It began accidentally, well as accidentally as these things can. They were always the last to leave the training centre at night. Some days, if Reggie was on duty, the peacekeeper would let them stay just a little while longer.
She didn't want to leave because without her knives she felt weak. She was small, but strong for her size but that meant little when it came to fighting people twice her size. The plunk of knives in targets became her favourite sound from the first day she had been allowed to tour as a potential career.
As a class all the ten year olds were taken to the centre in preparation for the next year when the newest careers would be selected. Even back then she was incredibly tiny and no one really expected her to be called back for a trial in the next year's batch.
Her parents had been disappointed at her size, knowing that she would never make it. But they tried hard to mask their disappointment. Still, she knew it, the disappointed sighs when the notch on the doorframe didn't change or the small comments like 'his parents must be proud' as they walked past a career in the street. She didn't want to be a disappointment. She wanted them to be proud of their only child.
When she saw the tall, blonde girl throwing the knives at the dummies she was inspired. Not by the girl, but by the knives. They were small but they were deadly and cunning, just like her. The class was ushered onto the next station but she slipped away. She wanted to watch the knives. Sure, she had seen them in the games, clumsy throws or swift slices but she had never seen them look so deadly. Each dummy held a knife or two. They stood proudly in the target as if to say that that they were the powerful ones, not the person behind it.
As the blonde turned to leave she hid behind a crate, waiting until she was all alone to come out from her hiding place. She knew that she should have gone to find her class but the silver knives were calling to her. She was only going to look, she had told herself but when her pale hand reached out to feel the smooth handle she couldn't resist plucking it from the dummy's torso.
Turning it over in her hands made her feel strong, it made her feel powerful. She admired the power of the blade. She carefully ran a finger over the sharp edge and around the gleaming point of the knife.
She unconsciously took a few small steps back and drew her arm, imitating the girl she had seen before. Locking her green eyes on the target sewn onto the fabric of the dummy she released the knife clumsily. It sailed through the air and landed in the soft body, to the far left of the target.
She heard a scoff from behind her and she spun around, an apology already forming on her tongue. It died when she realised that it was just another kid.
'You aren't supposed to be here,' he said as he raked his eyes down her small body. 'And from the looks of you, and your aim, you never will be. So run along shrimp before you get in trouble.'
She knew exactly who he was. Cato Scott, both his parents were victors and everyone knew that he would be one too. Even at fourteen he was large for his age, and according to all reports, all the legacy kids were gossiped about in Two, he had done fantastically in his first three years at the centre. Despite knowing that he could crush her without breaking a sweat she could not step back after he took a dig at her size. 'Yeah well, you won't last two minutes when you go to the games. You're all brawn and no brains.'
'And you wouldn't last two seconds,' he sneered at her. 'You're short, weak and have no aim.'
'At least I have brains.'
'Doesn't seem like it, shrimp.'
She didn't bother to respond, instead she just spun around to face the dummy once again, trying not to grimace when her long black ponytail whipped her face. She extracted the knife and walked backwards, determined to prove him wrong.
'You need to relax more.' He said. 'If you're too stiff you won't move well and then the throw will go astray.'
'Don't tell me what to do,' she spat back at him. Despite her anger she tried to force her body to relax like he had said.
She took a deep breath and tried to visualise the ark of the knife in her head. She was smart and intuitive, something that made up for her stature. So on her second try she managed to hit the target, it wasn't the bullseye, but it was close.
She turned back to Cato who had leant against a bench behind her, a cocky smirk on her lips. 'Now that wasn't too bad for my second try, was it?'
'Sure, but you don't get a second try in the games.' He stood up straight again, strutting towards her. 'You get one shot, if you don't make it you lose. And the consequences of losing, are death. Do you think you can handle it, shrimp?'
'I can handle anything.' She said nervously as a shiver travelled up her spine. He was intimidating for sure. Looming over her she could tell that his strength was more than enough to beat her and that was all that stopped her from getting upset that he had called her shrimp yet again.
He smirked when she began walking backwards, but he kept walking towards her. He was enjoying the fear in her eyes, but he wanted to find out if there was something else hidden in there. He wanted to see if she had the sign of a true victor, he was searching for fight.
As her back collided with a dummy she had to bite her tongue so that she didn't whimper. She was from District Two. She did not show fear. The cold metal of the knife touched her arm and as without a seconds thought she reached up and pulled it out, pointing it at the large boy menacingly. Her voice was low and as strong as she could make it, 'I don't know what you are doing but if you try to hurt me I will kill you.'
He chuckled and backed away with a smirk. She was a fighter. She could make it in this place if she was willing to try her hardest. He couldn't give her the satisfaction of winning the fight though, which would go against everything he was. 'No you wouldn't. You are just a little girl, you wouldn't be able to hurt me if you tried.'
'I wouldn't be sure about that.' She said, taking a step towards him this time, the knife still raised to attack.
He didn't move, he wasn't as sure as he pretended to be. Now that he had incited the spark of strength it was quickly turning into an uncontrollable blaze. 'You better put that knife down. I'm not going to hurt you, it would be too easy. I need a challenge.'
She rolled her eyes and lowered her arm, but the knife was still being held in a death grip. The fear he had formed in her heart was gone, it fled as soon as her hand closed around the handle and she didn't want it to return.
'Clove,' Mr Doublure, her teacher, barked from the observation room. 'You better get back here right now. You were told to stay with the group. Hurry up.'
Mr Doublure moved into the next room, with another instruction to catch up before she was stuck cleaning the whole school for the next month. She moved around him quickly, carefully putting the knife into her pocket, the blade resting in the palm of her hand.
'You shouldn't take that.' He said in a hushed voice.
She turned to face him, 'I'll take my chances.'
He smiled, he liked her. She was stronger than she looked and he knew that in a few years she would be as deadly as him. A girl of her size was going to have to prove every day just how strong she was to stay in this place, but from what he had seen, she would do just that.
The next time they met she was on her trial. He never told her but he had been the one to tell his instructors about her, he told them that he knew her from town and that she was a fighter. Without his help she never would have made it there.
In the line-up of potentials she looked even smaller. The rest were broad and tall, each carrying the arrogance that was seen in every career.
This day was the best part of the year for the careers, the current students all got a chance to watch the potentials try out. They would sit and laugh at the ones that cracked under pressure or admire the kids that made it to the next round with ease.
His fellow students were sceptical as they watched the eleven year olds lined up on one wall. Only twenty of them would be selected from the sixty or so that were there. It was a tough competition but one that would prove to be very fruitful if they succeeded.
A few were laughing at the small girl who lounged against the wall. Someone wondered aloud how the hell she made it to the trials and a few obscene suggestions were thrown around. He kept quiet, he knew that she would do well.
They locked eyes and she reached into her pocket, lifting an eyebrow so slightly that no one but Cato would notice. She pulled her hand back and he could see a sliver of silver. He smirked and looked away, it wouldn't do him any good to be associated with a potential.
They watched the kids move through the course. They had five minutes to prove themselves using all the tools in the room. There were stations to show their brute strength, their speed, aim, anything that could possibly save their lives in the games. After watching four years' worth of tryouts he could tell which ones would pass onto the next round.
When she walked in there were a few scoffs and quite a few laughs in the observation room. He watched her closely, knowing that she could do this. She would be ready, she had insinuated as much, at least to him, by showing that knife. She had been practicing but he knew that she had to be perfect for the instructors to even consider her for the next round.
He had no idea why he was so worried for her. It wasn't like he knew her. After their first meeting they hadn't spoken again, they had walked past each other in the street but never bothered to make conversation. For some reason though he wanted her to be there, he wanted to see her light up again and be the fighter that he saw on her visit.
As she threw knife after knife, each one landing exactly in the centre of each target, he had no idea why he was worried. She had been practicing, and it showed. There were hums of astonishment around him and the instructor he had spoken about her gave him a nod. She was good.
The next round was his favourite. The potentials were faced with a current student and they had to fight. If the potential won, they made it through. If the potential lost, they were evaluated to determine if they could be groomed into a career to fill any remaining spots.
It was his first year to be in the fight, they usually liked to challenge the potentials with fifth years. Half because they could then truly show their worth and partially because they wanted to see how they stood up to fear. He was only in his fourth year but they had given him the opportunity because he was more menacing than half of the fifth years put together.
Inside the slightly padded white room was a collection of weapons, each fighter would pick one and then the rest would be taken away. He selected the sword and waited for his opponent to arrive.
When she walked through the door, her ponytail replaced with a tight bun, he froze. He didn't want to fight her. It wasn't that he was scared, he just didn't want to hurt her. She was just so small, her footsteps towards the weapons table barely made a sound. She seemed too innocent to be there.
The rules were simple, they could harm but not kill. Nothing potentially deadly was allowed. It baffled him as to why they would give them weapons if not to kill each other, because to him, that was all weapons were built for.
They began eyeing each other off, mirroring each other's smirks. 'You're going down shrimp.'
'You wish.'
That was the last thing they said before they both morphed into their fighting mode, their movements were not based on calculations but instincts, no words were needed, all they needed was blood and pain.
Sticking to opposite sides of the room was an advantage to her, he couldn't throw his sword as quickly as she could a knife and his arms weren't that long. As they moved in circles around each other she stroked the top of the knife she held.
He watched her closely, waiting for movement in her arm. He sensed her movement before she made it, giving him time to duck the first knife that lodged itself in the wall just above his shoulder. He knew that it was his time to act, he only had a second before the next knife was in her hand. He lunged forward, trying to scrape her throwing arm with the edge of his sword.
The crimson blood flowed slowly from her hand. It wasn't the first time that he had drawn blood from an opponent but it was the first time that he had drawn blood and felt bad about it.
The guilt was replaced with anger when he felt a sharp slice on his arm. Blood seeped out from the tear in his blue shirt, the stain growing along with his determination to win.
From that point on she became nothing more than an opponent, he did not notice her size. In that room they were equals. He had his brute strength and she had her own strength. With her knives she was as deadly as he was. They moved in a pattern, she would throw and he would lunge, if it was less brutal one may even have called it a dance.
With each slice and nick their grins grew. They liked the look of blood on each other, and on themselves. It marked them as worthy opponents.
Finally his sword struck hard enough to give him an extra second as she tried to pull herself from the ground. She wasn't quick enough in her attempts at getting up and he put one foot on either side of her, he bent down and moved his arms to poise the sword above her chest. He was halfway there when he saw her hand lift to his shoulder and he felt the sharp pain of her blade tearing through his skin.
In the second that it took for him to process the newest injury she had grasped the second knife and was holding it at his abdomen as he moved to hold the sword directly above her heart.
The buzzer did not sound to indicate that the battle had a victor. They were going to have to continue until only one had the upper hand.
He used one arm to hold her to the ground. Now that it was hand to hand combat he had the advantage. Her spare hand moved to his shoulder and yanked the knife from his flesh, causing another wave of pain. She may have been pinned to the ground but she managed to surprise him and in the smallest moment of weakness she had pushed him backwards.
He fell onto her legs with a loud crunch. Gathering his thoughts he dropped his sword by his side and leant forward to grab her arms, his hands making it the whole way around her tiny wrists. He knew that the fight was his now. He leant over her and took her two arms under one of his and picked up his sword, holding it against her throat.
The buzzer sounded but not in time to stop the small whimper that escaped her lips. He smirked. She may have been a fighter but she was not yet fearless. That would change.
I apologise for any mistakes and I hope you liked it. I will be continuing with a few more pieces from their years in the Centre so I hope you'll stick around to read it.