PART I: RISE.
2
Daria Makrain - The Dove.
Traitor.
It is commonly known that the dove is a bird of peace.
That is what Daria Makrain learns, at least, when she is a teen, staring at the graffiti painted upon the alleyway walls at midnight. Love and peace, tattered in sketchy white, hung upon the damp bricks of Havenside. Next to it was a bird, with an olive branch between its beak, gazing up in the fresh black skies with hopeliving in its irises.
"Valdis," she whispers, tugging at the boy next to her. "Look."
Valdis' eyes follow hers right up at the monument. His spray can clatters against street stone, and he exhales a breath in awe.
"Whoa," he says. "Ria, that's beautiful."
"I know," Daria exhales, a smile curving her lips. "I didn't know that anyone in Four could paint like that."
Valdis tugs her sleeve, then, an indignant "Hey!" is said to her with affection. Ria had giggled, shaking her head, and told him,"No, I didn't mean it like that! You know I love your art!"
That image is what she carries to adulthood. A dove, reaching for the heavens, despite the darkness and dampness of the hole in which she's stuck in. Hoping against hope - till the very end.
DAY 6.
Hoping against hope. Till the very end.
That is a message that Daria needs now. For her worldis collapsing at the seams, and she is staring upwards from a well, at the iron bars lidding her in, that scissors sunlight into slices. She tries to keep the tears in her eyes from falling, but it's a futile exercise.
They stream down her cheeks, regardless, as she waits for judgement from above.
It wasn't… it wasn't…
It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. But it is, and all Daria can do is sit and watch and hurt - for all that's become of her, and all that's become of their rebellion.
She has nine hours to get out of her cell. Just nine.
An hour longer and she will be dead.
It isn't so different from before.
Sitting and watching and hurting. That's what's been her home life. Because of her father, though she isn't so certain if she should use that term on him: because he was less of a father than he was an abuser. The before-her would've protested that term - nothing good comes without hurting, after all. And if she weathered through the trials and tribulations of agony, then maybe that would be enough to win his love.
The her-now knows far better.
But the before-her wasn't naive enough to think that with enough beatings would come his love. So she had run away, her feet clattering over the streets, head twisting for a route out of Havenside, tears matting her cheeks. An outpost, a beach— somewhere, anywhere, please!
She goes to the only place she can. She takes refuge in Valdis' home. And his home isn't that much better, because the Solgrens have had a lifetime of struggle, and a small apartment out of the confines of Havenside won't do anything to change the fact. Val's mom always gives her a dirty look when she sees her. But that look of disdain is one that Daria is familiar with, and one disdainful glance is better than the conglomeration she gets from her father and her brothers.
Besides, Valdis and his sisters care for her. And although the before-her had taken this news with nervousness in tandem with glee, because she wasn't sure what she did which merited their affection, the her-now knows that their love for her was, and remains, unconditional.
But the before-her did not think like that. So when Valdis nudges her and suggests going for excursions, Daria would nod every time - her best friend wanted to spend time with her! And if she did what he said, then she'll get to keep him. She'll be enough for him.
What she never could've fathomed was how much she would come to enjoy their late-night trips into the alleys of Havenside. What she never could've fathomed was how her mind would change, over time— for the better.
But not quite enough.
Because guilt churns in her stomach, still, and she can't even come up with any good reason to quell it. Because this situation is of her own making. This situation is her fault entirely.
Everything was going well. There was no reason why they should've failed. She, Jordyn, Maddie, Sadie, and Kiernan arrived at Eight with ease. They were campaigning and recruiting and fighting! All was as successful as anything could be.
Until…
Until now.
"Can someone tell me, please?" Daria whispers, but its echoes are enough to travel to the top of the well. "N-nobody's hurt, right?"
Silence.
Daria shuts her eyes. She exhales, one more time. Of course. Why would anyone say anything to her? She's the enemy. They hate her and loathe her enough to want to execute her.
Boots crunch. She looks up. Legs kneel at the top of the well's stone. Refracted glasses, glinting like two round suns, stare down at her. She stares at the sight.
"Many are hurt," the figure says, in a modulated, disembodied voice. "That's what I'm here for."
Daria swallows. "What do you want from me?"
The figure cocks its head. "A statement," they say. "That's all. I'd like you to start from the beginning when you arrived at District Eight."
A statement. She can do that.
"Will you tell me if everyone's okay?" Her voice is shaky. "A-after?"
"I will. Let's begin."
DAY 1.
Five days. That's what Cynane Rendevez had told them, during the briefings at Seven.
They had five days to rally Eight in rebellion. Nothing more. They were on a time limit: after all, Rhodos and Althea had barely a week to rescue the families trapped in the Capitol's stronghold in Four. To distract the Capitol's attention after, they needed their troops ready to march.
It would be difficult. Difficult but not impossible. The Vultures have done more impressive feats: such as sending in rebels on short notice into the Games. Horrifying…but Cynane said it was necessary, and Ria trusts her judgement on that. Even if it's disturbing to think about.
Would their squad have the capacity to achieve feats like that?
A point in favour's Jordyn Moriau. Ria's seen Jordyn in their flyers and in the speeches she'd made, dashing across screens and spoken in whispers across the rebels: Did you see Jordyn Moriau's new broadcast? It was glorious. If there was anyone that could rally Eight, it would be Jordyn.
But the rest of her squad's a question mark. Madison Saros… well, reminds Ria of herself. Of her younger self. Smiling all the way without a care for how she aches, on the inside, sometimes. But more despondent. More aware. More… broken. More drained. Daria wants to try to help - somehow, some way, but Madison's so avoidant that Daria isn't sure how to reach out.
(How does she tell Madison that she understands a little about how she's feeling, without pushing her away?)
The next is Kiernan Alcraiz. Daria frowns. Sure, she'd joined the rebellion young - at fifteen - but Kiernan's twelve. Maybe nearly thirteen. And he's so angry at the world - too angry for this to be a good idea. But Cynane always has her reasons. Daria'll trust her judgement.
The last of them's Sadie Rendevez. She has a mouth and snark and she's upset with pent-up anger, sloshing with destructive volatility. When Daria asked how she was doing, Sadie had snarled. "Like you'd fucking understand". So… she knows better than to get in her way.
That's her squad! Ria isn't sure if it would be her exact pick when it comes to Eight's rallying, but then again, they're all nice. With varying ages and varying levels of stability that's worrisome, because most of them should be getting therapy for the traumas they've been through, and not be thrown headlong into a battlefield.
But she'll try and help them how she can. That's what she resolves to herself. She won't make things worse - they don't have to suffer more than they already have. It's the least she can do.
Nothing turned out how she thought it would turn out.
Daria lets out a ragged breath. The tears are stinging again. She quickly wipes them away with the back of her hand, because she shouldn't be crying.
What are you doing? Pitying yourself for your own wrongs? There are so many more people who deserve to be crying about what's happened, and the one who deserves it the least is you.
She sniffles. That thought— it isn't wrong. Because she doesn't deserve to cry. Not when she's betrayed them, and now she's here, waiting for judgement, and isn't that justice at its finest?
There's nothing she should be sobbing about.
"Daria? Are you okay?"
She shuts her eyes, and presses her head against her knees, whispering a quiet oh no under her breath. Tears drip on the tiles with abandon, and she wishes above anything that it'll stop. People shouldn't see her like this. That'll just make them concerned, and they have better uses of their time than to fuss over her.
Because she's okay! Truly. She just has to… find a way. To stop the tears from falling. 'Cause nothing's the matter. Sure, Atlantis said a few words, which… hurt.
But it won't matter. She'll work it off with Valdis, soon enough, when they hit the streets with spray cans and graffiti. Making art's gonna centre her again.
"Daria?"
She jolts at the noise. Talquin Seasbane gazes back at her - one of the 'Kov's top male trainees, a possible Career for the 52nd Games, when he turns 18.
"I'm okay, Talquin," she says, softly, looking up at the concerned eyes gazing back at her. "You don't have to worry about me."
Because the same fact remains - although Daria barely knows him, she knows this fact: Talquin Seasbane keeps the world on his shoulders, as if it's his duty to lift everyone up. He cares about her because of that, but he doesn't have to. She'll be okay on her own.
He frowns. "You're bleeding."
Daria closes her eyes. Heat rises to her cheeks. Is she? She hasn't realised. But she opens her eyes, and smiles.
"It's nothing! Just a training wound. You know me. I'm clumsy. Get them all the time."
It doesn't lessen how stricken Tal looks. But his face softens, till he says, quietly: "Okay. Let me help you with that."
Daria isn't sure why, but she lets him.
What comes next, is beyond her expectations, of anything that she'd imagined would happen to her. Because his care lasts longer than that one fateful day in the 'Kov bathrooms, as she trains for the title of a volunteer which she never wants. He brings flowers to her; he involves her in his journeys upon the coast.
(Before Daria knows it, she is falling.)
And that was a fact that she was going to keep to herself. Because she might've had a crush on him, just like how she had a crush on Val. But like Val, some things were better left unsaid, not only because they would be unreciprocated, but because she's already asking too much. They have a friendship already, and that's more than anything that Ria's dared dream of in the world. To ask for more is - selfish, and rude, and not in the least terrifying.
Besides, she can't bear to lose what she has. She's happy with what she has, and that's certainly all she needs, all that she can convince herself she deserves.
But Talquin Seasbane kisses her first when she is freshly fifteen. And under his lips - Daria Makrain can't find a reason to fight back.
She can't fight back. That's an evident fact. She's making a statement. They won't give her the privilege of getting a reply.
But Ria tries.
"Is Talquin okay?"
Silence.
"Do you know where he is?"
Silence again.
"H-How about Cel? Or Val?"
Nothing.
"Can anyone help me? Please?"
No response.
She buries her fingers into her hair. What was she expecting?
"Quiet," the figure says, from atop the well. "Continue your account. I'll tell you their fates afterward."
"I-I can't. Not right now."
Her voice is far too hoarse. Her heart's pounding in her chest too-hard. She hears herself breathe too-fast too-shallow.
"P-please… don't make me."
The figure is impassive.
"Fine," they say. "Tell me another tale. Tell me the beginning. How did you join The Vultures?"
If there was something that she didn't expect at all, it would be this.
Daria's been through a lot of surprises in her life. Getting adopted. Hitting the streets and getting the chance to graffiti everything in sight with her childhood best friend. Getting the opportunity to go to the Academy and prove that she's worthy of her family's love.
Getting recruited by a rebellion group is new.
"So," Adaliah Brochan says, gazing at them with the same easy smirk she always wears, because she won't be a Brochan without one, "My folk think that y'all would make good soldiers. What do you two say about that?"
She wasn't expecting this. Especially not since this was the first graffitiing excursion she'd gone on with Valdis in a year, since Atlantis and everything that had happened, with.
"I…" Daria starts and stops. A nervous smile flutters on her lips.
The thought of change isn't unwanted. It was a childhood pipe dream: to enter the world, and to leave it having done good for others. Their world isn't bad by any means but it isn't great. Poverty. Malnourishment. The Games. Ria does want their world to change.
But.
"Are you sure that you have the right person?" Daria asks, but her words barely come out as a whisper. "I'm not anyone special. It's really, truly an honour to be considered. But—"
(But I'm not worthy of it. I haven't even proven myself to my family yet! If I can't even do that, how can the world want me? That's… skipping so many steps.)
"— But I don't know."
Adaliah looks at her weird. Her hands are on her hips and her red hair's fluttering in the wind. "Okay. What about the boy?"
Daria feels herself wither. Now she's disappointing Adaliah too. That's not… that's not what she wanted to happen.
Valdis smiles. "I appreciate the offer and all, Addy! It really means the world that you believe in me. But I don't think I can. My sisters need me. I can't throw them behind just for the sake of a rebellion. That's not me."
Adaliah looks between the both of them, her expression unreadable. Finally, the redhead turns away. "We offer money, food, and support to all rebels and their families. They call it the Rendevez Scheme. But fine. If you change my mind, tell me."
Just like that, Adaliah had left, leaving them to their spray cans and the birds perched in paint upon the walls.
Their walk home's quiet.
"Val… do you wanna do it?"
"I mean…" Val's jaw works. "I'd want to, Ria. I mean, getting paid to graffiti some walls is a steal. And they'll support my sisters…"
"So you can go for it!" Daria says. "But only if you want to, 'course. They'll love you— your passion, your art. You're a total steal, and they know it."
"Aww, Ria, you flatter me!" Valdis says, grinning. He elbows her lightly, and Daria giggles. "But you're one to speak! You should do it, too. You're wonderful, but you get enough of me saying that. You're an incredible moral booster, and you care so much that it's unreal. They'd love to have you too."
Daria blushes. Valdis's compliments never fail to do that to her— he's too kind, really, her best friend. And knowing that somebody thinks so many good things about her is…
It's wonderful.
"Well," Valdis says. "Why not the both of us? We can do it together. And, y'know, Adaliah will be forever in our debt for hauling us in."
Ria giggles. But in her heart is a feeling that she won't dare admit.
Hope.
The prospect of disrupting authority is nerve-wracking. But the truth is, she and Valdis have been doing that for a while: there was a reason why beautifying Havenside's walls was a crime. Dreary melancholy was how the Capitol kept the Districts in line; and the gleans and shines that they sprayed upon Havenside's alleys — blues, purples, yellows, as incandescent as butterflies — were opposition to their demands.
It was a crime for what it instilled.
Well, Ria muses. Any government that criminalises hope deserves to go down.
What she's done is irreparable. The destruction she's caused. The lives she's taken.
No. Stop. Don't think like that. You're— you're okay, okay? Ria, you've done nothing wrong. Believe me. And what I want for you is for you to get out of here. Got it?
She blinks. Valdis's voice is in her head.
Valdis…
God, does she miss him.
But he's wrong. She loves him, 'course, but he's wrong. Because what she did is unforgivable.
She'd betrayed them. And now she's here, and if there is an end she deserves, then it's this.
Because for all she knows, Valdis is dead because of her. For all she knows, Talquin is dead because of her. For all she knows, Cel is dead because of her. For all she knows, everyone she cares about is.
… She can't bear to think about that fact.
"Are you feeling better now?" the figure asks.
She feels sick.
"... Yeah," Daria says, quietly. "I am. Thank you."
"Good," the figure says. "Let's continue with your statement on Eight."
DAY 2.
Their squad goes to Eight's base, and Daria can barely bear her own excitement.
They get there with a wind-down a back alley, stopping at one of the many nondescript factories of Eight. Salvatore is a burning factory, fire-spewing from the top, and a rueful smile quirks by her lips. Even Havenside's base is a little prettier. But she can't say she's surprised, really. Eight's blown up in riots and rebellion and chaos. Any covert base would be makeshift.
It is there that they meet Kathvarine. Daria doesn't know much - Cynane didn't give her much of a briefing. Save for a smile: Be respectful. She's one of our most valuable assets. But I'm sure that'll be no problem for you, Daria. And then she gave a less-nice look towards Sadie. Sadie glared. Cynane sighed. Please behave yourself.
Anyway. All Daria knows is that she's one of the Gamemakers. A turncoat. A traitor. More traitorous than all of them combined, because she got the go-ahead to blow up the Games, and somehow made it out of the Capitol unscathed and alive.
How amazing is that?
Kathvarine notices because the smile twirls up by her lips. "Hello there."
Daria flushes, deeply. "Hi. Uh… how have you been finding Eight?"
"Shoddy. Degenerate. Metallic. Wretched. It's not quite my style." Her lips quirk. "But we're… making-do."
"I'm sorry," Daria murmurs. "I'm sure the Capitol was much nicer."
"Mmm. It was futuristic, lofty, a beautyscape. I miss the architecture, but not the people."
"That's why you're here," Daria says, smiling, "Isn't it?"
Kathvarine laughs. "Well, yes. Down with Snow."
They don't get more than that before Sadie Rendevez lashes out. "What the fuck is a Gamemaker doing in Salvatore?" she growls, more hostile than any Capitol soldier that Daria's seen, and stalks off.
"I'm sorry about her," Jordyn apologises. "I can go get her, if you want?"
"No. no," Kathvarine says. "It's fine. One of you can relay what's said to Rendevez. But listen now."
This is what Kathvarine tells them:
They have four days to rally Eight. Jordyn and Sadie will be working together for recruitment, on ground morale, and mobilising the people. Daria will be aiding the soldiers by healing those in the hospitals and mobilising the injured citizens. Kiernan and Maddie will be working together for propaganda efforts.
Everything will come to a head at the end of four days, where they'll be mobilising their troops all over Eight to Sparrow Fort. With that, they'll strike and burn the world alive. They'll break Snow, and make him pay for the sins that he's made.
There's so much determination in her eyes. So much belief that it leaves her breathless. But that's when Daria realises.
Kathvarine doesn't want the Capitol to go down. She wants Snow to go down.
Something about that is terrifying and gratifying. Different goals, same end in sight. Down with Snow is a sentiment all can get behind.
They'll thrive.
DAY 2.
It's hard to keep hope in her mind. But she'll try.
That's what the wounded citizens and soldiers in the makeshift hospital need. It's more than what people usually get in Eight: shoddy medical service was the reason for the numerous factory-related deaths in the District. This was one of the Vultures' facilities, dedicated to making things better for the people living there.
They wouldn't have this without The Vultures.
Still…
It feels wrong to be recruiting here.
She approaches the first man. He's groaning, and Daria bandages his wounds, smiling to keep his morale up. After him, she moves onto the next, and the next, and the next…
They don't stop coming. Nurses rush to help, but it's not enough.
"We're trying our best," Hana gasps, taking her shoulder, "but the patients keep coming. The firebombs haven't stopped dropping."
All their eyes search hers for guidance.
It's stressful, but she can do it. If only to help lift the spirits of the people there. She will. She'll be helping the greater good. And that is what really matters.
But it's… scary. To be honest, Ria isn't sure if she's exactly qualified for the job. But Cynane and Kathvarine believe in her, and she can't let them down, so she'll do it!
With all her might and mind.
She won't back down.
She can't.
A tap on her shoulder. Daria looks around.
A fifty-year-old man gazes back at her, with twinkling, kind eyes.
"Hello," he says. "My name is Dr. Vonsettos. May I help you?"
Daria shakes her head. "Thank you, I'm not hurt, but, um, maybe you could help those coming in to the camp? Just over there—"
"Oh, I don't mean that," Dr. Vonsettos says. "I mean in organisation. This is quite the task for a person to take on. If you'd like… I have experience in dealing with administrative facilities and staff management. I can help. Under your direction, of course."
She blushes. "That's very kind of you," she says. "I'd like that."
"Of course," he replies. "I'll take over. For now, you should try to do something for yourself. You cannot help anyone in your current state."
Ria nods. Her eyes wander to a piece of paper. Writing… something, anything really, would help take her mind off things.
(Dr. Vonsettos' eyes linger on her back, then, but she does not notice that.)
DAY 4.
Each new recruitment sinks unease in her gut. She swallows the sensation and wills it to pass. We need to pull out all the stops, she chides herself. Can't just back out now, 'cause they're young and tired and… hurt. They're choosing this…
(Right?)
Cynane always liked that phrase. Pull out all the stops. She'd hold her by the shoulders and look determinedly in her eyes. You're doing so much. You can't stop now, Ria.
But— I don't like what we're doing.
Some lines have to be crossed. If you don't want to, then you're not cut out for rebellion.
No, please, but I—I am! I'm trying my best.
Then prove it.
Daria's proving it to her now. She only hopes it's enough. She heals and inspires and smiles as soldier after soldier thanks her for the morale, staggers out into the battlefield and returns in smithereens, sometimes a body and sometimes nothing at all.
She's doing… something.
It's not… good, but it's something.
Sometimes, she and the good doctor make small talk. It helps keep her mind off her not-so-helpful thoughts. She tells him about home— not about her father or her brothers, because there's no use in making somebody worry about something long over— but she tells him about her friends and lovers. That's safe enough.
"So, this Mira of yours…" Dr. Vonsettos murmurs. "How is she doing?"
"Not… great," Daria says. She worries her lip. "She's been stuck between a rock and a hard place. Just with this… war and all."
"Really? In a war like this… I'd expect loyalties to be clear-cut."
"It's a long story…"
Really, she doesn't know where to start or what to say, when it comes to The Lustration and Cel. Thankfully, Dr. Vonsettos doesn't press.
"And Wesley?"
"He's been good, but worried sick about me." She blushes. "But, um, I'm more worried about him, honestly. Four's a battlefield."
"He's in Four?" Dr. Vonsettos hums. "How did that happen?"
"Oh, just, um, been assigned there by The Vultures is all. How about you?" Ria asks. "Do you have any loved ones?"
That question seems to take Dr. Vonsettos aback. He ponders for a moment, till finally, a slight smile quirks by his lips.
"Yes. A daughter. Her name is Viscount Vonsettos."
"Viscount Vonsettos. What do you know about her?"
Just hearing that name makes her flinch. The figure tilts its head. Daria Makrain shuts her eyes, because, fuck— she would much rather not hear that name again.
She shakes her head. "I don't know anything about her." Tears brim. "Please, I don't know anything. I don't know her. I've heard of her, and she scares me, but I-I don't know her. I— please believe me."
"Likely story."
What can she say to convince them? Daria doesn't know. She's devoted her life, her loyalty to the Vultures, and she can't speak. Can't respond. Can't say.
Can't anything.
"But it doesn't matter. Let's continue with our recount. You mentioned feeling disillusioned with The Vultures on the fifth day. What happened?"
DAY 5.
She can't do anything.
Ravensbirk's falling apart at its seams. It's their fault.
No supplies. No manpower. Inadequate facilities. Death stories.
Her instinct is to protest. Brush her hand over a withering one's - we're trying our best - turn a smile to dying lips - the Vultures are good, I promise, I promise. She shuts her eyes because they stare at her with furrowed brows. Who really are you trying to convince?
Who is she say the Vultures are trying, when trying has never been enough to save a life?
Daria knows that best. She could try all she wants for others, but trying doesn't mean anything when you don't succeed. By the end of the day, she'll still be love-less, still be—
(Not enough.)
And as she stares at the ruin before her, as she stares at Death hovering over the wealth of corpses before her—
She rushes past the people, but they're clawing at her from their beds, pleading for their lives, don't go, please, you're my only hope, please save me, please try!
Tears run down her face as she tries to bandage, to save, to help, but they only look more devastated, because she looks like she's cryingbecause she knows they won't survive.
It's her fault. Her fault that she can't help them. Her fault that she can't save them. Her fault, her fault, her fault—
This… this can't continue. This can't, and her feet lead her out of the camp on autopilot. She breathes, catching her breaths next to an alleyway, her arm pressed against brick, sweat staining her cheeks and her neck, and those tracks mingle with the tears in her eyes.
"Daria?"
"Doctor," Daria breathes. She offers a smile, even as guilt pangs in her stomach - because what doesshe deserve to feel? People are dying, and you're prioritising your own mental spiral? Get it together.
"I'm— sorry. I just need a moment, um, I'll be back soon enough."
Dr. Vonsettos's brow furrows. "You don't seem alright. Is there anything I can do to help? Are you feeling sick?"
Ria shakes her head. "N-no. I'm fine. It's just, the camp, it's so much, I couldn't—I couldn't really deal with it. I-I don't know why… it hasn't been like this before. I just—"
"It's because of the death, isn't it?"
"What?"
"It's the death-stench of the place. The corpses rotting that are not corpses quite-yet. It is the knowledge of your helplessness. You can feel it in your goddamned bones."
His teeth shine. His eyes are manic. She blinks.
"But, Daria - this is hardly your fault."
"Then whose?" Ria whispers. "Who's fault is it, then, if it isn't—mine?"
Dr. Vonsettos tilts his head. "The Vultures are doing this. Aren't they? Who's responsible, if not them - for this destruction, this ruin? Why, if they never rebelled - the Districts would just be as they are. This wouldn't be happening."
"A-aren't you a Vulture?"
He shakes his head. "I am a doctor first."
Daria slumps against the alleyway wall. She buries her fingers into her hair, and lets out an exhale. "I don't know what to think."
"It's difficult to reconcile - I know," Dr. Vonsettos says. "And you can spend time thinking. But not too long - we are in a rebellion. If you're to pick sides, then you have to decide, not dally."
Till this hour, Dara Makrain does not know if her decision was correct.
Perhaps the wear of the unknown hours and the unknown days have contributed to the wear of her mind. Perhaps it is the voices, that come at her at night. They blur together, but that doesn't make them any less potent. She clutches her ears, lets up a breath, but they still remain.
Why did you betray us?
You're awful. Do you know how many deaths you've directly caused?
Eight will never recover. We're decimated because of you. We're destroyed because of you. We're ruined because of you.
Shame on you. You came in wanting to uphold peace, but all you've made is war. Does that make you happy?
I hope it does. Because nobody here is with what you've done.
"Focus," the figure says. "The next part of your statement is the most important. I need every fact, down to the very detail."
She blinks and exhales. Wets her lip and nods.
DAY 5.
"Are we done?" crackles the voice of Cynane Rendevez, through the radio station in Salvatore. "How are our troop numbers? Have we found a new place to relocate?"
"Our numbers are healthy," Sadie Rendevez drawls. "I and Jordyn have managed to recruit the Cassinette Enclave. We control nearly half of Eight in our numbers now."
"Good," comes Cynane's reply. "That is great news. Good job, Sadie, and Jordyn— I'm proud of you both."
"Yeah, yeah," Sadie says. "Don't be too proud yet. How are we even mobilising them all to Sparrow Fort? Without leaks."
"Decentralised mobilisation. Only our trusted operatives will know the location of the Fort ahead of time. Upon the hour, they'll bring our troops there. Arranged into formation and sent to battle. It's true that we'll be most vulnerable there, but we will also be at our strongest."
"Yes, ma'am," drawls Sadie again, but despite her sardonicism; there's an undeniable air of fervour and desire lain in her eyes.
Is that a slight snort from the radio?
"How are the sick?"
Daria licks her lips. Her heart's palpitating, her breath's quickening. She doesn't know what to say.
Howdoes she tell Cynane about Ravensbirk? Sadie and Jordyn's mission - of recruitment - was a success. Maddie and Kiernan's mission went without a hitch.
But all Daria has is the dead on her hands.
"I… I don't know," is all Daria manages to get out. "I met a doctor that helped with the patients."
Silence. The awkwardness is so acute. The flush of her cheeks burn her. She should say more. She should talk much more. She should reassure Cynane, should try to tell her that it went brilliantly but nothing makes out of her throat. Nothing of that sort, because Daria Makrain is not a liar.
To say that everything was fine would be the greatest disrespect to the dead.
Their stares are on her back. Sadie— judgemental. Jordyn— concerned. Kiernan— eyebrows furrowed. And Maddie— nothing at all, but Ria's long learnt that she can't read the girl's expression. Kathvarine is staring.
"That's fine, Makrain," Cynane tells her, after a long silence, through the radio. "You've tried your best, and that's what matters in the end."
It is what matters in end of it, Ria guesses. But she still withers inside.
"Regardless," Cynane says to her, "Thank you all for your efforts. We will be mobilising our troops tomorrow morning. May the Vultures be with us."
May the Vultures be with us.
That is an adage that Daria Makrain has fixed in her heart. But she has often tacked her own addition on their motto.
And may the dove of peace reign.
That's the line that Daria keeps in her mind. The Vultures are necessary— but they are temporary. Soon death and war will dissolve away; soon they will all prosper.
Soon - for everyone has the right to a better life. Soon.
DAY 6.
When Daria Makrain was six, and still floating through her life in an orphanage, she sometimes wondered what she'd done to deserve the life that she had.
Not that she was complaining! It's just— some people had lives that were a lot nicer than hers because they had people who cared and loved them so deeply. Sometimes she would close her eyes and wish for it. If she tried hard enough, if she worked for it, then it would be bound to happen— eventually. Nobody ever gets love without working for it, and if she doesn't have it yet, then the simple fact really is that she hasn't done enough to deserve it.
That conclusion which she'd come upon, as a child, still rung true from time to time. But it had shifted, with Valdis, who helped her learn that love wasn't always conditional. And then next with Talquin, who gave her his love and the world with it— even when it threatened to all disappear with the Games. Then came Cel, who expressed her affection quietly, but it still thrummed in Ria's heart, so clearly.
Ria knows better now. She does. She didn't deserve the lot she'd been handed, and she deserved—
It's just hard to remember when she's staring back at a world of devastation. As people shriek and run across Sparrow Fort, a mass of ruin and death and bone and carnage.
It's hard to remember when you stare at a scene of carnage, and a dull fact pangs in your mind with relentless abandon. This is your fault.
It is her fault that she is here.
She deserves this punishment. She knows she does. The people above her know she does. The Capitol knows that she does. Everyone knows that she does.
The chatter above her tells her more than she needs to know.
The Vultures are deciding her fate. And as much as Daria would like to look away— and not think, not feel, not try, she can't do that.
She's responsible for the bombs that have fallen on Eight. She is.
And that selfsame voice continues to haunt her, in the back of her mind.
What have you done?!
DAY 6.
"What have you done?!"
"I don't know," Daria whispers, shaking her head, panic rising and rising again in her chest. "I don't know. I'm so sorry. I don't—"
Their march to Sparrow Fort was supposed to go smoothly, and it was— everything was.
They'd settled. Troops filed in. Artillery was passed from hand to hand. Gear was shouldered. Cynane roared her calls to arms.
They were invigorated. They were strong. They were ready.
Until the bombs began to drop.
Their location was compromised. Somehow. And now all of their rebels are dead.
She's only alive because she left just in time. Sadie's only alive because she was seething outside. Cynane's only alive because the podium was blast-protected. Maddie and Kiernan's only alive because their tents were one of the few unbombed.
Someone betrayed them. It's not just that, either - but they knew the exact time when they'd arrive. Because the first bombs only began to drop after the last rebel had settled in.
Daria screws her eyes shut. Everything's being ruined. Everything's falling apart by the seams. And fuck, she doesn't know why!
Who was the leak—
Nobody could've known. Only the leaders know the exact coordinates.
I don't understand. What's— what's happening?
Please! Somebody help us!
I don't get it. Our coordinates - especially for Sparrow Fort - were airtight. We've sent false rumours circling through to confuse the Capitol. Those locations should be bombed, but they haven't been. Only this. So who knew?
We have a high intel leak. It's from one of our leaders.
Eyes had turned to her.
"I haven't done anything," Daria whispers. "Please believe me."
"Why are you all looking at her like that?" Maddie says, and her tone takes on a turn dangerous. "What the hell? What is wrong with you?"
Sadie scoffs. "Wait till what you hear what she has to say."
"I—I don't know!" Ria says. She shuts her eyes because she can't cry. "I haven't done anything. Please believe me. All I did was work at Ravensbirk, help the sick, a-and recruit. Yes, I-I knew the coordinates of Sparrow Fort, but I didn't— I wasn't—"
"And what exactly did you do in Ravensbirk?"
Daria exhales. She presses her fingers to her eyes and breathes another shuddery breath. Why was Sadie hounding her?
"I helped the sick," she says, though her words come out with a quiver. "I helped, along with the nurses, along with Hana, along with Dr. Vonsettos, to treat—"
"Wait. Stop. Vonsettos?"
"Yeah." Daria sniffles, raising her eyes to meet Maddie's. "W-why?"
Maddie's pale. As if she'd seen a ghost.
"Veneri Vonsettos," she whispers, and then—
Silence cuts through them all. As palpable as day.
"W… what?" Daria whispers.
"You were working with him?" Maddie says. "With Veneri?"
"I—" Daria stops. "Yes," she says, but this time her voice takes a tone hoarse. "Dr. Vonsettos. The good doctor."
"Is that what he's calling himself now? Fuck."
What's happening? What's going on?
I don't get it. I…
She knows that Maddie was experimented on by a scientist— everyone knows. One's perfect Career, forged by Levine Saros, the Capitol's darling. But this couldn't be him. Levine Saros is dead. Six feet under screwed. Those were the reports from the Vultures' intel that she'd gotten from Cynane, telling them all that Dr. Saros was killed under Snow's very own orders.
So who was this man?
"Fuck," Maddie whispers, as she slides down against the metal walls, dropping against the ground, her hands pressing tightly against her head. "Fuck. He can't be here. He's not supposed to be here. I didn't believe Cynane when she said he was the one that orchestrated this. He isn't. He can't be."
"Maddie," Jordyn says, as she inches closer to the girl, biting her lip, "He's not. Try to breathe."
"Who's… Veneri?" Daria asks, tentatively.
"He did surgeries on me. He altered me. Veneri—" and Madison stops, then. She gazes up - right at Daria. "I thought he'd be dead."
Daria's heart plummets to her stomach. Fuck, this couldn't be happening. She didn't think— she never thought—
"Apparently not," Sadie says, but her words don't even have the acrid bite that would come with her tone. They're sympathetic. "I don't get it. What's he doing in Eight?"
"I don't know," Maddie whispers. "I don't know."
"You think it has anything at all to do with The Vivisector?"
"The Vivisector," Maddie says, again, though her eyes are out of focus. "What—who's… that?"
"That's what they're calling themselves. Almost… terminator-like. Plowed down Four with a relentlessness and a strength that's fuckin' terrifying."
"Indeed," Cynane clears her throat. "They demolished Havenside."
Daria's eyes widen. No. Oh gosh. Valdis. Tal. Cel. Last she heard, they were in god, oh no. Are they hurt? They can't be dead. She'd know if they were dead. She'd know—
"Maddie," Cynane says. "Do you know anything about The Vivisector?
Maddie's still, for a moment or two. Until she shakes her head.
"I don't know who that is," Maddie murmurs, but at this point, her eyes have glazed over. "I don't… I don't know."
"Oh come on, stop questioning her!" It's Jordyn Moriau's voice that breaks through them all. "Can't you see that she's not okay?" Then, in a softer voice - "C'mon, Maddie," she beckons. "Let's go."
Both girls depart. And then - stony silence befalls the both of them, as Sadie stares, hard, at Daria. All Ria can do is stand, very still, and feel the tears on her face fall, and her lips quiver. Because fuck, she's made all of this happen.
She didn't know. She couldn't've known she was working with Dr. Vonsettos. But when was that a good excuse?
I'm sorry. I—I didn't know. I didn't realise. I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't mean for any of it to happen.
I never thought…
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"I didn't tell Dr. Vonsettos." Daria says, almost on instinct, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for working with him in the first place. I just— I didn't think. I didn't realise he wasn't a part of the rebellion. But I didn't tell him anything sensitive— I know better than that—"
"Explain this, then?" Sadie rolls her eyes. "Did you tell him the location to our base at District Seven, while you're at it? Four, too? Because they're gone, you fucking traitor."
"I didn't—" Daria falters. "I—I don't know. I didn't tell him that."
"Why, you write it somewhere?"
Shit. The note.
Her eyes widen.
Sadie scoffs.
"So you did. What's in it, huh? A handy list of coordinates to every base, what the fuck?"
"No," she gasps out. "It wasn't. It was a letter to, um, Cel."
Mira! Shit! Mira, not Cel, oh god…
Sadie raises an eyebrow. "Last name, please? I need to make a list of my enemies. Unless… oh, unless you mean Ivory. Oh my god. Fraternising with the enemy, no less!"
Her throat's thick. "I—"
"Save it, Makrain. The world'sfalling apart. My home is not for you to accidentally fuck-up. And guess what? It's all destroyed because of you. Because you decided to work with the enemy, not once, but twice. All my friends are dead! All the soldiers I've recruited, all that I've made friends with, fuck, all of my friends dead again—fuck you, you traitor!"
She isn't - Daria Makrain isn't a traitor. She knows this. Sure, she'd been shaken after Ravensbirk, and she'd considered… leaving, but she ultimately chose to stay. Because staying and helping is better than ignoring atrocities. Because the Vultures were making things better, even if it is through pain and struggle. Daria knows this. If anything, seeing the suffering had strengthened her resolve.
But does that matter? Just like how trying isn't enough to matter, not meaning for something to happen doesn't mean it hasn't happened. Intention and result is the same. In some way, Veneri had gotten the coordinates to their base. She has damned them all.
My apologies. I've damned you tonight, Cel murmurs, kissing her forehead. Daria laughs lightly, as her lover moves to brush the strands away from her head, and curling them over her ear.
You never have, Daria replies, letting a grin up her lips. If anything, I've damned myself.
Finally, Cel turns back to Ria. Is it a good damnation, at least?
The best, Daria giggles. She kisses Cel, and Cel kisses her back. I wouldn't ask for anything better.
Ria! Cel! yells a voice from outside the room. A moment later, their door opens, and Talquin saunters inside. He presses kisses on Ria's cheek and one on the back of Cel's hand. Cel rolls their eyes, as Tal plops in between the both of them.
Ria returns the kiss - placing one on Tal's forehead. She smiles, shyly. "Hi, beautiful."
"Hi yourself."
Cel sighs, though it's one done in jest - because Ria knows that they love Tal, just as much as Ria loves him.
"You're kinda grumpy today," Ria teases Cel, who of course gives her another eyeroll.
"And you're especially cheerful," Cel drawls, but she's smiling as she says it. Then, in a softer tone— "But that's what I love about you."
Ria blushes. She buries her head in Tal's chest, who laughs. His hands draw around her body, as they do around Cel's, who tries to brush him aside but doesn't try too hard.
In the end, they all stay in bed together. Vultures holed up in one nest. Working for change. Trying their best, as they turn away from the noises of the 55th Games splayed on TV, yet another show about to commence. They'll stop the Games from happening, eventually. But for now: they must work, and bide their time, until they're ready. The casualties that happen are... necessary.
But if one thing happens to Vultures holed up in their homes, it is this -
They find holes in their chests. They are shot to their deaths.
DAY 6.
And she is here.
The figure had long left because no more questions needed to be asked. Everything is her fault. Eight's rebellion is nothing but ash and dust thanks to her. Half of their troops and weapons supply are wiped out. And Daria doesn't know how Veneri knew, but all that matters is that he knew.
She's in a cell. Her death is this hour. That is what will happen— for she has failed them all.
Eight's rebels are dead because of her.
They think that she's a traitor. Because how else would Veneri know? She can't blame them. She would blame herself, too.
She has only an hour before her time is up. She has only an hour left. So she closes her eyes, and begins to think about the past. Begins to think about her time with Val, her time with Tal, her time with Cel. She's always imagined that she would have them by her side, when she died— whether she was old and grey, or dying young because of the Vultures. That's what she's always assumed. But at least here, now— she might not have that, but this is the closest she can get it to.
A knock on the well.
What? They've come early.
Daria blinks. But then, dread begins to fill her heart. Unless… unless this isn't them.
A figure rises. She catches their face, their voice, and—
This is how the Vulture Rebellion ends, for Daria Makrain.
She is terrified. They'd thrown her in a cell, after they found her guilty of aiding Veneri in his bombing. She doesn't know what to do. So she sits, and she waits, and she shivers against the ice-cold stone.
She hopes for a saviour.
And hopes.
And hopes.
But they never come.
(Or do they?)
…
…
…
"I know you are not at fault. I don't believe that you've betrayed us, Daria, in any capacity. However, I'd like you to help me find those that did."
"... Cynane?"
"Yes."
"But… why? I'd helped Vonsettos. Sadie thinks I'm guilty."
"My daughter prefers to act on impulse than reason. The fact is that we have more than one traitor in our midsts. Havenside Base was bombed a day ago. Salvatore Factory was destroyed this morning. Gehenna's Camp was demolished as well. Most of our bases across Panem have been."
"Then…"
"This is the work of a high-level insider mole. One that knows how to manipulate. To divert. To hide. And to rage."
"Here are my suspected culprits."
Chapter 3: Coming 9th April 2022.