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The summer’s too hot. Sweat and moisture cling onto their clothes. It’s even more so when Ren and False lock themselves in the stuffy workshop to work on their glider Falsewell. They rummage in their scrap piles to find materials they need. False brings the Exterra magazines and together they work out the diagrams. There’s a river running through their ravine, it bubbles cheerfully and provides a much needed respite from the heat.
“Meet me behind the mall” is False’s message to Ren. After school she hurries to the mall to find Ren. They leisurely visit every shop, try on the most ridiculous sunglasses, and perch on those cushy round stools as they sip their sodas. They’re not old enough to get alcohol but Ren finds them some anyway (he’s good at finding things, at least when he puts his mind to it). False visits the library to pick up the latest magazines and thick books on the history of Exterra 1. Together they sneak into dumps to fetch parts. It’s thrilling, two teens rebelling under the cover of the sleepless night.
The summer’s so long, yet it slips away.
The night is still. False swears she can feel time moving, slow and sluggish.
There’s a heat wave and it’s the talk of the town because it doesn’t happen often. The fan in False’s room whirls. She’s lying on her bed, sheets dampened with sweat. Her hair is messily pulled into a ponytail, stray strands sticking onto her neck and collarbone. False closes her eyes but her mind is alive.
Boring, so boring. False swears she needs a better life. She wants something outside of stupid rich people gatherings and stuffy professors at school and the disapproving glares of her parents. She thinks of the ConCorp Exterra magazines under her bed, then her racer outfit stuffed in her closet. At least she shares a life with Ren. Too bad she has to keep it a secret for now.
Tonight, she wishes she can run to the ravine where they hide their ship. The rocks will scrape her, but she just wants to feel the coolness of the grass on her bare feet. That place is their sanctuary, lush leaves and overgrown vegetation, yet patches of sky are clearly visible. False dreams of it, she dreams of the sky, of the taste of freedom, of flying with Ren.
False turns. She sees her own sweaty reflection in the mirror and scowls. All she sees is a helpless, frustrated teenager. Her heart thumps, agitated. Some day, she and Ren will participate in a real, legal race, and maybe they’ll get into Exterra qualifications, and they’ll enjoy their moment of glory. But for now, they’ll have to work around False’s school schedule and Ren’s part-time jobs, snatching and stealing moments just so they can breathe in this suffocating atmosphere.
Then she hears something in tune with her heartbeat. A knock on the window.
False’s blonde hair is in two prim and proper braids when she goes to school. She can’t wait till school ends, and then she can tear off the blouse sticking to her skin and don her racing gear.
She hears whispers. Then scandalized gasps. False turns, her blue eyes cool and unbothered.
“Oh my Pearl, False, is it true that you’re hanging out with that homeless mutt? And that- that he sneaked into your room last night?!”
“Mind your own business,” False says curtly. She spins, takes out her tablet, and stares steadfastly at the clock mounted on the classroom wall.
The day passes slowly, like an ice cube apathetically dissolving in her drink on a hot summer’s afternoon. False idly stares at the clouds moving past the sky. She just wants to be out there, riding the wind, letting the hot air envelope her, the whistling of the wind chasing away the mundanities of daily life.
She has fantasies of Ren coming along with his glider to pick her up, and she’ll cheer and put up her middle finger to all those who laugh at her. He’ll swoop in the courtyard, throw down the rungs of a ladder, she’ll climb and he’ll whisk her away, and they’ll race off into the night without a care in the world.
Once the last bell chimes, False runs away. Ren picks her up at their street and she breaks into a smile the first time all day. She quickly changes, sheds her old skin, and finally, finally becomes a racer again. She lets her hair fall out from her braids and she applies face paint. Ren’s large paws brush through her hair and he ties it up in a ponytail with a bandana.
“Falsie, ready to kick some butt?”
“I’ve literally been waiting for this all day,” False declares. She inspects her reflection and smiles when she’s satisfied. Her blood pulses hotly in her ear, and her fingers itch for her guns. She turns. “Ooh, Ren, your face paint is smudged.”
Ren sits obediently in his pilot’s seat as False fixes it, fingers stained with orange and blue. They’re a ragtag duo, their ship is made from scraps, and it’s a tough life but they love every second of it.
They stare at their reflections on the shiny surface of their ship to make sure they match. Ren throws an arm around False’s shoulder and grins.
“One day, we’ll be kings and queens,” he promises. “The two of us will be the stars lighting up the galaxy!”
Ren’s all dramatic and idealistic, but False can’t help but be affected by his optimism. She climbs into her gunner’s seat and stretches her hand for a fist bump.
“See you at the finish line!” Ren booms, an excited smile on his face. “The two of us, to the end!”
“See you!”
And it’s lights out and away they go. Ren makes the sharp twists and False nails every one of her shots. The crowd screams for them and False fires again and again. It feels like explosions, fireworks, supernovas, it feels like everything.
“YESSS BABY!” Ren screeches in delight. The lights blur into one as they fly past. False watches as they’re painted in neon pink, then orange, then blue. False grins, readies her gun, and blows a kiss to their adoring fans.
Now this.
This is what living feels like.
It’s a hell of a race. The racing industry is full of corruption and race control never treats them equally, but this is worse than they expected. Mac and Berstappen’s terraglider crashes into Falsewell and they veer dangerously off course, with Ren fighting for his life in his pilot’s seat. Falsewell spins, turns upside down, then right side up. There’s a sickening crunch. False is furiously muttering under her breath (but stops herself from swearing in case their radio gets leaked). HBomb is naturally terrified and instantly demands for them to speak.
“We’re fine!” Ren yells into their comms.
False looks. “Ren, you’re bleeding!” she yells.
“Fucking hell,” Fruit’s voice sounds from the radio. “Fuck you, Mac.”
Ren wrestles with the controls, False wrestles with the guns, and they manage to pull themselves past the finish line. Somehow, despite the crash and Ren bleeding, they pull through and get first. The crowd screams in utter delight as Falsewell finds a miracle of an opening and shoots through four ships, smoothly going from fifth to first. HBomb’s hollering at the race officials and sending medics to the glider.
It’s a mess. Everyone knows Mac did that intentionally and apparently his gunner Berstappen is arguing with him. Race officials are divided, the crowd’s rioting, and all the staff are running amok. Ren steps out of the ship and a gasp ripples through the crowd. Ren’s composure is steely, his eyes are murderous, and there’s a huge bleeding gash on his forehead. Bright red blood runs down his face.
His partner False doesn’t seem to be fazed by Ren. It’s a head wound so it bleeds a lot, and it’s not as dangerous as it looks. They’re both more furious at the unfair treatment than the actual danger, so with hot blood splattering their skins and clothes, they look like a vengeful duo ready to set the place on fire.
Ren’s still bleeding when the golden crown settles on his head. Their eyes still blazing, False and Ren find each other’s hands and hold up their blood-stained trophy for all to see. It makes for a sensational story and the media gobbles it up.
This is where Ren gains his famous Red King moniker.
There’s just something about his cold glare, how the usual docile racer looks uncharacteristically furious, and how unaffected he is by his own blood. And he’s paired with the ruthless Queen of Hearts, arguably the best rising gunner of her generation. Red on gold, red splattering gold.
The Red King. The Queen of Hearts. Monarchs of Exterra.
And now—
They’ve entered their golden age. This is their wild summer, their prime. They’re unstoppable, unbeatable, immortal.
The bloodlust of the duo is clear even through screens. Martyn frowns and peers at the tiny television. “Wow, I don’t really give a damn about Exterra but these two look hella cool.”
Martyn focuses on the Lumian woman in particular. It’s always nice to see someone of his own species succeeding, especially when Exterra 1 is a male-dominated sport. She’s pretty, with red freckles and a glare that can cut him in half. She has insane reflexes and aim; there’s a very good reason why she’s called the Queen of Hearts. And then there’s the Red King, he supposes, with his silly sunglasses and silly smile.
Ugh. Celebrities. So untouchable.
Martyn thinks about those two. He snorts, and his blue freckles glow a little brighter.
(“Martyn, what do you mean you preferred Falsie over me?! I-I mean she’s cool, but so am I! Geez!”
“Yeah, but it’s the Queen of Hearts? How can I not?”
Martyn later regrets the choice his younger self made. He regrets it very, very much.)
It’s a cold night when Martyn comes home. The sky is sleepy, Martyn’s sleepy, but something subtly gestures him to one of the stars.
“What the hell?” Martyn mumbles, but chooses to look anyway. He doesn’t doubt the goddess Tsuki’s will.
There’s a sole star glinting in the sky. It looks lonely and out of place, like it strayed from orbit. Martyn frowns at it. Then he gasps—
Because it’s not a star after all.
Martyn rushes to his own little ship and sets off. His frozen palms land on the metal controllers and Martyn jerks them furiously.
And that’s how he meets Ren, alone in his cold freighter, steel walls and steel floors. There’s no one to light a fire with, no one to share the heat with.
They shake hands. Ren’s hand is even colder than Martyn’s. Martyn takes note of it.
It’s a summer’s day.
Ren stares down at his arm. He feels False lean on it. And then she abruptly stands up.
“Sorry, I have to go.”
“Oh.” Ren is disappointed, but he’s understanding. It feels like someone yanked his safety blanket from him. “Well. Umm. See you soon.”
False turns. Her freckles and her lips are the colour of cherries. She smiles, and it’s a rare, soft side of her that she never shows when she’s racing.
“See you,” she says, and then she’s gone, leaving Ren behind. It’s almost like she evaporated into thin air.
Ren sits at their ravine for some time. The clouds go by slowly. The area is quiet, too quiet.
… He misses her already.
Martyn laughs bitterly. It’s a horrible sound, and Ren winces. Martyn stares at the guns that’s tailor-made for him.
“That’s my problem, isn’t it?” Martyn spits out, jealousy creeping over his heart like frost.
Ren gulps, almost a silent call for Martyn to not—
“I’m not her.”
Their terraglider is spinning in a horrible blizzard. Ren grits his teeth and asks for his gunner Martyn to hold on. Martyn’s teeth are chattering in the cold and his skin’s turning blue. Oh for Tsuki’s sake, why does their debut race have to be in a snowstorm?
But Ren’s words encourage Martyn and he struggles till the bitter end. The ice eats at him and his resolve but he focuses on Ren, Ren, because that man is so kind and gentle and Martyn can’t help it.
They can barely see anything outside due to the snow. Frost crystals creep over the glass, fracturing their vision. The wind howls outside and Martyn has to yell at Ren for help. After all, he’s the inexperienced one here. The white snow wipes everything out, burying it all, and they’re almost crushed and silenced by it.
Ren and Etho are furiously talking on their team radio and Martyn’s focus feels shattered. To ground himself, he thinks about the cold nights at the freighter, and then Ren’s warm grin, the feeling of Ren’s hand on his. There’s so much they talked about, their past, Ren’s history as the Red King, flying school, and their dreams of moving forward.
(Some time ago, the first snow falls and lands on Ren’s nose. He sneezes. Martyn laughs.)
Ren, ever the brave pilot, emerges from the blizzard like a phoenix reborn, and he pulls Martyn out of it too. It’s a furious race to the finish line, not with the other ships, but with the cruel force known as nature. Now Martyn understands what Ren was on about; it does feel like wrestling. Their hearts thump in tune, they somehow decipher each other’s panicked yelling, and it truly feels like they’re in sync. The pilot and the gunner, working in tandem. Despite the circumstances, Martyn can’t help but give a wicked smile.
It’s the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It’s the partnership between two people. The excitement, the freedom, the thrill. This is what he’s living for.
They cross the finish line first, but it’s snowing so much that they don’t really see it. No one really knows what’s going on until Ren opens the door and steps out of the terraglider. His footsteps feel particularly heavy.
This is what the audience sees: endless white, the snow erasing everything in a race gone wrong, and then the shadow of a figure. A gust of wind blows away the snow, and they see a familiar face. There’s an uproar, but they’re disbelieving. “Is that the Red King? But I thought… years ago…”
Ren reveals himself. He’s dressed in red and black, years older, years wiser, and back like a phoenix from the ashes. There’s the same old fire alive in his eyes. A race official nearly faints. Ren then turns to Martyn, who’s a little stunned with the attention.
“Come on, my Hand,” Ren calls out, so steely and calm, and Martyn has to do a double take. His heart is racing, and despite the cold, Martyn’s cheeks are flushed.
Martyn’s hand is in Ren’s. They find each other so naturally. Martyn touches Ren’s cold prosthetic hand and their fingers intertwine.
It’s during a cold spell when Ren makes his dramatic comeback to the Exterra world, Martyn by his side. They raise their intertwined hands for everyone to see. Ren’s eyes meet Martyn’s, proud and unflinching, and their gazes linger for far too long. Martyn swallows. It’s so intense, but neither of them shy away.
“THE RED KING RISES TONIGHT!”
The cheers of the crowd are almost deafening. Martyn watches Ren carefully. There are frozen trails of tears on his cheeks and Martyn can’t help but brush them away. Ren looks a little scared, but he’s back in his element, and this is where he dominates. Ren’s natural charisma is shining through and Martyn’s in awe.
“Red Winter is coming!!” Martyn spontaneously announces, and Ren grins and echoes his words.
And thus a new legend is born, the Red King reborn with his Hand by his side. It’s a long and harsh winter, but they break through it. Amidst the rumours and conspiracies and death threats, Ren and Martyn live on, hand in hand.
The Dogwarts freighter is parked for a few days due to the snowstorm. Its tough walls means it can bear the storm well, and the fixed central heating system should make everyone comfortable enough.
Martyn’s sitting on his bed, watching the snowflakes flurry outside his window. His eyes idly trace their chaotic routes. There’s a faint buzzing from the heater. Martyn places his hand on the window and feels the sheer cold emanating from the outside. His hand is just a pale tinge of blue. Martyn gazes at his own solemn reflection. The days are slow and cold, and it feels like the entire crew is settling in for hibernation, giving them plenty of space and time.
These days, sometimes all he thinks about is Ren.
Ren’s impressed look when Martyn hits all of his shots. The natural way they banter and chat for hours and hours. How the luminous stars reflect in Ren’s eyes during those precious nights.
But Martyn knows Ren has enough issues on his own, enough problems to unravel. His past has caught up with him while he’s chasing the future with Martyn. And Martyn doesn’t want to force Ren to make a decision when he’s not ready, and he doesn’t want Ren to lose him too.
The cold is too much to bear alone. Martyn gets up and goes to find Ren.
“I got us dessert,” Martyn announces to the Dogwarts crew, and everyone cheers. He winks. “It’s fried ice cream! Lumian speciality!”
The crew leans closer to take a look. They’re scoops of ice cream coated in fried bread crumbs, drizzled with berry syrup and shimmering flakes of sugar to counter the bittersweetness of the berries.
Ren’s ears instantly perk up. “Ooh! Ice cream! Just the thing I was looking for!” Without a pause, he opens his mouth and instantly eats half a scoop.
Martyn’s already laughing. “Ren—”
“Ack!” Ren sticks his tongue out, a flush on his face. He instantly starts fanning his burned tongue. “W-why is this hot—”
“It just came out of the fryer,” Etho comments nonchalantly.
“Ice cream isn’t supposed to be hot, dude!”
Martyn digs his spoon into his scoop and offers Ren some of the ice cream. “Aww you big puppy, never had fried ice cream in your life?” he teases.
Ren looks grumpy but accepts Martyn’s spoonful of ice cream. “I mean!” he begins crossly, “I haven’t eaten a lot of proper Lumian food, and— ohh, this is good.”
The ice cream soothes his tongue, the coldness and warmth alternating in his mouth. The syrup adds a slightly bitter tang, but the sugar flakes quickly dissolve and neutralizes it. It tastes like stars in his mouth, a swirl of sugar and distinctive Lumian flavours.
“Like it?”
Ren turns to look at Martyn. Martyn’s waiting expectantly for an answer, but all Ren’s focusing on is the icy blue glow of his freckles and the melted ice cream on the corner of his lips, not enough for it to dribble, but enough to—
Ren swallows. The ice cream slides sweetly down his throat.
“Yeah, I like it.”
The pain feels hot, False remembers, with the needles stuck in her arm, with her as the willing sacrifice. Ren looks deathly concerned but she tries to put on a brave front for him. It feels like her veins are on fire, her nerves charred from burning, and she bits her pale lip so much she draws blood. She grits her teeth and sweat rolls down her forehead.
“It’s worth it,” she mumbles to herself again and again like a feverish mantra. “He’s worth it.”
She gets permanent scars on her arm but Ren gets his tattoo and her love and everything’s alright in the end. They continue to race and they continue to win and the crowds adore them. The Red King and the Queen of Hearts, lifelong partners, living legends of Exterra.
But wait.
The pain feels hot.
Now False remembers.
The tension’s too much, yet it’s too little at the same time. All the casual hand brushes, all the stolen glances. It all cumulates to this moment.
Martyn pushes Ren against a wall, his heart an erratic staccato. Their fingers are cold and numb but Martyn feels Ren anyway. Martyn grabs Ren in his desperate desire, both of them spinning in a blizzard. Their lips meet—
And Ren thinks it’s an explosion, or a supernova, of colour and heat. His breath hitches. It doesn’t feel like he’s in control. He tries to lift his arm, but—
Martyn holds it down, holds onto everything he can touch, because this is Ren and if he has to wait a moment longer he’ll go insane. The cold spell shuts down his inhibitions, his fears, his jealousy, and all that’s left is his yearning. The two are intertwined, fingers locking, eyes rolling back—
—desperately seeking out the sky, vision blurring, a silent, screaming plea of,
“I love you I love you I love you so.”
“Stay.”
Ren thinks he sees red. His favourite shade of red.
This is nice. He likes this.
Martyn and Ren are both flushed, their shared warmth melting down the walls they built up. They can’t help but giggle. Ren stretches out a hand and tenderly cups Martyn’s cheek, now blotchy with red. His lips part.
“It’s you and me to the end.”
“Always,” Martyn vows, his eyes intense and unwavering. Ren steadily meets his gaze. They’re the gunner and his pilot, old and new stars of Exterra, racing across the finish line, hand in hand. A vow etched in blood, in the fierce cold, in whispered promises and long nights under the stars, in hugs that linger and the brush of metal against skin, reawakened dreams and chasing away ghosts that haunt them. They’re soaring through the sky, screaming and whooping, wind in Ren’s fur, Martyn’s there, he remembers it well.
And then they’re back on their ravine, arms barely brushing, the setting sun illuminating their faces. The grass tickles. Ren sneezes. False frowns and picks at her clothes.
“I’ve got grass stains again. Got to wash them out in my room.”
“Sorry?” Ren says even though it’s not really his fault.
They join race after race, they fly under the street lights, and yet their summer is slow moving. It feels like everything is happening at the same time. They’re stuck in a limbo of unquiet nights, neon lights reflected on the asphalt, lukewarm sodas left in the sun, perspiration on cans of coffee, moments in their secret ravine, alive but deliriously so, living the beginning of their dreams in a big city that’s somehow too small for them.
Martyn’s annoyed. It’s the dead of the night, the Dogwarts freighter is silent and cold, but the engine chugs on. Martyn’s wide awake.
He spares a glance at Ren. He’s sleeping on the couch, snoring slightly. Martyn gives a faint grin, walks to Ren, and pulls the blanket over him.
“I’ll protect you,” Martyn promises to himself. His freckles glow brighter in the dark.
He turns to look at their board. Photos and posters are pinned all over it, times and coordinates scribbled on memos. Martyn sees himself and Ren smiling, with the caption “RK AND HIS HAND WINS AGAIN!”. The Dogwarts crew are next to them, Skizz and Big B and Impulse, and the cryptid Etho is blurred in the photo as always. Next to it is a photo of Ren’s Bats, placed there at his request. It’s a little faded, but the Bats' smiles are wide and innocent. And then there’s Ren’s wanted poster (they never get his features correctly, but the entire galaxy knows what the Red King looks like). Martyn feels sick just by looking at the sum of money. Martyn moves past the wanted poster to a photo of his arch nemesis. His eyes narrow.
Ah. It’s their sinister blue stalker.
They’re mysterious. And terrifying. They’re faceless, voiceless, but the way they move is almost human. They seem to always know where the Dogwarts crew are. Ren thinks they’re a mimic, or a ghost, or an android. Ren has nightmares and wakes up screaming. Martyn knows Ren dreams of graves and broken hearts and corpses of his loved ones.
Somehow Martyn feels this is his fault. This is what he gets for not being smart enough to get an advantage in this cat and mouse chase.
“I’ll get you one day,” Martyn mumbles to no one, his voice echoing in the slumbering ship.
(Scribbled on the back of a “WANTED” poster of the Red King.)
Hey, Ren.
I think I’m messing it all up. You’re in danger because of me. This cat and mouse chase has gone on for too long and I want to end it. But every time I try to do so, the chance slips out of my fingers. But at least you’re smarter than I am. I can’t make you happy, but you’ll be safe.
I’m sorry for being selfish.
I’m sorry for foolishly appointing myself as your protector.
The crew thinks I’m going insane. Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve long been insane. I don’t even know anymore. But I just can’t give up. Is this bad of me?
You can hate me and I won’t fault you for that.
If you’re reading this letter (along with all the other letters), it means I’ve succeeded.
Until then, see you.
Yours truly.
”You gave up on me,” False says one afternoon. For this planet they’re on, the sun sets every eight hours. It’s a quick cycle of light and darkness, heat and cold. False’s face is hidden by shadows, but he sees the glimmer of her freckles and the curve of her faint cherry lips. Her tone is deceivingly light and teasing, but Ren knows better.
He reaches out for the bandaged wound on her head, gentle and remorseful. She doesn’t turn away. It’s his unspoken apology.
Martyn looks at the scene. He’s the only one holding their shared trophy. The crowd is shouting, his Dogwarts crew is hollering in excitement, but Martyn feels numb to it all. He’s frozen. His lips part in the shape of Ren’s name, but no sound comes out.
So he runs.
Years and years ago, False feels a stare. It sets off hot pinpricks on the back of her neck. Instantly on guard, she turns around.
There’s a stranger her age, barely an adult, with brown fur, a sheepish expression, and bright eyes that remind her of stars.
Some time after that, Martyn looks up. A stray star is falling into the palm of his freezing hand.
He catches him.
A long time after that, Ren sits there, reborn again, red and blue ink permanently etched into his scarred skin. There’s an exhausted smile on his face, and he vows,
“I’m not letting any of you go again.”