Night 7

Emrys doesn't realize that he is still crying until tears splash down onto his hands. He reaches up to wipe them again, finding his cheeks smeared with more. He isn't sure how long it has been now, but it somehow feels like seconds and days at the same time. Emrys can't stop thinking about Koda just standing there as the bomb exploded, either not realizing what was happening or not moving fast enough. He isn't sure which revelation would help him understand. Either way, Koda is dead and he is alone again.

Emrys has never been the type of person to need anyone. He has lived the majority of his life in an unbreakable bubble that he designed. Sure, life got hard sometimes, but having other people in his life had never made Emrys feel better. They always ended up leaving him behind, whether it was really their fault or not. For some reason, Emrys convinced himself that Koda would be different even though they're in the fucking Hunger Games. As stupid as it is to admit it, Koda has been the first friend that Emrys let get close to him in years. He actually allowed himself to care. He let Koda in and now Emrys has been left empty-handed again and wishing that he hadn't burst his own bubble so he could remain neatly tucked inside.

He had searched for Koda's killer until his feet refused to carry him anymore. Emrys wasn't exactly sure what he would have done if he found her, in fact thinking back now to her gun it has probably been a blessing not to. It feels right to lash out, it's the only thing Emrys can think to do right now. Someone has to pay for Koda's death and Emrys isn't willing to blame himself. If he lets himself believe that he could have done anything more to save him, Emrys knows that the guilt will consume him. It's her fault, not his. It has to be.

Emrys struggles to his feet, his knees threatening to buckle with every step. He needs to keep going, no matter how much his grief tries to overrun him. Water, that's what he needs, and food too. That's something that he can focus on right now. Emrys bends down and cups his hand into a nearby puddle. He sips, tasting metal and dirt, but the coolness feels too good against his raw throat to stop. Emrys feels no less heavy, but that is one less thing to bother him. He can do this. He can find food and look for a weapon. He can't lift the weight off his chest or bring Koda back, so he can't think about those things now.

This feeling is familiar to Emrys and as much as his heart aches for his friend, it's almost comforting. His life has been filled with grief, first his parents then his sister and now Koda. It's nothing new, it's just fresh but the heaviness will settle in again soon. Emrys wipes another wave of tears from his face and keeps walking. He never should have hoped that things could change for him. He should never have let himself get close to anyone else because he knows what will eventually happen. Emrys isn't meant to be happy; he is meant to survive and now he is finally starting to accept that again.

Milan watches the creature approach from the mouth of the cave, unsure if he is unable or unwilling to move. It's identical to the ones that chased him into this cave with Madina, though there is only one this time. His teeth chatter despite the warm air and he clasps the knife tightly in his fist. It's here for him, Milan can tell. He expected tributes, but seeing the mutt enrages him more than a tribute would. These Capitol pets are sent after the boring tributes, the ones that the Capitol doesn't want to watch anymore. After all he has endured, they think he deserves to die and are sending this thing to finish him off.

Milan is not going to let that happen.

He jumps up quickly as the bird opens its wings, propelling itself towards him. He sticks his knife out to meet it, but the creature dodges the blade and its open mouth bites down hard on his hand. Milan shouts, dropping the knife in surprise but quickly grasping the bird's neck and squeezing as hard as he can. It shrieks and Milan scrambles back, kicking the bird as hard as he can in the opposite direction.

It's next lunge only comes faster than the last. Milan barely has time to pick up his knife when he feels teeth sink into his abdomen. He screams and tries to push it away, but the bird only shakes its head ripping into his flesh like he would expect a wolf would. Milan kicks it again but the pain of it's bite drops him to his knees. He cups the wound and immediately sees blood seeping through his hands. This isn't like any bird he has ever seen and for the first-time fear, and not anger, begins to win out.

Its wings flap frantically as it flies at him again and Milan can only close his eyes and try to bat its head away. Each bite feels deeper than the last as teeth rip though his skin. The only thing he can hear are his own screams in his ears and the wind from its wings, reminding him of the early arena. He stabs out blindly with his knife but only manages to hit air. Milan is terrified to open his eyes but even more afraid of what will happen if he doesn't. The Capitol wants to kill him this time. Last time, they were only meant to scare him into the cave with Madina. Maybe they wanted her to kill him and now they're just finishing what she couldn't.

"Is this what you want?" Milan shouts, not caring anymore about being quiet. If the others don't know where he is now by his screaming, yelling won't make a difference. "Am I nothing to you?"

He braces for tears to cloud his vision, but none come. He doesn't feel sad for himself, he feels indignant. Milan has left everything behind so that he could play the game and win. He killed someone and prepared himself for the possibility that he would have to kill more. He did everything to follow the rules but it's not enough somehow. He hates the other tributes, but he hates the Capitol so much more right now.

Milan feels the familiar tearing as teeth sink into his shoulder, but this time rather than cry out he opens his eyes. He kicks at the creature with more force than he thought possible, sending it sailing into the cave wall. Milan doesn't wait for it to get back up. He lunges at it, knife pointed at its belly, and lands on top of the bird. It clamps down on his arm, but Milan only attacks more furiously with his free arm. He's given up everything to win, who are the Capitol to say he doesn't get to. His knife punctures the bird again and again, over and over. Milan isn't sure when it stopped moving but it's barely recognizable when he finally tires and the knife drops to the cave floor.

He tries to stand, but his feet feel numb underneath him. Instead, Milan crawls to the front of the cave, smearing blood along the floor with every movement. His entire body protests, but the anger overrides any pain he is feeling. He pushes himself up on his hands until his face looks straight up at the sky, breaths coming in short gasps. "What more do you want?"

Though the anthem plays as proudly as every night in the arena, the face that projects in the sky is anything but expected. Thankfully, the surrounding darkness conceals the tears that drip down Valya's face as she watches Zaid's smile fade into the stars. As many times as she had told Laurent he could have been one of the cannons today, Valya didn't actually believe he had been.

"Good riddance," Laurent says, but his sharp tone betrays his annoyance. This makes things easier on him but it doesn't make him feel any better. The more he thinks about his fight with Zaid, the more he realizes that he is nothing special. Even with Valya, Laurent defeating Zaid was not as inevitable as he thought it would be. The pain still lingering on his jaw reminds him that he's never been a fighter, no matter how much confidence he projects. He's never had to physically defend himself like that before. Laurent hates to admit that he is starting to worry about his plan to find Airla.

After Zaid is the District 3 boy, who Laurent didn't even realize was still alive. It dawns on him that he can't remember who else is actually out here with them now. He has been so focused on Airla and Malachi, then on Zaid, that he didn't stop to think that the others have been fighting their own battles.

He turns to Valya, who has been mostly silent and simply just nodding to his instructions all day. "How many are left?"

"I'm sorry?" Valya asks, caught off guard by the question.

"How many tributes?" Laurent says with frustration obvious in his voice. "How many are left?"

Valya swallows thickly, trying to remember how many cannons they've heard each night but every anthem seems to blend together. Six at the Bloodbath, three on the night that Mercury was shown, two tonight. She can't remember the numbers, it never seemed important to keep track until now. "I'm not sure."

"How do you not know?" Laurent spits. He isn't sure why he is so upset, after all he doesn't know either. It just feels good to yell at this point, even though he knows that they should be whispering to avoid detection. He immediately searches around them, waiting for something to pop out of the shadows.

"Nine, maybe?" Valya tries, her voice barely a whisper. She fights to keep her tone steady, non-confrontational, so that this will not turn into something bigger than it is. She saw how quickly his argument with Zaid got out of hand. Laurent is a loose cannon at this point and Valya has already gotten far too used to handling him as such.

"Too many," Laurent sighs. Valya is about to say more, though she isn't sure what more she has to say to him, when a low tone cuts through the night air. Every hair on her body stands up at attention, but it takes several seconds for her to realize why. It's the same sound that marked the beginning of the Hunger Games. Laurent's hands clench at his sides and Valya sinks deeper against the tree trunk.

"Attention tributes, attention. At sunrise tomorrow, there will be a feast at the Cornucopia. We would ask that you grace us with your presence, as we will be preparing your favourite treats for the occasion."

Valya's breath catches in her throat as she takes in the announcement. She turns to Laurent before he has a chance to speak, fear evident both in her tone and in the tears that well up in her eyes. "We can't."

"We have to," Laurent retorts, but Valya notes that the earlier annoyance in his voice has vanished. She wouldn't call his tone fearful, but it's the closest thing to it that Valya has ever seen from Laurent.

"We don't need what they're offering," Valya says. Images of previous years come flooding back into her mind. Several brutal deaths in the span of minutes when the tributes are so close to making it out. Valya knows what Laurent will want to do, but she is desperate to do the opposite. "We have enough food."

"I don't care about the food," Laurent sneers. "We're so close, Valya."

"Then why risk it?" she chokes out.

"We're going," Laurent says forcefully. "That's it."

"Laurent-"

"We're going!" He shouts, immediately cringing at the volume of his voice. Valya curls in on herself, nodding as tears fall that Laurent isn't able to see. He has the urge to apologize but quickly swallows the idea. He is fighting for his life, there is nothing to be sorry about. Let her think he's a monster, it will be easier on her when when Laurent has to kill her.

The announcement leaves Airla and Malachi sitting in stunned silence. Of course, it's getting down to the last few tributes, but Airla still didn't think the feast would come so quickly. The feast is the most anticipated part of the Hunger Games beside the final fight. They're almost certain to lose another two to four bodies tomorrow morning. Airla pushes down the urge to stay away, knowing from training that the feast is not optional no matter what the announcer says. The tributes that don't attend simply don't last. It's an easy pattern to see after watching the reruns.

"W-what do we do?" Malachi asks, the tremble in his voice obvious. He is well aware that they are running out of food and they haven't received a sponsor gift for days now. It's hard not to wonder if that has been purposeful.

"We have to go," Airla whispers. Her voice cracks after so many hours of silence. Malachi hasn't said a word about what he did for her this morning, and Airla hasn't been able to come up with anything to say to him either. He's never killed anyone and yet he killed Zaid to save her that burden. Airla can't imagine any words that would express her gratitude.

Malachi is silent for a while before answering and Airla worries that he didn't hear her response. "I know."

"We'll get through it," Airla assures him, but the words sound empty to both of them. There is no way to ensure either of their safety if they go to the Cornucopia tomorrow, but even if they run they will still be in danger.

"I'm scared," Malachi breathes, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the tree trunk. Just saying the words makes it feel as though he is giving up, but he is far from that point. Malachi is terrified because he has started to finally envision himself walking out of here someday. He never pictured himself as much of a fighter, but these past days have taught him a lot about what he is capable of. Still, the idea of voluntarily walking to the Cornucopia tomorrow morning makes his heart race. He doesn't expect to sleep tonight.

"Me too," Airla agrees quietly. She isn't scared in the same way that Malachi is, but the fact that the numbers are dwindling isn't lost on her. Eventually her and Malachi will need to split up because, as much as she finds his present comforting, he is not the person she wants to fight in the finale. As morbid as it sounds, her best bet would be someone else taking Malachi out far away from her. Airla isn't sure that she will be able to kill him. She broke the one rule that she made herself promise to keep on the train to the Capitol. She let herself get attached to two tributes, one of whom is dead and the other who will have to be dead very soon if she is going to live.

She watches Malachi as he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, wondering what he is thinking about but also not willing to ask. Tomorrow Airla knows that she will have to leave him right after the feast, if they both manage to make it out alive. The realization hollows out a new pit in her stomach, burrowing in next to the one left behind after Zaid's death. Airla looks again at Malachi, wondering how long he will last without her. He's not helpless, but he hesitates. He's a good person, better than she will ever be, but that's not what the Hunger Games caters to. As long as people like Laurent and her are alive, Airls isn't sure that Malachi stands much of a chance.

"Thank you," Airla says finally. She knows that if she doesn't say this now she will likely never get another chance. The Hunger Games are ending soon and both of them will not be alive when it does; in fact, odds are good that neither of them will be. "For Zaid."

Malachi opens his mouth to respond, but a sob chokes him before any words can come out. He nods, letting her know that it's fine, but his reaction tells Airla that Malachi is anything but fine. He's been trying not to think about it at all, but the wound is so fresh on his mind. Malachi has spent hours convincing himself that it wasn't his fault. In his mind he blames Airla for Zaid's death, even though it was Malachi's choice. It's just easier for it to be someone else's fault. He'll never tell Airla that, though.

Madina has found it impossible to sit still after the announcement. She knows that she must make her way back to the Cornucopia even though the very idea makes her want to vomit. It's been difficult to find food and the few pieces she did have are now soaked from the water seeping into her pockets. Madina isn't sure what she is looking for, perhaps something to tell her what a bad idea it is to head to the feast tomorrow. Not that she would listen to any signs at this point. The gnawing feeling in her stomach is enough to push her into danger, even though all logic tells her to just starve.

She hears the muffled cries coming from the cave, but she isn't sure whether to go investigate. Days ago, Madina would rush into danger with her gun leading the way. It was the ultimate advantage in the arena but now she is out of bullets. She has a knife strapped to her belt and the empty pistol still stuffed in her pocket, but she feels more naked than she has in her entire life. She was far from fearless before, but now she is completely terrified.

Madina creeps along the edge of the rocks, looking in all directions before she cautiously peeks into the cave. She can't help the gasp that spreads to her lips when she sees the bodies, one bird and one definitely human. There is more blood splattered along the walls than Madina has ever seen and the smell of iron quickly assaults her nose. She covers her mouth as if ready to throw up, but there is nothing in her stomach.

The muffled sound comes again and Madina realizes with horror that one of the bodies is still breathing. Against her better judgement, she slips into the cave to get a better look. Every part of her body screams that this is a mistake and, when she sees his face, she knows why. It's Milan, the tribute that she briefly met on the first night and then ran into several more times since. Chunks of fabric have been ripped from his body and blood pools underneath him. If she hadn't looked closely, Madina would never have thought he could be alive.

"Milan?" She whispers. There is little hope that he will be conscious, but Madina can't help herself. They're not allies by any stretch, but he is the closest thing to a friendly face she has in the arena. "Milan?"

His head turns towards her and the tribute's face is so pale that it nearly glows in the darkness. His eyes appear to look in her direction, but she doubts that he actually sees her. Milan groans, but she can't make out any words. Madina is about to call out to him again when he finds his voice. "I did it."

"Did what?" Madina asks, but when she looks behind her she has a pretty good guess what he is referring to. The bloodied mess nearby is barely recognizable as one of the mutts that chased her and caused her to lose all her supplies, but the long neck gives it away. "Did it do this to you?"

"They're entertained," Milan says, his eyes briefly closing again. Madina cringes as she tries to roll him onto his side, revealing more injuries on his front side than his back. Again, she swallows down bile trying not to be sick.

"Milan," Madina says, unsure exactly what she should say to him. It feels impossible that he should still be alive, even more so that he should be conscious right now. The amount of blood… granted it's not all his she supposes. "Does it hurt?"

She cringes at the stupid question, but Milan doesn't seem to care. "More than anything."

"I-I don't think I can fix it," she stammers, tears welling up in her eyes that she quickly blinks away. "I don't know what to do."

"They're entertained," he breathes, his voice so soft she barely catches each word. "I can win."

She shakes her head but knows that he can't see her through his closed eyes. It feels right to put him out of his misery, who knows how long he has been suffering here for? Madina's hands brush over her knife but she doesn't unbuckle it from her belt. "Do you want me to…?"

She can't bring herself to end the sentence, and she hopes that Milan will understand what she is asking. "You can't. It's not the end."

Their truce. Madina nods, remembering his words from the first night and their promise not to kill each other until the end. "Milan, it is the end."

"No," Milan says, louder than any other word. The effort appears to tire him as he doesn't say anything further. The heaviness of his breathing fills the silence between them, but the time between them grows longer. Madina can't stand to watch anymore. She isn't even sure that she would be able to kill him if he asked her to. She sinks down to the ground outside of the cave, trying to forget the scene unfolding just behind her. Her feet begin to go numb from being folded beneath her for so long.

What did that boy call her this morning? A coward. That's exactly what she is. Madina squeezes her eyes shut for a short moment before her mind screams at her to open them. She is still in the arena, the others could still find her as she waits outside for something to happen. She shouldn't be sitting here for this long. Milan wasn't her ally; she doesn't owe him anything even though it feels like she does. Madina knows how this will end, regardless of whether it will be hours or days away. He is going to die.

She is barely on her feet again when the sound of the cannon makes her jump. Madina knows what she will see when she looks inside, but for some reason she can't stop herself. Her eyes flicker back and forth between the muttation and Milan. Neither move, neither breathe. Tears spill down her cheeks no matter how many times she tells herself that he isn't anything to her. Her feet move automatically away from the cave and towards the Cornucopia. Madina can do nothing more for him and she just needs to keep going.

A/N: Hello, hi. Another character that was very hard to let go. Fun chapter, though, which is mostly building up to the next one. I have been spending time crafting and leading towards next chapter for a while now. I'm excited to be writing a feast into my games because hey it's like a second, more high-stakes Bloodbath in my opinion. Especially with so many proto-Careers still alive. I really hope it will live up to the hype that everyone has had surrounding the inevitable Career showdown.

Who do you think is going to die next chapter?

What do you think about feasts in SYOTs? I don't see them often, so I wonder if there is a reason for this or if people just forget (like I usually do).

We are in the home stretch with so few tributes left (6) and even fewer chapters left. I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading, reviewing, or even skimming. I honestly can't believe this story is coming to an end so quickly. It's been so much fun and I'm hoping I can give the ending you all deserve. Also remember BLM and ACAB!

~ Olive