The crowd screamed and stomped their feet, excited as a line of racers filed out of a holding area. Black Mist was surprised to see that there were some with dragons or Darklings and some on their own, though it made sense considering the ones who came out alone seemed to be able to fly on their own. The dragons were all so elegant and beautiful, and the Darklings, though they were notably smaller, glowed with their natural body decorations. Some had stars, the common designs, but very few had a moon or a particularly large sign of the night. Those were the rare ones. They were varying degrees of black.

Right beside the last one, Black Mist thought he saw a familiar girl.

"The darker ones are particularly beautiful," Numerronius commented, breaking his train of thought. "It makes their markings show better."

Gotta agree on that, Mist replied, daring not to speak aloud in case someone overheard him talking to himself. He didn't want to seem crazy.

The 96 announcer started animatedly calling out the names of the racers and their rides. Out of the twenty racers, only two of them were without a ride. When he came to the last one, the announcer cried with a flourish, "And finally, our four-time champ, Number 12!"

The crowd once again went into hysterics, screaming and cheering. Black Mist shrank away from the ones who stood up. Was this Number famous? Through the waving arms, he tried to make out Number 12's features. All he could make out was the long scarlet hair, the ashen skin, and the red and black tunic that was loose but not too much. His dragon was more prominent. It was a lush green with grass-like appendages on its head, making it look like hair. The wings were varying shades of brown, like the dirt, and it had a darker green stripe running along its side. That stripe was nearly overwhelmed by multicolored flowers. The dragon was serpentine, perfect for speed.

"Does that one catch your attention? He certainly looks agile, and his dragon seems fast. She's probably the reason why they've won four times."

Probably. 

"Now, let the race begin!" The announcer raised his arm with a flourish, and as if on cue, several hoops, vertical rods, and even blades flew in with the help of rocket propellers. They arranged themselves in such a way that even Yoru wouldn't be able to maneuver. Black Mist stared in wonder, wondering how the racers would manage to get through the tight turns made by the blades or the zig zags made by the various hoops. "Racers, take your places!"

Buzzing with excitement, the crowd settled down and quieted as the racers lined up at the start. Black Mist found himself sitting at the edge of his seat, and even Numerronius went silent, though it was a surprise he was even talking so much at all in the first place.

The announcer removed himself from the race tracks with the help of his tentacles, which hoisted him up into a booth above the bleachers. His voice then came from the speakers above them. "On your mark!" he shouted, riling everyone up again. "Get set! FLY!!"

With that cue, the racers all took off, kicking up dust from the strong downward flapping of twenty sets of wings. The crowd cheered and whistled, cheering on their favorite racers. The majority seemed to be calling out to Number 12, the four-time champion. Black Mist felt excitement bloom in his chest as if he were once again watching the territorial gang fights in his old town from the second story window. He immediately knew he wanted to come back with the children for the next race.

Almost immediately, Number 12 pulled ahead of everyone, maneuvering his dragon gracefully with the reins. He had complete control of the track while the others were struggling to catch up. Only one managed to pull up beside him, and who he saw astonished him. From where he was, it was hard to tell, but he could never forget that dark skin, those long wings, and most of all, the eyes that flashed indigo, a stark contrast to Number 12's black hole eyes. 

It's her!  The last time he saw her, he had a run in with the Cloaked Man, someone who was either chasing her down or searching for her to protect her. If he had to guess, though, he would have guessed the former. She didn't look like she wanted to be caught, and the Cloaked Man looked like he was ready to murder someone.

"Someone familiar?" Numerronius asked. 

I met her before, briefly. I don't think we exchanged names.

"You'll get the opportunity at the end of this race. It looks like she may win."

The two racers tried pulling ahead of one another. He could see the girl's mouth moving, as if coaxing her dragon, but he couldn't tell if Number 12 was doing the same thing. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. For a moment, it looked like Number 12 was going to pull through, but at the very last second, the girl raced ahead and crossed first. The crowd went silent, as if wondering how Number 12 would react.

Surprisingly, he started laughing and patted her on the back. She didn't seem very comfortable with the contact, but she seemed to endure it. As if his reaction was a cue to the audience, the crowd started cheering for the girl. Black Mist, impressed with her performance, clapped as well, though he wasn't as wild as the others even though deep inside, the monster within him wanted to go into hysterics.

After the race, Black Mist attempted to catch up with the girl with the indigo eyes. He found her with another Number, one with white wings, no shirt, pants, and goggles over his eyes. Judging from the wings on his back, he looked like a Number 44. He was gushing over both the girl and Number 12. Number 12 seemed to be used to this attention, but he was gracious about it.

"That was a fine race," he heard Number 12 say. "We will have to race again some other time."

The girl looked rather confident. "That sounds like fun. Maybe I'll even beat you next time too."

"Don't count on it," Number 12 laughed and turned to leave. "I'll see you later then, Luna. You too, Free." He turned to his dragon. "Let's go, my garden. We need to rest you up."

The dragon seemed relieved by this. "Good. I'll need it before the next race."

"Bye!" Free and Luna called as Number 12 and his dragon departed.

Black Mist hung back in the crowd and watched from afar. Luna, huh? It fits, oddly enough.

"Well, now is your chance. Go and speak with her."

But as she passed by, Black Mist found himself unwilling to speak a word to her. Instead, he pulled his hood down lower over his face and walked off back to the orphanage.