More Than Hope; a Promise - Part 1

More Than Hope; a Promise

At the end of that afternoon, before the GFG tests, the common lounge was warm — low voices, measured footsteps, the smell of coffee that seemed more ritual than nourishment. Ayr searched among the groups for Adual, and when he found him, he approached with something both urgent and gentle about him. There was a calm that did not belong to the rest of the place: the calm of someone who had a decision to carry out.

— I wanted to say goodbye — Ayr said, looking Adual in the eyes. — And ask you a favor.

Adual widened his eyes, surprised.

— Goodbye? Why? The GFG is tomorrow. You’ll be back afterward...

Ayr gave a sideways smile and held Adual’s hand firmly, as if transferring a little courage to him.

— I’m glad I met you. A friend from another country and another culture. — His voice was short, direct, but warm. — Do me a favor: when you get back to Fiúme, tell Annes that I am... that I am his brother. That I’m going to be the second pilot. That I’m going to dominate him — physically and psychologically. That this rivalry is personal. I have to clear my honor.

Adual remained silent for a second, processing it — half incredulous, half amused by the boy’s audacity.

— Are you serious? — he asked. — I am his second pilot, yes. But saying that... is delicate.

Ayr laughed, a short, sharp laugh without arrogance.

— Don’t worry about delicacy. You were just a test to find out who was who around here. It was too obvious — as Ron says: numbers don’t lie.

Adual smiled, caught somewhere between astonishment and admiration for someone who placed honor above fear.

— Trust me... — he began, but Ayr interrupted him with a firm, final squeeze of the hand.

— Do this for me. And don’t say it like a rival — say it like a brother. It’s scarier that way.

They both laughed, and the laughter broke what remained of the tension around them. For a moment, they were two foreigners exchanging a confidence in a territory of wasps, where every gesture was measured and every word could become ammunition.

Ayr stepped back, breathed in the atmosphere of the complex as though taking in a new world. There were promises in the air — not empty promises, but commitments laid down like stone upon stone. He turned and walked away, his thin figure disappearing with the determined stride of someone who could already imagine the sound of an engine before the machine even existed.

Adual watched until he disappeared, and for a second, what remained felt like more than a goodbye: it was a portent.

Ayr left the corridors of the complex with the posture of someone carrying destiny.

In the late-afternoon silence, he crossed the hall to the enormous floor-to-ceiling glass window and watched the starting grid in the distance.

A fine rain was falling — the kind he called “fool’s drizzle”: it doesn’t soak you, but it satisfies anyone who likes walking in the rain.

Farther away, heavy clouds gathered, streaked with flashes that lit up the sky.

Ayr stopped, took a deep breath, and almost instinctively raised his left hand, counting the seconds between the flash and the thunder.

— One. Two. Three. Four.

The sound exploded on the horizon.

Ayr gave a sideways smile.

— It struck 1,372 meters from here.

His gaze grew heavier as he pressed the small medal hanging around his neck against his chest.

On the back, carefully engraved:

“Take me to live in your dreams.”

For a moment, the corridor, the rain, and the thunder disappeared.

He remembered the briefing instructions about the GFG — tomorrow’s test.

Beside the grid, that structure rose like an omen: a colossal black marble sphere, motionless, so perfect it looked like a statue built for a new god.

Ayr felt small before it.

One word echoed in his mind:

“Jess.”

And with it came the memory of the brother he had never met, but whose existence he had always felt.

Now, by some irony of fate, they might meet — or destroy each other.

Another flash tore across the sky.

Ayr counted again, quietly, almost in a trance:

— One. Two. Three.

The thunder arrived like a roar.

When Ayr blinked, he was already inside.

The GFG surrounded him.

It was not merely a simulator — it was as if the world around him had dissolved, and the call of the thunder had pulled him into the heart of the cosmic monster that devoured dreams.

The GFG came alive.

White light flooded Ayr’s eyes.

But his mind was somewhere else.

He was no longer there.

He was in a wheat field, four years earlier, on the outskirts of the military academy, in the outskirts of Ceres. In the distance, the Tower of Mother Ceres rose solemnly near the border with Arcadia.

A fine rain was falling, the “fool’s drizzle” he loved so much.

The sixteen-year-old boy counted softly, like a ritual:

— One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight.

The thunder came low, like a cry from the gods.

Ayr smiled to himself.

— It struck 2,744 meters from here — he said without hesitation.

And then she appeared.

Jess.

Fourteen years old. One green eye, one blue. Her dark-gray uniform soaked by the rain. Wavy brown hair clinging to her face.

The other students had been dismissed when the power went out.

But not them.

— Dreaming about speed again? — she asked, with a half-smile.

— Yes... about my dreams.

— How do you know you want this? You’re only sixteen.

Ayr took a deep breath and looked toward the horizon.

— I don’t know. But it’s something I feel. It’s... inexplicable.

Jess rested her chin on his shoulder, looking in the same direction.

— “Take me to live in your dreams...” — she whispered, almost laughing, repeating the words engraved on the little medal Ayr always wore against his chest.

He turned his face.

Their lips almost touched.

— Only you, Jess...

She stepped back, watching him.

Another flash cut across the sky.

They counted together.

— One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

The thunder exploded —

and Ayr awakened.

But the sound no longer came from the sky.

It came from the GFG roaring around him.

Ron, Dan, and another engineer exchanged stunned looks in the control room.

The monitors displayed absurd numbers.

— He’s... way too calm — Dan said, almost whispering.

Ron clenched his teeth.

The telemetry indicated the impossible: Ayr was extracting grip from a simulator.

That should not have existed.

— Increase the difficulty — Ron ordered. — I want to see how far he can go.

The GFG variables were altered: less downforce, more vibration, more instability.

Ron’s “bag of cruelty.”

Ayr kept a serious, unshakable expression.

Every corner was a precise cut.

Every lap, a statement.

98%.

99%.

— He’s not taming the car... — Dan murmured, incredulous. — He’s... fused with it.

The graphs showed something only Michà had ever managed to reach — and even then, Ayr climbed 2% beyond it, into territory no one dared enter.

Inside the cockpit, Ayr closed his eyes for a second.

In his mind, the wheat field still danced in the wind.

And Jess was still there, repeating:

“Take me to live in your dreams.”

The GFG thundered again.

The sound echoed like thunder itself, and Ayr was no longer there.

He was back at the academy.

This time, on top of an armored train cutting across the horizon.

Dark clouds announced a storm.

Armored agricultural machines worked in the distance.

A flash tore across the sky.

— One. Two. Three. Four. Five...

Another lightning strike.

But this time it was far too close.

Only six meters from the tracks.

Ayr watched the bolt form all the way to the ground, as if time had slowed down.

He felt the world moving in slow motion.

The train advanced, but he had the sensation that he was running alongside the lightning.

That he was moving at its speed.

The final thunderclap threw him somewhere else.

Now he was in the dining hall.

Jess was beside him.

She pushed a piece of cake toward him.

— Want some? — she smiled. — I know you’re starving. You’re always skipping class to stay in the mechanics room tinkering with those old engines.

Ayr gave a sideways smile.

— What do you see in those engines? — Jess insisted.

He remained silent for a second, searching for the words.

— I don’t know... I just have an instinct. I take them apart, replace parts, lubricate them, put them back together... and when they finally work, it’s like...

He paused, his gaze distant.

— ...like giving birth to a child. A child made of steel. A miracle. Giving life to something that seemed dead.

Jess watched him with admiration.

— Yes... you’re a dreamer — she said, gently wiping the grease from his face.

For a moment, Ayr forgot the world.

Jess’s eyes — one blue, one green — seemed to examine him like a masterpiece waiting to be restored.

Her lips slightly parted, her soft breath, Ayr’s racing heart.

— There! — she said, laughing. — Now you’re clean. Enjoy the last piece of cake I saved just for you.

He held the cake, but could not stop looking at her.

The sound of the GFG blended with distant thunder.

Ayr returned to the present.

Close-up on his face.

His eyes were still fixed, as though he could still see Jess.

A faint smile rested at the corner of his mouth.

Ron noticed something different in the telemetry.

— Look at this — he said, almost whispering to Dan.

The lines on the monitor were... perfect.

No stress spikes.

No heart-rate variation beyond what was expected.

It was as if Ayr were... meditating at 300 kilometers per hour.

— He’s in absolute flow — Dan murmured.

— No... — Ron replied, a shiver in his voice. — This is beyond flow. He’s in sync with the car.

Ron, curious, gradually increased the difficulty in the simulator.

The GFG began transferring more load, altering brake distribution, simulating extreme tire wear.

Ayr did not react outwardly.

He simply adjusted the steering wheel, his hand steady, and continued at the same pace — now faster.

Dan’s eyes widened.

— This is impossible...

— No, Dan... — Ron smiled, almost frightened. — This is Ayr.

The telemetry reached 99.2%.

A mark even Michà had never achieved.

Inside the cockpit, Ayr took a deep breath and, for a moment, whispered something to himself, inaudible over the radio.

Ron lowered the volume, trying to hear.

Ayr, in a calm voice, repeated:

— Take me to live in your dreams.

Ron and Dan exchanged a silent look.

Something had just changed.

The boy was not merely driving — he was living the car.

And for AVEX, that was both a miracle... and a problem.

The sound of the GFG blended with the thunder.

Ayr was back in the wheat field, beneath a sky heavy with black clouds.

Flashes cut through the sky like blades.

Ayr ran.

He ran as he had never run before.

His feet sank into the wet earth, his heart pounding.

He looked back — the armored train advanced steadily, imposing, and Jess was standing on top of it.

Jess — frightened, but smiling — stood up, opened her arms, and waved to Ayr.

The wind tangled her hair.

Lightning illuminated her face.

Suddenly, a jolt.

Jess lost her balance.

She fell.

Everything slowed down.

Ayr screamed.

He ran faster, threw himself onto the tracks.

The entire world fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing.

He reached Jess.

She was bleeding, fragile, her mismatched eyes still shining.

Jess — with one last smile, almost a whisper:

— “Take me to live in your dreams...”

Ayr clutched the medal against his chest, tears mixing with the rain.

Lightning struck a few meters away.

The wheat field caught fire.

The entire sky seemed to roar.

HARD CUT TO THE PRESENT

The GFG slowed down.

The monitors beeped, signaling the end of the session.

Ayr brought the car to a stop in the center of the platform.

Silence.

He slowly removed his helmet.

Suddenly, he bent forward and vomited inside the cockpit.

The technicians rushed toward him, but Ayr raised a hand.

He did not want help.

He climbed out of the GFG alone, pale and drenched in sweat, his body trembling.

Ron and Dan remained silent.

They knew they had witnessed something beyond talent.

Ayr was not merely a driver — he was a man carrying a ghost, a promise, and a fury no simulator could contain.

The GFG gradually fell silent, exhaling a deep, almost organic hum, as if the machine itself were catching its breath.

Ayr slowly climbed out of the cockpit, helmet in hand, his expression hardened.

He walked down the corridor without looking back.

Ron and Dan remained alone in the control room.

The screens still displayed the final telemetry graphs, lines pulsing in vivid colors.

The hum of the ventilation fans was the only sound in the room.

Dan broke the silence first, his voice low, almost a whisper:

— This isn’t normal. Not even Michà can go that deep.

Ron ran a hand over his face, as if he needed to make sure he was awake.

— No... — he murmured. — This isn’t just talent. It’s something else.

Dan turned toward him, his eyes carrying a concern he rarely allowed himself to show.

— I was on the radio. He didn’t react to what I did. He didn’t react to the increased difficulty. He simply went. As if the car were an extension of him.

Ron placed both hands on the desk and remained still for several seconds.

— I know that look — he finally said, his voice more serious. — I saw it once, on Michà’s face. But Ayr... Ayr is at war.

Dan held his breath.

— At war with whom? The other drivers... or himself?

Ron looked away, toward the dark corridor where Ayr had disappeared.

The silence grew heavy between them.

— If he really is what I think he is... — Ron slowly exhaled. — We have a problem.

Or a monster.

Outside, thunder cracked across the sky, deep and distant, as if confirming Ron’s words.

Ayr left the GFG as though he had left a piece of himself behind.

Sweat ran from his neck into his soaked racing suit.

He staggered as he climbed down from the cockpit, vomited beside it, and dropped to his knees.

The doctors rushed over.

The roar of the GFG, deafening only moments before, became a distant hum.

Ayr was placed on a stretcher with quick, practiced movements.

— Normal effects — one of the doctors said calmly. — Let him rest. He’ll be better by the end of the afternoon.

Ron and Dan exchanged glances.

It was impossible to tell whether they were relieved or even more worried.

Ayr had gone beyond what they expected — perhaps beyond what even he could endure.

Michà watched in silence, arms crossed, chin slightly raised, wearing the cold expression of someone who had seen rookies shine and disappear before ever making it to their first race.

As Ayr was wheeled out of the room, barely conscious, his half-closed eyes met Lidi’s.

The impact was immediate.

She saw Ayr there, pale and vulnerable — and the past pulled her back five years.

Raika.

The name hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Raika lying on the kart track, the corner stained with rubber dust and blood.

Long strands of hair spilling from beneath the helmet, scattered across the asphalt like a shattered crown.

The fight.

The screams.

The sharp impact of the punch Lidi had thrown.

The silence afterward.

The silencer officers arriving, the two girls still provoking each other, still spitting insults.

Lidi felt her stomach twist.

Raika had never been the same again.

Neither had she.

That was when she cut her hair short — a silent penance, a cruel reminder that, deep down, she had gone too far.

The sound of the stretcher moving away brought Lidi back to the present.

Ayr was being taken to the infirmary.

It was only the beginning, but the memory burned as though it were happening now.

Raika had stormed away from the kart.

She threw her helmet to the ground so hard that the visor cracked.

Lidi did not move.

She simply placed her own helmet on the seat, crossed her arms, and raised the corner of her mouth.

— Slow. — she said coldly, in the tone she knew Raika hated.

Raika charged at her without thinking.

Team bosses shouted.

Mechanics ran.

But it was already too late.

The first exchange of punches had begun.

Raika was fire.

Explosive, unskilled, but brutally strong.

Lidi was ice.

Every punch precise.

Direct.

Without a scream.

When Raika shoved her against the protective tire barrier, Lidi twisted her body, caught her rival’s arm, and threw her onto the grass.

That was when Raika kicked desperately, striking the side of one of the team bosses trying to separate them.

— Crazy! — someone shouted. — Stop!

No one could.

Lidi landed a sharp punch to Raika’s face.

The sound was muffled, but everyone at the kart track heard it.

Raika fell onto her back, blood running from her nose, staring at the sky in stunned disbelief.

Silence descended heavily.

Even the other drivers, who had been laughing and provoking them moments before, backed away.

One of them muttered:

— Holy shit... she knocked Raika out.

The silencers arrived — federation security officers, cold and professional.

They separated the two and placed them on opposite sides of the interrogation room.

Even then, they continued provoking each other.

— You only win because you cheat. — Raika spat, her lip swollen.

— I win because you’re slow. — Lidi replied, almost smiling.

The provocations continued, low and venomous, while the team bosses tried to calm the situation.

Deep down, everyone knew: this would not end there.

The two would be rivals forever — on the track, off it, in every glance.

That was the week Lidi cut her hair short.

Not out of regret.

But as a warning.

A way of telling the world — and herself — that she would never lower her head.

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