The explosion was silent inside Kaelen’s helmet. A blossom of orange and black. Hammer’s pod tumbled, a dying star. Kaelen ghosted through the debris cloud, Specter unfazed.

Kaelen didn't need to pass. He pulled alongside, inches away. Through the reinforced glass, he saw Hammer’s face—sweat, fury, and the first flicker of fear. Kaelen raised a single finger and tapped his own temple. Think, don't force.

The warehouse erupted. Not in cheers, but in a stunned, reverent silence. Then, the slow clap began.

As the pods lined up, Kaelen closed his eyes. He didn’t see the other drivers. He saw their energy signatures: hot, sputtering flames. Hammer’s was a blazing sun, all brute force. Another driver, a woman called Static, was a crackling storm. But Kaelen’s own signature? It was cool, silver, and dense. Smoke.