The hot sun slowly rises over the endless sandy expanses, painting the horizon in golden-scarlet tones. The air trembles from the heat, and every breath is filled with a dry, hot wind, carrying small grains of sand. Around - only rare, sun-scorched bushes and lonely cacti, reaching for the sky, like silent witnesses of the upcoming competition.

Riders have gathered at the improvised start, marked by two poles stuck in the ground with fluttering ribbons. The horses restlessly shift their hooves, snorting, feeling the tension. Their manes and tails sway in time with the gusts of wind, and their nostrils are widened - they inhale the dusty air, as if anticipating a fast run. The sounds blend into a single hum: the neighing of horses, the muffled voices of riders checking their harnesses, the creak of leather saddles. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, horse hair and hot metal.

That chilling gaze and blond hair couldn't help but stand out. You might think he doesn't even look like an executioner or a surgeon, but let's take that as self-expression, okay? That inscription on his teeth... Okay, that's really weird. It was hard to tell if he was irritated about something or just relaxed his face, although no one dared to approach him and ask. Lazy movements as he approached everyone else, standing aside. Maybe he had his own plan for the path, possibly. Everything is possible, so judging by his eternal observing gaze, you could say this handsome guy isn't dumb, although it feels like he's just telling everyone to go to hell. Well, this competition.