Kovan was in deep thought, leaning against the stone counter where he was preparing their meal.

The fractal symbols that represented Tyler’s speed re-ran over his mind’s eye, over and over. Logged by Tyler himself during his practice runs over the past week, the results were rather troubling, particularly so since he found out only the night before. Seeing that the impending race was happening this very morning, it might be too late to attempt any remedy, and also too late to berate himself for his negligence.

For someone who prided in being meticulous and watchful in all matters of importance, he sure was negligent. He had thought all was well after Tyler recovered fully from the fever. Which was why last night’s checking of the counter stats – which he did more as an over-confident afterthought – alarmed him.

He really should have paid more attention, and taken care to check Tyler’s counter everyday. Small, light, and worn round the palm like a pendant, the counter was a state-of-the-art Link-ore implemented with self-pacing functions. Touch sensitive, one could simply curl their fingers inward to trigger the countdown and again to stop whenever.

That was what he gave Tyler to self-time his runs in the sprawling cracked grounds on the outskirt of the dwellings, racing over same distances as the Volcan tracks. It was a costly, yet sensible investment, freeing much of Kovan’s time to focus on the rest of his work, rather than remain on training grounds logging Tyler’s timing.

Joah was the one who dedicatedly recorded Tyler’s practice times in person, and through a twice weekly report, bore Tyler’s consistently improved timings, giving him confidence that the youth was ready for their ambition.

Comparing this and that, Kovan wondered if he should have also done the same thing, instead of just dropping Tyler off and leaving him on his own for hours before returning to pick him up.

Or, this could be the sign that he was actually pushing Tyler too hard.

The stats charting Tyler’s progress over the last six months, were proof that he was a sure bet. A slow, patient investment charted to bear fruit – so it would be most damning if his prediction turned out to be wrong.

Because he wanted to win. Needed to. But not at the expanse of someone’s life. He was most loathe to endanger someone’s life this way. However, the opportunity presented itself, stars aligned so perfectly, he knew a golden opportunity may not come his way again.

So he signed Tyler up as his torch, against Joah’s disagreeing brows and lips.

Whilst he re-evaluated the current situation, he absentmindedly turned to the hearth to stir the pot when it hiccupped in tiny bubbling sounds – a practiced motion he had long been accustomed to, having always been the one to prepare his own meals.

Despite the somewhat abysmal record over last’s week training, Kovan convinced himself that all was not lost. He turned back to the darkish, spotted stone counter that hasn’t been sanded since the day he picked it up from a thrift shop down at the Middle quadrant. A narrow shelf sat upon it, where there laid rows of stone jars and bowls filled with spices and various favouring.

He took the jar of herbs from the top shelf and grabbed a fistful, adding it to the pot. It was a must for Tyler’s morning meal before the actual race. Nutrition was everything in a sport like this. Owners who overlooked this facet and were stingy on their Torches’ diet, would eventually cause their racers to suffer. Kovan had done exhaustive research into grind games like Torch racing so he would be sufficiently prepared. He had a goal in mind, and entered such a gut-clenching, cruel game so as to reach it.

So he could hardly fathom the rather unsound decisions made by many other owners. Across all types of grind games, like aerial stunts, or bind sparring for instance – many Echelon who entered bondsmen into these life-threatening contest seemed not to care about the life they wagered. They only cared for the riches that would churn and grow, yet ironically, fail to see the well-being of their competing bondsman was a crucial factor in delivering a good performance.

Over the years, he had seen too many lives wasted, squandered by the rich folk who invested in them more for the sake of adding prestige and fame to their name than actually needing to earn back a return.

Echelon like Fenwicke, for example. It was a miracle Clement even managed to pull through every race.

On that thought, he was reminded it was about time to replenish the bondsman’s supply of sustenance. It would be a bit of a hassle without Joah to help him, but he would find a way. He filed the task to the corner of his mind that swum alongside dozens of important things to do.

Returning to matters concerning his own bondsman, Kovan allayed his worries by telling himself it was still early in the game. Even if Tyler underperformed, he would still catch up if he pulled up in the following one. What was important was Tyler coming out unscathed.

Kovan could barely keep his heart from bursting out his ribcage when he saw his Torch swallowed by fire, not once, but twice on the race grounds. He could hardly imagine the sort of luck Tyler was blessed with. Or the sort of foolish bravado.

To run into fire to save a competitor – it was as shocking as it was heroic. Yet he should not have expected anything less of him, going by the history Kovan had witnessed for himself.

He knew from word on the street that the stunt was talked about vivaciously. Yet he could not enjoy the publicity, being more frightened by the close shave Tyler experienced. It was equal parts luck and skilful speed that saved his skin. That at least gave some confidence that Tyler had the means to escape a fiery torrent.

However, just to be sure, he scooped another fistful of the herb and dropped it into the pot, idly watching the leaves fluttering without hesitation into the boiling soup.

“What’s that?”

Kovan held his shoulders dead firm against the startle that made his heart skip.

“For favouring,” he threw over his shoulders to the slightly shorter young man.

“Oh, great,” Tyler chirped, then dunked his hand into the jar, retracting with a fistful and swinging over quickly.

“No don’t!” Kovan stopped him, pushing against his fist, “I’ve added more than enough. You’ll overdo it.”

“Oh, fine,” Tyler gave him a rather puzzled look, “Don’t have to over-react though.”

The burgundy-haired man shrugged, then settled down over by the hearth, legs crossing and fingers drumming his kneecaps, a cheery hum echoing within his throat.

Kovan relaxed, glad he didn’t have to deal with an opposing Tyler this morning. The young man could be quite difficult at times, temper swinging sporadically at polar opposites like the mood of the desert between night and day.

He had taken Joah’s accounts with a pinch of salt, unable to fully digest the spirited nature his astute assistant had painted of his Torch. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Joah’s observation. It was just hard to wrap his head around a State child who could grow up being nothing but meek, frighteningly obedient, and without a bone of defence or pride.

Until Tyler slept under the same roof, and he saw, stirring beneath his quiet, unassuming manner was a smouldering gaze that crouched like burning ambers on soot and dirt, ready to spring to full flashes of vivaciousness at any moment.

Kovan never had anyone put him at such caution before, right in his own home. Especially in their first week of cohabitation. He always felt Tyler’s cautionary stare, eyes squinting at him like a high and mighty prey would of a predator which invaded its space and was deciding if it could actually best the marauder.

Where he was so adept at switching masks, Kovan was suddenly at lost on the best face to put forward. He was only apt enough to return cold, suspicious stares whilst he figured out his approach. Then he realized since he never had a bondsmen before, he was unsure how to handle him, unease suffocating him as much as the title of ‘Owner’ did.

Their tensed interactions gradually improved after he changed how he looked at Tyler – more as a freeman under his employ rather than a man in debt. It was easier to see Tyler that way since anyway, the young man acted more like he had grown up as a freeman from the Lower quadrant rather than as a subdued child of State.

He mused to himself on the rare person Tyler was. He could see it in the upright posture Tyler carried himself, head held high, indignant and proud, even whilst his eyes swirled with nervousness during times where they both knew he had overstepped his bounds.

Not to mention his feisty tongue – so daring in opposing him. Even if it was over little matters and done so on a whim, usually whipping back and forth in inconsequential banters, it exposed the head strong character Tyler struggled to keep inside.

It was almost godsend that they be paired up together, because no other Echelon would tolerate a sharp tongued bondsman like Tyler, and Kovan would surely be vexed and in utter dissatisfaction to have a mute wall without opinion for a companion.