

  The Fisher remained calm. “You’ll come to understand the value of meditation.”

  Claude bristled, shifting hard enough to rock the canoe.

  “I like holoviews,” he said.

  “More than playing outside?”

  “Every time.”

  The Fisher’s lips curved slightly. “Even if you and Kane raced your friends around the world?”

  Claude nearly dropped his fishing rod.

  “For real?”

  FUTURE

  Year 1050

  Day 3

  At the edge of Topaz City, a towering metal cylinder stood planted in the open ground, twenty feet tall and alive with blinking lights. Beyond it, at the far end of the skyline, the immense topaz gem loomed, its mass eclipsing the city beneath it. Claude stood still, head tilted upward, watching the jewel as he always did. As the violet sun dipped toward the horizon, its light dulled, scattering across the gem’s surface in muted bands.

  Carnies crowded the perimeter, held back by the ever-present shield barrier maintained by the Dycordian Defense Force. The line of soldiers stood roughly sixty yards southwest of Claude’s position, disciplined and unmoving.

  Ten meters to his right, the media cluster buzzed with activity. Floating orbs called viewscopes hovered above reporters’ heads, their lenses adjusting constantly as they fed images across the galaxy.

  A familiar holoform descended from above.

  Roxy came to a smooth stop in front of him.

  “Superstar Claude,” she said brightly. “You didn’t need to come here alone. We were prepared to teleport the competitors in at any moment.”

  “It’s fine,” Claude replied. “The walk helped me loosen up.”

  “Walk?” Roxy blinked. “From the hotel?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s nearly thirty kilometers,” she said. “And you’re about to race.”

  “Don’t worry,” Claude said. “I’m not fatigued. I feel excellent.”

  Roxy hesitated, then smiled. “If you say so. Give your fans a wave.”

  Claude turned.

  The response was immediate. A cluster of spectators, mostly Dycordian women, erupted into shrieks. Shirts bearing his likeness and name filled the front rows. Claude raised a hand. Someone collapsed backward, and others screamed louder.

  He turned back, but Roxy was gone. Her voice returned a moment later, amplified until it rolled across the plains.

  “Goooood evening, carnies!” she called. “We’re three days into the competition, and today we’ve got another challenge for you and our Superstars. This time, it’s a race around the planet Dycord!”

  The crowd detonated into cheers.

  Roxy hovered before a massive holoview suspended fifty feet above the ground. Competitor profiles flickered to life behind her.

  “Introducing first,” she announced, “our host planet hero! Ranked second with an SRC score of 378, the Battling Priest himself, Superstar Claude!”

  Claude walked toward the marked starting area, waving casually. Beyond him, the Wild Lands stretched outward in clean, uninterrupted plains. No structures broke the horizon. Clusters of lergi trees dotted the west, their height barely rivaling the city buildings behind him.

  “Next,” Roxy continued, “from the world of Pia. An SRC ranking of 342 places her seventh, but that won’t slow down the Princess of Violence, Superstar Avia!”

  A dull flash marked Avia’s arrival. She scanned the terrain, eyes narrowing briefly at the towering beacon before locking onto Claude. She started toward him without hesitation.

  “The next contestant hails from a planet of geniuses,” Roxy said. “Despite his relaxed demeanor, he’s a sharp mind in his own right. With a star ranking of 293, placing him ninth, give it up for the Leaping Lucha, Superstar Fritz!”

  A green-scaled Preesling materialized a dozen meters behind Avia. Fritz immediately flipped into the air, waving enthusiastically. No trace of injury lingered from his recent battle with the one-armed Dagon.

  “And next,” Roxy said, “a man from Earth, carrying the will of his planet and its people. His star ranking of 258 does not reflect his chances today. It’s Superstar Kane!”

  Kane appeared in a flash, already in motion. He wore a blue-and-white tracksuit and white athletic shoes, jogging in place until he spotted Claude and Avia. In a blink, his Quickening carried him beside them.

  “What’s good?” he said.

  “The fact that I will win this race is 'what's good,” Avia said with a smirk.

  Kane cracked his neck. “Then you’d better be quick. Hey, Claude, where were you this morning?”

  “I went for a walk,” Claude said. “Prepared myself.”

  “For a race I’m going to win.”

  Claude smiled faintly. “Do not be so certain.”

  Avia snorted. “You shouldn’t be either. Your species is too soft to have real endurance.”

  “Keep talking like that,” Kane said, “and you’ll finish third.”

  Avia turned sharply, slamming her fist into her open palm. Her right ear twitched.

  “Want to skip the race and settle this now?”

  Kane raised his hands. “I barely know you. Dinner first, then we’ll talk.”

  She blinked, clearly thrown. Color rushed to her cheeks. She glanced at Claude, then past him as a tall, avian figure approached.

  “Is this a private brawl,” Koshinataa said, “or may others join?”

  Kane smirked. “Look who finally thawed.”

  “That was my Sync,” Koshinataa replied. “The real me operates above your level.”

  “Still beatable,” Avia said. “A Sync isn’t far from the Base. If it falls, so would you.”

  Koshinataa stepped closer. “I can make this race one Superstar shorter.”

  Roxy appeared instantly between them.

  “Easy,” she said. “We have fans to entertain and sponsors to satisfy. Take your places. Everyone’s present, and I’m about to explain the rules.”

  She vanished again.

  Claude moved to his assigned position and counted heads. Eight Superstars total. Fewer than expected. He knew prize money was Kane’s reason; Avia, royalty or not, raced for pride. His own reason had been even simpler. Koshinataa and the others likely chased the same thing Kane did.

  Roxy reappeared.

  “Race rules,” she announced. “Once you start, you may not stop or reverse direction. Violate that, and you’re eliminated. Leave the course boundaries, same result.”

  She lifted upward, gesturing toward the towering metal tube.

  “You must pass within five meters of each landmark beacon to register progress. Miss one, you’re out. First to reach the fourth and final beacon wins a c-chip worth one million in currency. Second place earns half a million. Third gets one hundred thousand.”

  Claude, positioned third from the right between Kane and Nor, heard the Ninshu emit a low, greedy purr.

  Avia raised a hand, pointing at Koshinataa. “Hold on. He can teleport.”

  “Power use is encouraged,” Roxy said. “But—”

  “I won’t rely on magic,” Koshinataa snapped. “I don’t need it.”

  “Superstar Koshinataa can only teleport about fifty yards at a time,” Roxy continued. “If Superstar The Dawn were participating, additional restrictions would apply.”

  “That’s useful,” Avia said.

  “Mind your tongue,” Koshinataa warned the hologram.

  “It's in the SRC, which is public,” Roxy replied.

  “She’s a Pian,” Koshinataa scoffed. “They’re too dense to read it.”

  Avia smiled coldly. “Don’t need foresight to know I’ll beat you later.”

  “Try it, stick figure.”

  “Ready?” Roxy called.

  “Not quite!”

  The voice arrived a heartbeat before its owner.

  Ramza streaked down from the sky and landed in a dramatic crouch. Viewscopes snapped toward him instantly. Ratings were guaranteed when he was around.

  “I’d like to join the festivities,” Ramza said with a bright smile.

  Roxy’s eyes widened. “A last-second entry. The Papuru galaxy’s very own Deity, Superstar Ramza!”

  Nor groaned. Kane leaned toward Claude.

  “Guess this is a race for second,” Kane muttered. “And I was planning to bet big on the battleball finals.”

  “Perhaps luck will favor us,” Claude said, nonchalant, “to match his unluck.”

  Ramza took his place next to Avia; the opposite end of Claude, settling into a runner’s stance. Muscles tensed beneath a plain white tunic and trousers. His long blond hair lifted in the breeze Claude stirred deliberately.

  Claude laughed under his breath.

  Kane heard it anyway. “What’s funny?”

  “Thinking about how enjoyable this will be.”

  “Ready,” Roxy called.

  “Set—”

  “Go!”

  PRESENT

  Child Claude sat rigid in the canoe as the Fisher finished speaking. His fishing rod remained perfectly still, mirroring the water around them.

  Then the lake rippled as Claude began bouncing in place.

  “Well?!”

  “Well what?” the Fisher asked.

  “What do you mean, well what?” Claude demanded. “Do I win?”

  The Fisher smiled faintly. “That is a story for another time. For now, let us enjoy the quiet.”

  Claude slumped back with an exaggerated sigh, the canoe rocking gently.

  The Fisher’s smile lingered.