Dawn bled across Valdora like a resurrection.
The city that once screamed with code and chaos now breathed in rhythm with the wind. Neon signs flickered to life again, not in fury, but in quiet reverence. Every scarred street, every shattered overpass, every burnt-out circuit whispered one name—Marcel Kade.
He stood at the edge of the Skyline Bridge, Omega behind him, silent but alive in its own way. The car's lights dimly glowed, a faint pulse like a heartbeat that refused to stop.
Rhea leaned on her RX-9 nearby, her expression softer than he'd ever seen. "You know," she said, "the city's changing again. No more Syndicate. No more Architect. The people are taking back the streets."
Marcel didn't answer at first. His eyes traced the horizon—light spilling between the towers, reflections dancing off puddles. Valdora felt different. Lighter. Free.
He finally spoke, voice quiet. "Adrian used to say the city doesn't die—it drifts. It finds a new line every time we think it's over."
Rhea smiled faintly. "Guess he was right."
He looked back at Omega. Its once-dark panels shimmered faintly in the sunlight, the embedded code now calm, no longer hungry. The Phantom Unit was no longer a weapon. It was… a relic. A story carved in speed.
Rhea took a step closer. "So, what now?"
Marcel exhaled, feeling the weight of everything—the races, the ghosts, the endless chase—fall away like burned rubber on old asphalt.He smiled, small but real. "Now? We drive."
She raised a brow. "No more wars?"
"No more wars."He paused. "Just roads."
The wind shifted, carrying the faint echo of engines in the distance. Real ones. The sound of life returning to Valdora's veins.
Rhea looked out at the skyline. "They'll talk about this night forever, you know."
Marcel laughed quietly. "Let them. I didn't do it for that."
She tilted her head. "Then why?"
He stepped toward Omega, running his hand along the hood. "Because driving's the only way I ever felt alive."
The car responded—just a low, steady hum, like it understood.
Rhea grinned. "Then let's make the city remember how it feels."
Marcel nodded. He climbed into Omega's seat, the interior bathed in warm blue light. Rhea started her RX-9, engines syncing in perfect rhythm—two heartbeats becoming one.
As the sun rose higher, the streets shimmered with color. Holograms flickered across the skyline, not of war, but of freedom. The world had changed. The drift had become something more than rebellion—it was rebirth.
Marcel pressed the ignition. Omega purred, ready.
He whispered, "For Adrian. For Valdora. For every road still waiting."
Rhea's voice came through comms, teasing. "Last one to the horizon owes dinner."
Marcel smirked. "You'll be hungry forever."
Engines roared. Tires screamed. Two streaks of color burst across the bridge—one blue, one red—twisting together into a single, endless spiral of light.
The horizon swallowed them, their trails stretching across the morning sky like twin comets.
And somewhere, in the heart of the rebuilt grid, Valdora whispered the name of its legend—"The Phantom Drifter."
The drift didn't end.It transcended.It became eternal.