"That's a lot of Glim," Prak'kesh warned. "Once I hit this button, your bet's locked in. No cancellations."

Tulnik, the bookie's security guard, sensed his cue. The brawny Awoken stepped forward and crossed his arms menacingly.

The Warlock fireteam looked up at Tulnik coolly. "No problem," the Dawnblade said. "Warlocks will take it for sure this year." Prak'kesh shrugged and tapped his datapad, locking in the bet.

"Out of curiosity," he prompted, "how are you so sure? Been a few years since you lot won. You know something I don't?"

"Always did," the Stormcaller quipped. "And even more now that the Order has gotten with the times."

"The Praxics?" Prak'kesh griped. "They had me in the brig for a month over a little recreational Hive magic. Bunch of stuck-up prigs, if you ask me."

The Dawnblade narrowed her eyes. "Yes, well, those are the unfortunate public perceptions that we're trying to change."

"Now that we're allowed to use the Darkness," the Sunsinger chirped, "we're sure to win. We've been fighting with one hand behind our backs this whole time!"

"Well, good luck. And give my regards to Aunor," the bookie said with a wink. "Tell her my invitation is still open; in case she changes her mind."

"Ew," said the Sunsinger. "Gross."