Chapter Thirty-Eight.

The stage was set.

Neviya gripped tighter onto her spear, ignoring the pain in her open cheek, and watched as the fireflies behind her continued to hover. They were a barrier now. Stopping any of them from running. She looked at her fellow finalists in different parts of the forest and took the first step forwards, again tightening her grip on the spear, despite the sweat building between her fingers.

She had no idea why she was scared. This close to the end, ghosts hovered by Neviya's side, on one shoulder: Ponche and Destan, her victims. The other: Linnea, Roarke and Britta, her friends. They were her driving force.

They were the ones telling her not to take her training as an assured guarantee. These two – Celestin and Carys, she vaguely remembered – were not to be cast aside simply because they came from Six and Ten. She thought inwardly of how well they had done to get here, and though she could not see the expressions on their faces, she knew just like her they had gone through the horrors that every tribute in the Hunger Games always succumbed to eventually.

Whether alive or dead, these memories would haunt her. But she refused to die.

Two more tributes in the way.

And then her victory.

Celestin's ghosts were small in number – at least, the single ghost with the blood on his hands.

It had happened so quickly he hadn't really allowed himself to realise what he'd done. Sheridan was dead because of him. He'd pushed her. Someone he'd always enjoyed being around, someone he felt he could relate to more than anyone in his alliance, someone that was just as focused on the finish line as he truly believed he was.

He couldn't process his thoughts so he refused to allow himself time to think too much about them. Opposite him, he saw the Career from Two, Neviya with her flaming red hair, and felt the natural fear in his stomach at the sight of someone who had trained for this for however many years. In his hand, he had a measly knife. In her hands, she had a spear and a sword.

How can I compete with that?

Yet, Celestin's thoughts then turned to the other ghosts, of Maisley, Sinta, Bryce, Teak and Altia. Of everyone that had lived and breathed and died around him. If he gave up now, then everything he'd been through would have been for nothing. This was his final step and then he'd be able to sleep again. He'd be able to finally find his peace.

Two more tributes in the way.

And then his victory.

Carys had the blood of Spelt and Maisley on her hands, but rather than focus on it seeping into her skin, she let them hover by her, detached from where she stood, determined and focused.

Her entire body and being protested against the step she took forwards, mirroring Neviya's, her mind screaming for her to stop and fall down and let the exhaustion and pain of a tidal wave of emotions sweep through her. But it was picturing herself back in the fields of Ten, no longer pummelling dummies for some stupid, distant reason, but standing side by side with Hale. Hugging him. Telling him he would be okay, when he had always been the one to tell her that.

She knew, all along, that she had been a stubborn ass incapable of being loved. Yet she had always craved the love from those she had pushed away. Carys had done some terrible things, seen some terrible things, but she was also part of a terrible system. Though the rage was always there, lingering in her heart, she had found something else – found a way of holding it back and using it for the betterment of herself, rather than using it as a way of blaming everyone else but her own actions.

The pain she had gone through hadn't been because of some horrible, divine intervention. She had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was the victim. Not the reason.

One final push and she could make it home. It had been a horrific journey and she would never forgive herself for some of the actions she'd made, but her mind was now an open book, and she refused to close the chapter.

Two more tributes in the way.

And then her victory.

With both Carys and Neviya taking a step forwards, Celestin felt compelled to do the same. He looked over at Carys, the girl from Ten, and with her still alive he only saw Maisley, now one of the twenty-one tributes that had not made it this far.

And yet, instead of anger or grief, he simply felt a reluctant sense of acceptance. Because Maisley had tried to kill Carys. It had been her own fault. He knew Maisley had been willing to do whatever it took to win these Games and whilst he missed her, he was almost thankful she was no longer here. Having to kill her as the final hurdle would have been a lot harder.

Emotionally, anyway.

Killing Neviya and Carys would prove to be a lot more challenging physically.

Carys was cautious as her eyes flitted between the boy from Six that she could have killed very easily the other day, and the final Career in these Games. In her hand she only had a knife, same as Celestin, whereas Neviya was armed to the teeth. Befitting her role as a trained killer.

Carys couldn't help herself. If she was about to die, she needed to hear her voice once more, strained and pained and twisted through everything she'd experienced. It was her own way of remaining stubborn to the end.

"How many have you killed?" Carys called out, eyes pointed on Neviya, narrowing.

Despite knowing that she was just another teenager, Carys' disdain for these volunteers, those that had willingly chosen this path, was still alive. Celestin felt it too, though not to the same degree. He'd once dismissed the notion of training as ludicrous and stupid yet not worth his thoughts and feelings. Now, knowing that Neviya was here, clearly the strongest contender, he couldn't help but feel the unfairness of it all.

"Three," Neviya said. "But don't tell me you've made it this far without tainting your own hands."

Carys winced but shook her head of the image of Spelt and Maisley. It had been needed. "Two."

Celestin found his voice, finally. "One."

"So, we're all killers then," Neviya said. "If it makes any sort of difference, we've all come such a long way. At the end of the day, I don't think anyone can say anything to argue with that."

"Oh yes, I feel extremely proud of myself," Carys said.

Celestin just laughed. He couldn't help it. Even after everything, the three of them still had tiny shards of their previous selves. He hoped that if he won this, he could still retain some of the better parts of his personality. Not the indolence or the lack of care, but the smarts he brought, the perceptiveness that had always been smothered underneath the nihilism. The Games had brought forward shades of himself that Celestin was happy still existed.

But first – Carys and Neviya.

And for Carys, in her mind, it was just Neviya. She saw the most immediate threat, and knew no matter what had happened between her and Celestin, no matter what had happened between her and everyone else in this Arena, if she wanted to survive Neviya had to go.

"Celestin!" she shouted, looking over at him, and then her eyes landed on something silver not too far from where she stood. The benefit of the Cornucopia area being the stage for the finale: lots and lots of weapons. "Meet you in the final two? Make the right decision."

She ran for it, straight towards the axe that was closest to her, and swept it up into her hands. Celestin seemed rooted to the spot but as he realised exactly what Carys was doing, he ran forwards, finding whatever else that he could spot in the grass that was a little bit better than the knife.

Neviya gritted her teeth together in inward frustration. She should have known what her position as a Career meant in the face of two outer-District tributes. They would see her as the most imminent threat.

She ran straight for Carys, labelling her internally as the biggest competition right now, and when the girl from Ten spotted Neviya's nearby presence, instead of turning to face her, she ran straight towards Celestin, hoping and praying that he'd made the right decision.

They didn't have to like each other, but it was necessary. Everything she felt she was channelling into this final push. She could piece together the broken shards later on. Right now, she needed Celestin.

And as much as he still felt the pain of Maisley's death, he needed Carys.

"Got something?" Carys said, her eyes landing on Celestin's sword. "Good. C'mon."

Neviya watched the advancing figures of Carys and Celestin. She pulled out Britta's sword from its scabbard and for the final time, pictured the ghosts by her side, channelled their energy into her drive, and ran for the two of them.

Her sword went over Carys' head as she ducked but she kicked out, catching Carys in the knee and sending her to the grass. Celestin felt the terror rip through his body in a monstrous wave but he couldn't run and hide anymore. The shadows were not meant for a finalist.

He brought his own sword up clumsily, half unaware of where he had it positioned, but luck was on his side as it clashed with Neviya's own weapon and the metallic ring reverberated around the grass area. She twisted her spear around and Celestin jumped backwards, avoiding its sharp point, jumping back again and leaning his body to the right as Neviya tried to swipe it out and catch him in the hip.

Neviya was now in-between Carys who was stumbling into a standing position, and Celestin who haphazardly slashed his sword out, hoping it would connect with Neviya's weapon.

He caught sight of Carys and nodded.

Neviya caught sight of Celestin's nod and twisted around.

"Don't you even—"

Neviya's spear almost ripped into Carys' chest if it wasn't for Neviya having to bring up her sword in her other hand at the exact same time to counter-act Celestin's own attack. Two against one and she knew she was still the most competent, but even with their slapdash technique, Neviya found her already weak body weakening under the strain that much more.

She let the grip on her weapons slacken and she jumped back, both Carys and Celestin being carried forwards by their momentum and they stumbled together, crashing into each other.

Carys wrapped her arms around Celestin's waist to keep her balance, forcing him onto his feet as his knees started to give. Their eyes met and for the first time, they really saw each other. Both had been beaten down beyond anything they could have imagined. In both their eyes, they saw the pain they had both inflicted and been a victim of. Carys' lips twitched upwards into some semblance of a comforting smile and she nodded. Celestin mirrored the gesture and both turned to face Neviya once more.

Her spear pointed at Carys, her sword pointed at Celestin, and once more, she met their attack with as much vigour as she could plaster on. Right now, she was the monster in their eyes, the very same person she had always tried not to be back in Two. Back then, everything had been the same shade of grey, the same dull paint-stroke that had contaminated the lives of so many in Two. She had tried to be a lighter shade yet with the same pragmatism the Academy had always valued.

She thought she'd bridged together the best of both ways, but now, she was simply just a trained tribute in the way of two innocents surviving. She couldn't help but feel something in her chest as she started to realise that, but nothing would get in her way. She could do some self-mending later on.

The healing wasn't for now.

Everything suddenly seemed to slow into a pace that centred the cameras in on the fight – all three tributes vying for survival.

But it was a matter of luck that cast the first stroke.

Carys fought against the weapon clasped in the hand that Neviya had never really trained with, a hand that still felt somewhat clumsy, cutting the air as Carys' own weapon clashed with it.

Celestin had less skill than Carys, and even lesser of a skill than Neviya, and he was fighting against the hand that Neviya had perfected over the years. It was the hand that had scored her a ten. The highest of the girls.

And it found its mark.

Celestin tried to duck under the sword but his timing was off and he didn't account for Neviya being able to quickly swipe it backwards. His eyes seemed to widen as time slowed down and he saw the metal come for his neck. It was over quickly.

Honora…

Neviya's sword took Celestin's head from his shoulders in a sudden streak of crimson blood. Carys stumbled backwards as Celestin's cannon shook the Arena and Neviya's sword lowered, her spear standing in her grip against the grass.

Final two.

Carys, without even meaning for them to, felt tears in her eyes. It was just another death. Another slice of horror that no matter what Carys did to try and evade these moments, they still followed her. She didn't even know Celestin. The only moments they'd spent together had been laced with mistrust and then tainted with Maisley's death.

She looked at Neviya and blinked her tears away, swiping away a sweaty strand of hair clinging to her forehead. The axe in her hand felt heavy. Yet she refused to let it go. She would not give up.

"I'm sorry," Neviya said.

Carys shook her head. "Save it."

She charged at Neviya, stupid though it may have been, but impatient to get this over with. Whatever the outcome would be, let it happen. Her axe met Neviya's spear and before she could bring up her sword, she punched out with her other hand, connecting with Neviya's shoulder that caused her hand to drop the second weapon.

Before Neviya could even scramble to pick it up, Carys' fist connected with Neviya's nose and pain exploded alongside a torrent of blood that gushed forth. Neviya growled with the sudden burst of stars blanketing her eyes but she shook them aside and met Carys' next attack.

Regardless of Carys' sudden savagery and determination, Neviya still knew what she was doing. The spear-head pierced Carys' shoulder, the girl from Ten unable to dodge the attack, and Neviya pushed forwards, the momentum pushing the bladed point all the way through her shoulder and Carys fell, impaled to the grass.

She screamed. Screamed and screamed and screamed. As her throat was torn apart with the pain she felt, Carys let the panicked tears now fall freely from her eyes. But still, even as Neviya took a step back to pick up her sword, she could not give up.

She couldn't.

Both girls had stories that could not end – homes to return to, lives to try and fit back together.

She gripped the shaft of the spear, roared with pain, and yanked it from her shoulder as she stood up on shaky feet. The corners of her eyes started to corrupt with darkness. Her stance was shaky but she ran towards Neviya before she could get her hand around the sword and tackled her to the ground.

Carys felt the lifetime of anguish, the innocent girl from before, the angry girl that came after, and the girl that had somehow found a way of bringing together everything into this survivor. She was a tribute that had been corrupted by the Games, but in her own way, she was still the Carys holding a middle finger up to the world.

She punched Neviya in her broken nose and the scream of pain made Neviya lose all control over herself.

Carys knew who the Capitol favoured in this fight. By winning, it would be her own last little way of retaining some of the stubbornness that she could no longer allow to be a part of her. She would make something of her life.

Neviya felt Britta, Linnea and Roarke's energy start to slip as tears started to well up through the blurry pain. Both girls rolled around in the grass, each trying to gain the upper hand, when Carys felt the handle of the knife in the grass.

She couldn't bring it up to Neviya's body, the girl from Two clearly stronger, but Carys held the knife upwards, blade first. She grabbed onto the scruff of Neviya's collar, spat a wad of blood in her face, and yanked Neviya downwards.

The knife went into Neviya's eye and the scream that started to break from Neviya's lips was silenced as Carys yanked her forwards with the final exertion of her strength. The knife went through her eye, into Neviya's skull, and silenced the fiery-haired girl from Two.

Carys' grip immediately slackened and she threw Neviya's limp body off of her. She screamed, balling her hands into fists, and cried into the mud, the agony in her shoulder keeping her fixed to the grass. Her eyes were misty but she could just make out the moon in the sky. The only source of light to be seen. And then the cannon, distant and unremarkable.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the Twenty-Eighth Hunger Games. Carys Lavell – the tribute of District Ten!"

She barely heard her name as the darkness creeping from the corners of her eyes swallowed her focus entirely.

In the distance, she could hear Hale's laughter, and somewhere else, a group of three tributes huddled together, looking at her.

Ponche, Castor and Maisley.

They smiled and she felt a spark in her chest that made accepting the darkness feel inviting, warm and comforting. Its arms enveloped her and she drifted away.

Away from the Arena.

Away from the Games.

Away from the two dead bodies.

From the ashes of a girl that people simply labelled angry, was this Victor of the Twenty-Eighth Hunger Games.

Perhaps her stubbornness had paid off in the end. Refusing to die had been her saving grace.

I won.

I'm alive.

3rd: Celestin Elan, District Six Male.
2nd: Neviya Vavrick, District Two Female.
1st: Carys Lavell, District Ten Female.

Well there we have it folks. Twenty-four tributes went in and one lil gal came out. I know I couldn't please everyone with who won – the person some people wanted to win, was the person that others did not want to win. It was nice seeing such a range of opinions, tbh!

I'm so proud of this story, honestly. Next chapter we will see our Victor in their epilogue along with a little insight into my opinion on each character – maybe some reasons why they placed where they did etc. Some people might be interested in that, some might not be? You don't have to read it lmao it's nothing major.

But yes. Thank you so much to everyone who submitted but we have our crowned tribute! I've got a bunch of questions I want to ask so let's get to it!

Questions:

Favourite tribute going into the Games?

Now that the Games are finished, favourite tribute overall taking into account plot/development etc?

Favourite death scene?

Most shocking moment?

If you had been writing this story, who would you have picked for Victor?

Overall thoughts on Forever Neverland?

The last question is the most important, imo. Thanks guys! See you with the epilogue.