The bordering wall of the course is some thirty lengths high. It’d be impossible to climb if not for the raised, metallic circles covering the entire surface, the help of my switch whip, and some fancy alchemy. There are eleven rows from top to bottom, and they stretch left and right as far as I can see. Each circle contains a face. Dividian faces, Ashlord faces, Longhand faces.

Thousands of fans that weren’t content with watching the government’s public cuts of the footage. They want to walk the course and follow their favorite riders. I don’t understand all the tech, but I know folks on the bottom row purchased vid packages that follow a single rider. Maybe they’re obsessed with Pippa, or a fan of mine, or viewers from the Reach. But each row up the wall gives viewers more access to more riders. I’m not surprised to see the top row filled with Ashlord faces. The only people in the Empire who can afford to pay for full access to all the riders, all the fights, all the tense moments we see every year in the Races.

Ayala explained that it’s a technological grid. Whatever that means. Apparently between the two metal barriers, the Racing Board’s got eyes and ears on everything. They miss nothing, and neither do the fans who subscribe for the extra services. Previous racers have claimed they could feel the viewers walking around. A strange, hair-raising chill in the air.

All it means to me is that people are watching. They see me now, at the edge of the course. They watched me walk my ashes here in the night and I know both fans and officials are curious. What’s the Alchemist going to do next?

The answer is simple. I plan to do what any good alchemist would do.

I’m going to make something out of nothing.

Night burns its way into dawn, and I sit beside my ashes, in the shadow of the metal barrier, staring at the faces. Are the Dividian watching me? Will they take hope from what I’m about to do? Are Father and Mother somewhere in the vast rows? Maybe on the opposite wall? I hope they didn’t waste their money, because they’ll only get half the show they wanted.

My eyes drift to that upper row. It feels appropriate to see Ashlord faces filling it. They’re so fond of putting their own kind above us. And now it just means they’ll have the best view of my rebellion. Witness me, I think. Watch as I break every one of your precious rules.

I hope the Dividian see this, too. I don’t know if what I have planned will actually change anything, but it’s a message at the very least. It is a bold cry to our rulers that not all Dividian will be made to bow and serve their purposes. We will not continue pretending. We are not small. We are not to be swept aside. Amaya was right. It’s time to outdance a few more Ashlords.

Sunlight streaks across the upper sections of the canyons back to the west. I wait to start my alchemy until the sun’s leaking across the lower plains. Instead of reaching for the cubes on the front of my utility belt, I unclip the set hidden behind my right hip. Anyone watching will know something’s wrong. Fans will flock to the Chats and shout about infractions. I just have to hope the judges won’t disqualify me before I can disqualify myself.

I glance up at the faces. Some of the eyes are focused on me now, watching curiously. I smile up at them like Farian’s filming me behind the camera. I think of him, and my family, as my rebellion begins.

“Good morning. My name’s Imelda Beru, also known as the Alchemist. I wanted to thank you for watching my recent videos, but I’ve saved the best one for last. You’ve probably seen this trick by now, but today it’s got a new name. Today it’s called the Shattering.”

I kneel down and take a healthy pinch of locust dust. I let the powder feed between my fingers and highlight the border of the ashes with a deep, tan color. Next, I take the gypsum and limestone. They pile up fine and high before I use both fingers to mix them together. Any fan of mine will know this is the Trust Fall mixture. I smile up again once I’ve added the unborn ashes.

“Now we need sunlight.”

It creeps over the ashes just thirty seconds later. I step back and admire the magic as it summons my phoenix into being. She staggers free, proud and beautiful, snorting like the world is hers to conquer. We’re of a mind today, so it doesn’t take me long to saddle her and get the straps tied right. Once I’ve got her done up, I look back at the admiring fans. More and more of them are watching me, drawn to whatever stunt I’m about to pull. It’s exactly what I wanted. I needed them to see this. I need them all to know what the Dividian are capable of doing.

“If you’re going to shatter something,” I say with a smile, “it helps to have a Hammer.”

The horse’s coat shivers with light. She takes the name and I can’t help smirking as I imagine Farian rolling his eyes at the lazy joke. But what comes next isn’t a joke.

I let the humor fade from my face before looking right into the imaginary cameras. I try to picture my features written brightly and boldly across thousands of screens. In one swift motion, I mount Hammer. She stamps her feet before accepting the prodding of my knees. I get her striding forward, parallel to the metal barrier. With a gritty determination lining each feature, I ride her as close to the wall as I can before standing in the saddle.

Every eye follows us as we make our quiet way down the edge of the course. They watch with hungry eyes as I mimic the movements I did in the video that made me famous. My feet slip the stirrups and I’m up on her back. She’s a little unsettled by the movement, but I flex my legs and leap before she can startle. It’s a short jump, but the impact shakes through my arms and legs. I hit the wall hard, but don’t drop. I keep my grip on one of the raised metal circles and get situated. There’s a flush of wind behind me. When I look back, Hammer has vanished from sight. It takes ten seconds to scurry up to the top of the wall using the circles as handholds.

At the top, the view of the Gravitas takes my breath away.

But I’m only halfway done with my trick. I remove the switch from my hip. Carefully, I squeeze the grip twice. The wood unfolds and the whip shakes out. I knot the material around the top of the barrier before lowering myself down. This side doesn’t have metal circles. Fewer places to set my feet or get a solid grip. I’m about halfway down when I see the dust rising. To the north and to the south. A pair of officials ride out from both directions. Every second matters.

I resettle my equipment, eye the drop, and let go of the switch.

Air whistles up as my body smacks back into the saddle and my hands scramble for the sudden mane and I’m laughing as Hammer comes flashing back into existence. The fans will get a final glimpse of this, and they’ll see me laughing as I escape their precious Races.

“Get, get! Let’s ride, girl!”

Dust plumes around us. I shift my utility belt, waiting until I’m beyond the sight of the course’s cameras, and then I let the precious set of black containers—full of the world’s most expensive components—fall to the ground. Hammer pushes into a gallop, making a line toward the distant mountains. The officials chase, all four in pursuit, but I know it will take them all day to catch me. And even if they do, they’ll return empty-handed. All I have to do is escape.

All I have to do is reach the mountains.

Eyes to the great, iron rises, I ride.