I
Zenith Helvine was born to expectations that were bigger than he was, a mother that fled, and a father that never really loved him.
As he stood on his plate, watching the seconds go, all he could think about was the district that never quite felt like home.
Azarael's hands, colder than the early-morning chill, brushing gently against Zenith's cheeks; the powerful thwacks of Diana's fists against the academy punching bag, morning after morning; cold water spewing from the showerhead after a long training session, sorely needed.
Papers strewn across the floor of his father's office and that letter—addressed from Penelope, and sent from District One; Lilith's eyes sparkling with warmth and pride as she looked at Zenith; the morning before the reaping, just Zenith and Azarael, fingers interlaced as they watched the sunrise.
So much had changed from even that morning.
Azarael was safe at home with his brother and the mother that Zenith wished was his. Diana stood proud and tall on her plate, chin up, her academy confidence visible to all.
But for every memory that filled Zenith with warmth, was one that seemed to freeze the blood in his veins.
His father, voice so loud that it seemed to shake the walls, yelling and yelling and yelling all because Zenith asked, curiously, where his mother was; the volunteer list, posted proudly across the Academy after the celebration, topped with Azarael and Diana's name, and the realisation that Zenith had failed once again; the stony dinner that had followed, his father simmering with rage.
When the countdown hit zero, Zenith did what he was born to do.
He fought.
Zenith turned up to his first day of training alone.
The gates were still shut when he reached the academy, a large crowd gathered outside. Zenith stood to the side, stock-still, embarrassed enough that he could feel his cheeks starting to redden. He'd begged his father this morning, just short of getting on his hands and knees, when Zachariah had snapped at him loud enough that Zenith knew it was time to leave it.
On the way, he had convinced himself it wasn't a big deal: he was eight now, and that was old enough to not have his dad walk him everywhere. The other kids probably wouldn't bring their parents either. If his father had come, it would have made Zenith the odd one out.
Which worked until it didn't.
Until Zenith reached the Academy, and all of the kids he'd seen at trials last week were standing proudly with their parents, leaving him singled out and alone. Exposed. Judged. Even though he knew—logically—that nobody was truly paying attention to him.
It didn't make it less embarrassing. Especially given that his father hadn't accompanied him to the trials, either. Whatever meeting he had that day was definitely more important than watching Zenith receive the first invitation from the Academy, out of every other kid there.
(That night, he hadn't even taken Zenith's word for it.)
Zenith watched the gates swing open, chewing on the inside of his lip whilst the others around him surged forward. This was his last chance, his father had been clear about that. If Zenith couldn't excel in business, then he would have to excel somewhere else.
And in District Two, there weren't many other options.
It felt as if the pressure was slowing him down; weighing heavily on his shoulders, rooting the bottom of his sneakers to the pavement. He remained firmly in place, even when nearly everybody else was inside.
An elbow to his upper arm made Zenith jump. He looked to his left, where a curly-haired boy was standing.
"Are you going in, or are you just going to stand here looking?" The boy asked. When Zenith didn't respond, he stuck out his hand. "I'm Aarav," he said, as Zenith gently shook his hand. He jabbed his thumb behind him. "That's my brother, Azarael, and our mom."
"Nice to meet you." Zenith managed. "I'm Zenith. I—I am going in, I was just… taking a minute."
"Let's go in together." Aarav linked his arm through Zenith's. "Unless you need another... minute?"
Zenith shook his head, mustering up the brightest smile he could. "I'm okay now," he said. "Thank you."
Even though most of the day was spent getting to know the other trainees, Zenith still learned something: things aren't as scary when you have friends by your side.
Azarael was winning, but Zenith wasn't too far behind.
The track stretched and stretched in front of them, tauntingly long. The muscles in Zenith's legs burned with exertion as he ran. He could hear Aarav whooping and hollering off to the side, other trainees joining in as the gap between the two frontrunners began to close.
Whether it was Zenith getting faster, or Azarael slowing down, Zenith wasn't sure. The only thing he could think about was putting one foot in front of the other. Though he could best Azarael on the training mats, and in the pool, he was yet to win a race against him.
Today wouldn't change that.
Azarael flew past the finish line three seconds in front of Zenith, to the amusement of Aarav. Zenith hadn't even peeled himself from the gym floor before the other boy stood over him, hand beckoning for the cash Zenith now owed him.
Zenith squinted up through the lights. "Fuck off Aarav," he groaned. "Let me mope first."
"You wouldn't need to mope if you were faster," Aarav chuckled. "If you had won I'd only be doing this to Azarael instead."
"You made a bet with both of us that we would win?!"
"He does it every time." Azarael dabbed at his forehead with his towel, nudging Zenith's bottle with his foot so it was in reach. "He's got to have some fun when he's out on the sidelines. Though, maybe you're the one who needs to be faster, Aarav. Then you might be able to race with me and Zenith one day."
Zenith snorted, finally finding the strength to sit up and gulp down almost his entire water bottle. It wasn't long before they were shooed off of the track by the trainer, grateful for the rest as the girls started to line up.
"Who wants to bet that Diana will win?" Aarav whispered.
"You'd be an idiot if you didn't." Zenith shrugged. "She's fast."
What Aarav lacked in drive, Diana made up for all of it. She was what the group had been missing; someone to keep them all on track during the late training sessions in the gym.
She'd hated them at first and Zenith couldn't blame her. Aarav certainly didn't take training as seriously as he should, and even though Zenith and Azarael were both dedicated, they were also prone to goofing off. By sundown, the trio and Diana were usually the only ones left in the chilly gym, and Diana was the only one with a real interest in training that late. She had huffed and puffed at their antics for weeks on end. It was Aarav face-planting whilst trying to do a lap to warm up that finally broke her.
She was a welcome addition to the group, forcing them to actually do something with their evenings rather than waste them. And the improvement was real; Diana was unnaturally talented at only fourteen-years-old. No-nonsense, taking no excuses from the boys about why they couldn't do something.
It was thanks to her, really, that Zenith had even made it to the final boys' race. Two months ago, he was one of the last in the initial heats. Aarav had taken that place now, and Zenith was determined to take Azarael's.
True to herself, Diana was in the lead the moment the gym echoed with the starting signal. From the heats, to the race itself, Diana always won. This time was no different. Aarav was on his feet as she easily sailed past the finish line, breaking away almost immediately to get her water bottle.
"Good job!" Aarav cheered, as the trio made their way over to her. "Now what we need to do is put you and Az on the track, and let you battle it out."
Diana shrugged. "There wouldn't need to be a battle. I'd win."
Anxiety started to rise in the gym as the trainers conferred amongst themselves. The whole week had been gearing up to today—race after race, spar after spar—all counting towards their end of year ranking.
Today's wasn't going to be particularly disastrous whatever the result—cuts weren't going to be made until next year—but Zenith felt as if he were eight years old again, standing in front of the Academy all alone. The expectations of his father stuck with him; every icy glare, and snide comment made Zenith want to prove himself even more.
This was his chance.
"They're putting up the list." Beside him, Azarael looked pale. First meant as much to him as it did to Zenith. "Should we go and check?"
Zenith took a deep breath and nodded his head, wanting to beat the rush there. "Are you okay?"
"Just nervous."
"Me too."
Azarael placed a hand on Zenith's shoulder, stopping him mid-stride. "Promise me we're not going to fall out?"
Zenith frowned. "Of course, Az."
Azarael managed a small smile, before his brother grabbed his arm and dragged him away. Zenith had to jog to catch up and beat most of the others there, ignoring the chatter around him.
BOYS, 14.
1. Azarael De Vries.
2. Zenith Helvine.
Of course.
Zenith tried not to let his disappointment show as he clapped both Azarael and Diana—who had, to nobody's surprise, topped the list of girls—on the back, smiling along with their celebration.
He'd just… get it next time. He had to get it next time.
"I don't pay for you to get second place."
Zachariah's disapproval was more than clear the moment that Zenith opened his mouth to tell him the results. He'd known that this would happen. Really, he wasn't sure why he even came back to the house in the first place.
Zenith tightened his grip on his fork, poking at the steak in front of him. "Clearly you do," he said through gritted teeth. "You're paying, and I'm second."
"I don't have to pay," Zachariah seethed. "I can sort that out right now, actually. You sit here, disrespecting me like this in my own home, acting like I'm not the one paying for you to fuck about all day."
"I don't fuck about all day!"
"Well it sure as hell seems like you do!" Zachariah slammed his palm against the table, Zenith's fork clattering to his plate as he flinched away. "You'd better sort yourself out, Zenith! I didn't raise you to act like this."
"You didn't raise me like anything!" Zenith yelled. He pointed a shaking, accusing finger. "You locked yourself in your office the moment I was old enough to look after myself! You haven't been there for anything. Not the pre-trials, not my first day, not assessment days." His chair toppled over as he stood up, hitting the ground with a loud thud. "I raised myself. Lilith raised me! You did jackshit, other than abandoning me just like Mom!"
The words hung heavy in the air for longer than was comfortable, but Zenith wasn't done.
"You know where she is, don't you?" He accused through gritted teeth. "You know where she is, but you won't tell me because you're too scared that I'll find her, and then I'll leave you too."
That did it. Zachariah stood too, visibly shaking with anger. Zenith knew that what he had said was wrong, but he was unwilling to take it back.
"She doesn't want you." Zachariah said. The words, unbelievably calm, felt like a smack in the face to Zenith. "And second place definitely isn't going to make her reconsider that, is it?"
"Fuck you." Zenith choked out. "Go to hell."
The tears were still wet on his cheeks when Zenith found himself back in the gym.
"You're hitting that like it's someone you hate." Draven's voice echoed through the room, audible over the loud thwacks of Zenith's boxing gloves against the punching bag. "Does it owe you money or something?"
"Not funny, Draven," Zenith said miserably. "I just want to be alone."
"That's not like you." Draven looked around. "Where are your friends? Did they go home?"
"How am I supposed to know? It's not like I follow them around everywhere."
"Do they know you're here?"
"No." Zenith sighed loudly, throwing a messy punch.
"Does your dad know you're here?" Zenith tensed up immediately, tears starting to well again. "Ah. Because you got second place?"
Zenith nodded. The velcro of the boxing gloves echoed around the gym as he ripped it, contemplating how exactly to phrase his next question. "You knew my mom, right, Draven?"
"Not well," Draven shrugged. "I knew of her, mostly." Guiding Zenith over to the wall, he made him sit down, handing him some water. "Have you tried Lilith?" He asked. "Azarael and Aarav's mom. They used to train together. She might know something. It's worth an ask, if you're desperate."
Zenith frowned. How had he not known this before? He'd been sleeping over there for years, sitting down for family dinner most nights of the week. Lilith had been there for Zenith all the times that his father hadn't been. He'd told her about his mom, and how it was his fault she'd left, and all about his wish to find her. She'd said nothing.
"I can't go home anyway," Zenith said, getting to his feet. He was restless; hopeful that she would give him something to go on. She had to, considering. "I'll see you after the Winter Break, Draven."
Draven smiled, patting Zenith on the elbow. "Stay safe," he said. "But don't go putting your nose where it doesn't belong."
Feeling a little more like himself, Zenith winked over his shoulder whilst he pushed open the heavy door. "Sorry, Draven. Can't promise."
On his sixteenth birthday, Zenith burst through Azarael's bedroom door, a torn slip of paper clenched in his hand.
"Derosiers!" He could barely contain his excitement. "My mom's maiden name was Derosiers!"
Half asleep, Azarael squinted in the low-light. "Huh?"
Zenith flicked the light switch, crossing Azarael's room in a few strides. Holding out the piece of paper, he pointed at the torn out picture.
"That's my mom. That's your mom. Look underneath at the names: Penelope Derosiers. That's what her name used to be before she married my dad."
"I get it." Azarael nodded. "Zen, where did you get this?" He looked at the clock. "Why are you here this late?"
"Are you going to help me look for her or not?"
"Of course I am." He sat up. "Do you think she's still in Two? If she is, and she switched back to using her maiden name, then—"
"Then it would explain why we couldn't find her, right?" Zenith was shaking with excitement. "This is… it's the closest we've ever gotten. I love your mom so much."
"This is hers?" Azarael looked down to the picture, and then back up at Zenith. "She knew your mom this whole time?"
"She didn't know anything beyond this," Zenith said. "They all lost touch after the Academy. But… this is still better than nothing. We could find her with this. Or—Or at least documents, or something."
"We can go down to the Justice Building in the morning and ask them." Azarael suggested, covering his mouth whilst he yawned. "But we should probably sleep first."
"Yeah," Zenith conceded. He crawled across the bed, slipping under the covers like he had done almost every night since the boys met. "We're getting too big to do this," he said, as his foot bumped Azarael's shin. "At this point, I should just have my own room."
"I think Mom would love it if you moved in," Azarael said. "She worries about you."
"I totally would." Zenith looked over. "But Dad… he gets upset enough about me staying over most of the time. If I moved in, he'd probably go straight to the peacekeepers. Report me missing and have me dragged out of here by my hair or some bullshit."
"Your dad's a dick."
"I'm well aware." Zenith laughed. "I'm glad Aarav came up to me that first day. I love all of you so much. I don't know what I would do without you."
Even in the lowlight, Zenith caught on to the blush spreading across Azarael's cheeks. The other boy looked away for a moment, sheepish. "I love you too. I'm glad we met."
His mother seemed to be a ghost.
No matter where Zenith and Azarael looked, no matter who they asked, they came up empty-handed every single time. It was as if she had never existed.
And reaching eighteen meant that they didn't have the time any more. Every spare second was spent training. Over the years the numbers had whittled down, until there were only three boys left.
But, inevitably, there was only one spot.
Zenith threw everything he had into training. He had given up trying to please his dad, taking solace in the pride of Draven and Lilith instead. He wouldn't admit that it still hurt; every time he returned home, Zachariah made sure to make his disappointment known, but it could have been worse. At least Zenith had people he knew were actually proud of him.
He wasn't sure what he would do if he didn't.
"I'm going to ask my dad again," Zenith said. He and Azarael sprawled out on the floor of the Academy library.
"Is that a good idea?"
"No. But do you have a better one?"
Azarael shook his head.
The front door slammed loudly, rattling the window panes with the force of it. Zenith's breath hitched as he was careful to pick his way around the broken glass on the floor.
"Fucking asshole," he murmured.
Zenith just couldn't understand; how had his father never planned for this? Was it not obvious that Zenith would eventually want to know about his mother? Why was it that every request seemed to catch Zachariah off guard, as if Zenith hadn't been asking about this for most of his life.
It was like Zenith was committing a crime by simply being curious. For wanting to know who his mother was, what she was like, where she was now.
And his father's reactions only made Zenith want to search harder. He was hiding something. The constant evading of Zenith's questions; the sudden anger.
The door to his office was unlocked.
Zenith had disrupted Zachariah to ask—knocked on the door when he knew that his father was busy. He had hoped it would quell the anger, but he hadn't been that lucky. This was something, though. His father was usually diligent about locking his office door; Zenith had tried to pull this off a million times, Azarael in tow. The door handle had never budged, no matter how hard they willed it.
Azarael wasn't here, and Zenith wanted nothing more than to run and go get him. But there was no knowing when his father would be back and Azarael would understand; Zenith couldn't let this opportunity go to waste.
He started with the desk drawers. Then, the stack of papers on Zachariah's desk. Funnelling his anger into speed, he couldn't care less at the mess he was making. Somewhere deep down, he wanted Zachariah to know that he had been there. Even if he didn't find anything about his mom, there had to be some shit he could use as some sort of leverage.
What he found was not what he expected. It took him almost an hour of searching to find the stack of letters stashed in the back of a cabinet. Cross-legged on the floor, Zenith had almost given up, flicking his thumb under the flap of the envelope he pulled out the paper, ready for it to be just another piece to throw down on the floor.
His eyes skipped down to the last line, and Zenith almost fainted.
There, in writing.
Yours,
Penelope.
He and Azarael spent all of two days locked away in Azarael's bedroom, pouring over every inch of the letters.
Penelope had been a politician, from what they could gather. She never detailed exactly what she did—probably because Zachariah already knew—but whatever it was gave her enough influence to travel freely. She'd spent most of her adult life flirting between District One and Two, only settling down when she eventually met Zachariah.
"It was my fault." Zenith whispered, scanning one of the letters. He'd always know that he was a sick kid, but it was only until now that he'd realised the true extent of it.
Penelope kept a dutiful vigil at his bedside, until she didn't.
Azarael shook his head, pulling Zenith into a side hug. "It's no one's fault but her own," he said. "She chose to do this, Zen. What were you supposed to do as a baby? Stop her?"
Zenith shrugged. "I have to go to District One. I have to find her."
"And how are you going to do that?"
"I don't know." He admitted. He didn't have any status besides that of the Academy, and there was no way they would allow him to leave this close to selection. "But this can't be another dead end, Az. We've never been closer to finding her than we are now."
"It doesn't have to be a dead end," Azarael said. "But we don't have to rush. We just have to think. Maybe after the selections?"
"Yeah." Zenith nodded. "After the selections. Then we'll figure it out."
But Zenith was already scheming:
Politicians weren't the only ones who could travel. Victors could, too. Of course, there were limitations—Zenith wouldn't be able to travel to District Five just for the fun of it, but nobody would bat an eyelid at him wanting to visit One or Four.
All he had to do was win the spot, and win the Games. Easier said than done, he was aware, but it was the easiest way to get to District One.
And he was desperate.
The assembly hall was packed.
Azarael looked uncomfortable, shifting constantly at the attention. The hall was still filling up but soon all attention would be on them, and Azarael was never one for the spotlight.
Which was funny, considering what he would be getting himself into if he volunteered.
Diana had joked about replacing him with Aarav once he'd won. Honestly, it wasn't the worst idea in the world. Aarav would love the attention.
"Are you nervous?" Zenith whispered, gently nudging his friend.
"A little bit." Azarael nodded. "You?"
"Yeah."
The past few weeks had been hard for them. The stakes were so high; the training was constant. They would get up before the sun rose, and trek home after it had set. Constantly tired. Constantly sore.
Draven had warned them both not to take things personally, but it was easier said than done.
Every trial that Azarael won was a loss for Zenith. And even though he wanted to be happy—and he was, for Azarael—it didn't make the losses any less sour. And vice-versa; Azarael wasn't the greatest at hiding his emotions, and Zenith had certainly picked up on hints of disappointment at moments.
Truly, neither of them had any idea who would come out on top today. Diana was lucky; she had been the front runner of the girls for years, and it was certain that it would be her name announced.
Things had always flip-flopped between Azarael and Zenith, and though they had started the trend of favouring Zenith recently, the announcement could go either way.
As the speakers wrapped up their speeches, Zenith felt as if he was going to be sick. In the gap between their chairs, Azarael was crushing his hand in a white-knuckled grip.
They both watched as the trainers lined up, Draven stepping forward to read their selection.
"It is our pleasure to present to you this years' tributes for District Two," he said. "For our female tribute, we nominate Diana Kallis." The assembly hall erupted into cheers as Diana took her place beside Draven. "For our male tribute, we nominate," the pause seemed to take forever. "Azarael De Vries."
It felt as though someone had taken a baseball bat to Zenith's chest. Somehow, he managed to keep it together, plastering on a smile for Azarael's sake more than anything.
He was happy for him. He had trained just as hard as Zenith, for just as long. They were both deserving of the spot in their own right. But, head spinning, all Zenith could think of was his mother.
District One remained the same distance from Two as it had always been.
But now, knowing that Zenith would have to find another way to get there that didn't rely on winning the Games, it felt like it was on a different planet.
"I don't think I can do it, Zenith." Azarael's eyes were shining with tears. "I can't volunteer."
It didn't come as a shock to Zenith. The tension in Azarael's shoulders, the constant grimace; it hadn't changed since he left that stage three months ago. Zenith, Diana and Aarav all knew that there was something wrong going on with him, but no amount of talking or coaxing could get him to spill.
Not until now, on the morning before the reaping, no less.
Zenith didn't know what to say. He'd take the spot in a heartbeat, both of them knew that he would, but it wasn't just that simple.
Azarael couldn't just say no. Zenith couldn't just step up and take his place, even as the back-up volunteer.
"You wanted it." Zenith frowned. "Az—"
"I wanted to train," Azarael said. "I wanted to fight. And I thought I wanted this, but… I don't think I'm cut out for it, Zenith. I don't want to leave you here, or Mom, or Aarav. I don't want to die on television. I don't want to kill on television. They've been… they've been showing us all of the past Games, Zen. Me and Diana, day after day. They're just kids. And we're supposed to kill them, for what? Money and glory? What's that going to do for me? I could earn a living, earn respect, by being an Academy trainer. I don't need the entirety of Panem bowing down to me."
"Then don't do it." Zenith knew that the words were stupid, but what else could he say? He was scared for Azarael too—his friend was overly talented, one of the best fighters he knew.
One of the best people he knew.
He couldn't count the endless nights he'd stayed up, wondering what he would do if Azarael didn't come back.
And the odds of that were high. Zenith loved Azarael with all of his heart, but between him and Diana? He knew who he would put his money on. Diana was formidable, and she wanted to win just as much as he did.
It was a lose-lose all around. If Azarael came back, Diana was gone. If Diana came back, Azarael was gone. If another district won, then Zenith was down two of his very best friends. And in that situation, Aarav would only serve as a haunting reminder of what he'd lost.
"If I don't volunteer, they'll shun us," Azarael said miserably. "You know they would. Mom and Aarav don't deserve that. It's not their fault I'm a coward."
Zenith leaned over, taking Azarael's face in his hands. "You're not a coward, Az." He said earnestly. "And you don't have to volunteer. We can work something out."
Azarael's fingers brushed against Zenith's cheeks, a deep blush reddening his cheeks. "I don't want you to go either," he said. "I don't even want Diana to go. It's all so fucked up—"
"We have to, Az. We have no choice." Zenith wiped away the tears dribbling down the other boy's cheeks. "We got ourselves into this, but I can get you out."
"Do you have a plan?"
"Don't I always?"
"Are you okay in there, Az?"
Zenith finished winding the rope around the door handle, the other end looped around the family's refrigerator.
It was a simple plan; act as if Zenith had tricked Azarael into looking for something in his mom's office, and then locked him in. Everybody knew that he had been desperate for the spot, and it made sense that he would want to take it.
Azarael had been hesitant at first, fearing the effects on Zenith's reputation, but Zenith couldn't care less.
"I don't need the entirety of Panem bowing down to me," he'd repeated Azarael's words from yesterday morning. "I just want to find my mom."
"Zen?" On the other side of the door, Azarael sounded like he had been crying. "Are you sure about this?"
"I wouldn't be doing it if I wasn't."
"Are you scared?"
"A little." Zenith shrugged even though Azarael couldn't see him. He repeated his question from earlier.
"I'm okay," his friend confirmed. "Stay safe, okay? Don't let Diana kick your ass."
Zenith laughed. "I don't think she'll give me much choice in the matter." He rested his forehead against the door, imagining that Azarael was doing the same. "Good luck holding down the fort here."
"I'll do my best." There was a pause, and then Azarael spoke again, voice shaking. "You'd better get going if you don't want to be late… Zen?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For this, and for everything."
"No, thank you."
"I love you, Zen. Really."
"I love you too, Az."
Tears filled Zenith's eyes as he turned away, walking out of the house that was more of a home to him than his actual house was.
If things went wrong, he would never come here again.
Taking one last look over his shoulder, Zenith tilted his chin up, puffed out his chest, and joined the gathering crowds.
It was like the first day of training again; all the nerves and excitement jumbling within him.
This time, his father would have to watch. Zachariah had no choice.
"I volunteer!"
Zenith's voice cut through the chatter of District Two, which only grew louder after he climbed up to the stage. Confusion rippled around the district, clouding Diana's features, the mentors', the trainers'.
Despite it all, Zenith stood tall. The scene that he and Azarael had orchestrated wouldn't be figured out until after the reaping had concluded. Though, he could practically hear the rumours already circulating.
"District Two—" their escort fought to gain back the audience's attention. Zenith turned to Diana, shaking her hand.
"I'll explain on the train."
"You'd better."
"—Your tributes! Diana Kallis, and Zenith Helvine!"
II
Zenith prodded the District Eleven boy's corpse with the toe of his boot, grimacing at the pool of blood underneath the body.
"You could've been a little bit more gentle, huh?" He called over his shoulder to Diana, who gave him a small shrug. "I'm not sure you needed to stab him that many times."
The bloodbath had been just that—ten tributes falling, mostly, to the blades of the Careers. Zenith had managed to kill two himself, the Eight boy and the Ten girl, whose bodies lay further out by the plates they had launched on. He and the Four boy, Lir, had been given the task to clean up a little, dragging the bodies beyond the plates to where the hovercraft would be able to collect them.
The boy didn't weigh much when Zenith picked him up. It was probably Diana's easiest kill; he'd watched her skewer him with her sword, a flurry of attacks until he was lying still, and she was already choosing her next victim.
There had been so much adrenaline, entirely too many things happening at the same time, that he was only now starting to process it all.
He strolled through the long banquet hall, depositing the body in the pile that they had started by one of the pillars to the building's entrance. The hallway ran deep. If there were any tributes hanging around, then hopefully this would be a good enough deterrent.
"Pretty nice of the Gamemakers to house us in a palace," Lir chuckled. "They should hold the crowning here, too."
"Won't matter much to you where they hold it." Diana snorted. She and the One girl were in charge of sorting through what was left at the cornucopia. "I can't imagine you could see much from six-feet under."
Zenith couldn't stifle his laugh. He wasn't sure what it was, but the frosty image that Diana had always been so careful to maintain, was slowly melting away the more they were in the Capitol. Probably because her job was almost done; she'd impressed who she'd needed to to get into the arena. Now, she was cruising towards the finish line.
Red-faced, Lir rolled his eyes. "You'd better watch yourselves, Twos."
"Or what?" Noelani, his district partner spoke up. "You'll miss them with your tomahawk?"
Lir grumbled something that nobody else was able to decipher, hoisting up the body of the Six female to unceremoniously dump on the pile. Zenith picked up the Eight girl, with Lir dragging the Nine boy and Seven girl to finally finish.
"Better be far enough for the hovercraft," Lir mumbled. "I have no desire to carry ten bodies ever again."
Zenith had done most of the grunt work, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. He had a sneaking suspicion that the others were already weary of how close he and Diana were, and he didn't want to give them any more reasons to build a case against him. He was confident he could take any one of them one on one given the right conditions, but there were so many ways to be vulnerable in the Games.
Zenith was a Career, but so were the other five. And just like he had his reasons for winning, they had theirs, and that was important for him to remember.
Right now, they were working as a team, but Zenith knew it wouldn't last. It never did. Even if all of them made it to the final six, it would be every man for himself in seconds.
His life could have ended as easily as the Twelve boy that Noelani had killed, or the little Seven girl who's pleas fell on deaf ears as Temperance slit her throat. Zenith wasn't special.
Zachariah had spent Zenith's entire life making sure he understood that.
The banquet hall became their base of operations.
They slept huddled up in the back of the cornucopia. Lucky enough that the arena meant they didn't have to content with the weather, they could have slept anywhere. But it felt safer, tucked away behind all of their equipment.
So far, they had done a good job at keeping the district partners separate. But when Lir and Temperance had dozed off shortly after dinner, and both Noelani and Ace were struggling to keep their eyes open after the sunset, they had little choice: Diana and Zenith were the only ones alert enough to keep watch.
They positioned themselves close to the left wall, leaning back on the columns that stretched up to the high ceilings. They'd filled the first portion of the evening with small-talk and silence, but Zenith could tell that there was something she wanted to ask.
"Why did you do it?" She asked finally. "And I'm not talking about that bullshit excuse you gave me on the train. You're not that reckless, you knew the policies, and Azarael wasn't even at the reaping. It wasn't a split-decision thing, Zenith."
He gazed out at the wooden tables stretching the length of the hall, debating on whether or not he should tell her the truth. He wanted to, but he had to be aware that Panem was watching.
"I volunteered because I want to find my mom," he said. That was true. Diana knew that his mom wasn't around, but in the whirlwind of training, Zenith had never gotten around to telling her the full story. "I was sick as a baby. She couldn't take it, so she fled to One. If I win, I'll be able to go and find her."
"Did Az know?"
"About my mom? Yeah." Zenith nodded. "And obviously he knew I wanted the spot, but he couldn't just give it up. He won it, fair and square."
"You did something to him, didn't you?"
"Nothing bad." Zenith grimaced at her accusatory tone. "I didn't hurt him, Diana. I would never. I just… trapped him in his home office. So he couldn't get to the reaping."
"He felt guilty, you know," Diana said, using her nail to scrape some blood off the tip of her sword. "About winning the spot over you. He knew you wanted it."
"I know."
"I'm surprised you two didn't get together." Diana said openly. "I even made a bet with Aarav."
Zenith was grateful for the darkness obscuring the deep blue. He spluttered. "We—He didn't—I mean, we love each other but—"
"You're not fooling me, Zen." Diana winked. "I saw the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you."
Zenith had no response. He chewed his lip, thinking about that morning before the reaping.
"I don't know why we didn't," he confessed. "I think we both knew, deep down. We just didn't do anything with it."
"Do you regret it?"
Zenith nodded, his gaze pointed towards the floor.
Diana didn't press for more details. The time passed slowly, the early hours stretching impossibly. Zenith was just getting to the point where his eyelids were starting to feel heavy, until he spotted the two figures in the doorway.
He and Diana leaped into action, vaulting over the banquet table in a move loud enough it woke the other Careers. Zenith could hear their confused voices as he raced out into the hallways, following the two figures that had fled the moment they realised they were caught.
It was the girl that fell first. Literally.
Even Zenith winced at the sound of her head bouncing off of the hall tiles, but to her credit, she didn't stay down for long.
But her tiny legs were no match for Zenith's long stride. His hand reached out, grabbing the collar of her shirt before he plunged his sword through her back.
Her words died on her blood-stained lips, slumping forward the moment that Zenith withdrew his sword. This time she didn't get up, her cannon followed quickly by the boy ahead of them's, Diana muttering something as she planted her boot on the small of his back before pulling her sword out.
"I think they were trying to get supplies," she called to the others gathered at the entrance to the banquet hall. "They probably didn't see me and Zenith. Thought the coast was clear."
"They thought we just left everything unguarded?" Temperance laughed. "What were they, idiots?"
"They were from Ten and Twelve," Zenith responded. "Doesn't look like they have anything on them. They were probably desperate."
"Are we just leaving them here?" Diana asked. "Or are we making another pile?"
"Just leave them." Ace shrugged. "You two need to sleep. Me and Noelani will take over watch.
The only downside to an indoors arena, the Careers found out, was the amount of nooks and crannies they contained.
It was day five, and besides two cannons earlier on in the day—neither of which they were responsible for—the only kills credited to their alliance were the two that Diana and Zenith scored on the third night.
Zenith felt everyone starting to get antsy. The way that Lir, the only one of them without a kill to his name, was almost constantly glaring at both him and Diana was starting to make him feel uneasy.
It was too tempting to leave, though. Zenith knew it was what the others wanted. He and Diana, with three kills to their names each, were at the top of the killing board. They were the biggest threat, and they knew it.
The night before, Diana had fallen asleep with her sword tucked into her sleeping bag, and Zenith was never far away from his own.
"Do you want to go hunting, Diana?" Temperance asked. "Me and Noelani were just about to head out."
"I think I'll pass." Diana shook her head. "Thanks for the invitation though."
"You're saying no to hunting?" Noelani chipped in. "What kind of Career are you?"
"A smart one." Diana stated. "Last year, your tributes asked our girl the same thing. They waited until they got a kill, so that Ana would have her guard down, and then they killed her. I'm not too eager for history to repeat itself."
Ace stood up. "Are you suggesting that they're going to try to kill you?"
"Not at all." Diana leaned back on the wall, her gaze shifting from Ace to the two girls. "I'm just explaining my hesitance. Noelani was the one suggesting I wasn't a real Career, if you want to go after someone for making assumptions, then maybe you should start with her."
Ace pinched his nose. "We still have four tributes to find. Can't we at least stay civil until we do that?"
"She's the one accusing us of trying to kill her," Noelani scoffed. "Sometimes it's best to just stay in your lane, Two."
Zenith stepped forward. "I'd watch your tone if I were you," he warned. "Come on. It's been five days. Now is not the time to be at other people's throats."
"Of course you would take your girlfriend's side." Lir sneered, unhooking his tomahawk from his belt. "Don't think we don't know that the two of you wouldn't kill us in a heartbeat."
"What do you think this is?" Zenith frowned. "We're in the Hunger Games, Four. What were you expecting? Us all to sit around and make friendship bracelets around the campfire?"
Lir lunged forward, his blade glancing off of Zenith's shield. It was almost like the bloodbath again; the flurry of movement in his periphery; the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He parried another one of Lir's blows, the tip of the tomahawk managing to catch Zenith's upper shoulder. He felt his clothes wet with blood, but it was nothing he couldn't deal with. He drove forward and swept out a leg to catch Lir off balance, ramming his shield into the boy's chest to further the assault.
A cannon boomed, but Zenith didn't break concentration to look and see who it belonged to. Lir was on the floor, on hand on the back of his head that had smashed against the concrete, and the other reaching for his tomahawk.
Zenith didn't give the boy the chance to even curl his fingertips around the handle, Lir was dead before he could process that Zenith's sword was at his throat.
A hand grabbed Zenith's injured shoulder, Diana appearing in front of him with a bloody gash down her face. Zenith turned, spotting Temperance's crumpled body, Ace and Noelani covering the distance behind them.
"We're not welcome anymore," Diana panted. "We should go."
There wasn't much outside of the palace. Outside of the force field, it looked as if the hills sloped downwards. Zenith was thankful it was cut off; the palace itself was a nightmare to search, it would have been much worse if there were surrounding areas.
Ace and Noelani didn't come searching for them. Or, if they had, they hadn't ventured out of the monumental entrance. It made sense; the last time they had seen the pair, they were fleeing down a hallway. It wasn't until the next morning that they had ventured outside.
On the sixth night, the girl from Five had died. Whether that was Ace and Noelani, or one of the other tributes alive, Diana and Zenith were none the wiser. And at some point during the week mark of them being in the arena, the boy from her district, and the Eight girl joined her.
"That had to be Ace and Noelani," Diana said. "The cannons were too close together for it to be anything else."
"Or it was a mutt." Zenith suggested. Their use had been dwindling over the past few years, for whatever reason, but it was still a plausible theory.
Whatever had taken them out didn't change that there was only five of them left. They were getting close to the end.
He and Diana hadn't spoken about what would happen if they were the only two left. It was stubborn of them both to ignore it as they were, but, ultimately, it wasn't a given that it would even turn out that way.
The beginning of the ninth day started with raised voices. Raised voices that were familiar to him and Diana.
"We've scoured every inch of that palace, and they're not there!" Noelani shouted. "I don't know where they are, but it's a safe bet that they're still together, and we both know neither of us could take them on by ourselves!"
"If we split up, we can cover twice as much ground," Ace argued. "You saw what that bitch did to Temperance. I'm not letting her get away with that!"
"Temperance went for Diana first," Noelani said. "Lir was my friend, but I'll gladly admit he was an idiot; the Twos wouldn't have fought if they weren't started on—Ow! What the fuck!"
Diana and Zenith crept around the side of the building. They didn't have the greatest view from where they were, but Ace's spear in Noelani's gut was unmistakable.
Diana hissed. Zenith gasped. They watched on as he pulled it out, saying something too low for them to pick up. Noelani swung out with her rapier, catching Ace from his shoulder to his breast bone, but she wasn't able to stay standing for long. Losing her balance, she toppled down the short steps, landing crumpled at the bottom.
"I hope it takes a while," Ace spat, loud enough for Diana and Zenith to hear. "Maybe you'll last until I've killed the Twos. Wouldn't that be funny?"
Diana and Zenith had heard enough. With a nod of the head, they spray out from behind the pillar, taking off towards the monumental entrance.
"I'll get him," Diana said, as Ace took off, all bark and no bite. "You figure out Noelani."
"Will do."
As Diana took the stairs two at a time, Zenith dropped to his knees beside Noelani. He gently rolled her onto her back. She was pale, the front of her shirt soaked through with blood, but she was still very much alive.
"Is Diana with you?" She asked.
"She's gone to get Ace." Zenith shook her head.
"He wanted us to split up to kill you. Stupid, right?"
"A little."
"Zenith, can I ask you something?" Noelani winced. She looked back at the entrance that Ace and Diana had disappeared into. Zenith nodded. "Will you kill me?"
Zenith was startled by the question. He'd known it was what Diana was referring to when she'd asked him to figure out Noelani, but he couldn't help but feel guilty. The five days that they spent together had been amicable for the most part, and Noelani deserved better than to be killed by someone she trusted.
Though, Ace had taken that away from her, it still felt wrong for Zenith to be the one to end it all. This was different to everything else; the kids that Zenith had killed in the bloodbath, they were trying to kill him, too. The pair in the hallway, trying to steal his supplies.
Noelani was harmless in this state. Her bloody fingers tapped against his cheek. "Please?"
Zenith nodded. Putting this off would only leave Noelani in pain, and Diana not Ace would share the same hesitance. He grabbed a dagger from his belt, slitting Noelani's throat in a controlled motion.
Her cannon boomed, and Zenith was quick to move away from her body. He was just starting to walk up the stairs, ready to join Diana wherever she was, when a low rumbling made him stop.
The entire palace was quaking. He brought his shield up as a chunk of debris fell from the arch above him, clanging off of his shield. Retreating backwards, the sound of the palace collapsing in on itself was unmistakable.
One cannon boomed, and Zenith could swear that it seemed louder than the others. He surged forward, calling Diana's name. She and Ace couldn't have gone too far in; with how fast she ran, the hallway was nothing but a quick sprint.
His feet found the stairs again, another cannon booming. A figure appeared at the entrance, barrelling down the steps in a blur. They smacked into each other, Zenith's arms windmilling as he attempted to keep his balance.
He hit the ground with a thud, choking on the dust cloud that all the debris had picked up. Using his shield to cover his head, Zenith waited out the worst of it. Judging by the way that the other figure hadn't tried to kill him yet, he knew that it was Diana.
He was certain, and his mind was spinning—how was he supposed to kill one of his best friends?
He wouldn't have to.
Zenith's heart sank as he got to his feet, wiping the dust covering his face only to see Ace, defenceless, lying on the floor. He was injured and bloody, testament to Diana no doubt, but he was still alive, and that meant—
"No!" Zenith howled. He flew over to the piles of bricks at the entrance, fingernails scraping over them as he wrenched brick after brick, tossing them to the side. "Diana!"
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Zenith was aware of the shadow slowly making its way up the steps. He knew what Ace was doing. But, thankfully for him, Ace didn't expect Zenith to make his move.
A piece of rubble clenched in his fist, Zenith swung with all of his might, twisting around to catch the side of Ace's temple. The blonde boy yelled, falling almost immediately. Zenith was on top of him in a second, bring the brick down and down and—
"Panem, we present to you the Victor of the 149th Hunger Games: Zenith Helvine from District Two!"
On the third day in the hospital, Zenith awoke to a figure at his bedside. His mentor had been in and out, doctors and nurses almost as regular as a clock's chime.
But the woman beside him was—
His bandaged fingers shot out, finding the slip of torn paper on his bedside table. He looked down at the picture, of Lilith and the girl beside her.
"Mom?" His voice quivered, warm tears he was unable to keep back spilling down his cheeks. "What are you doing here?"
She was also crying as she turned to face him, raining kisses down on the top of his head that he didn't try to pull away from.
"I pulled a lot of strings to get here," she said. "But I couldn't—I couldn't let you be here alone. Not after that."
Zenith's hand found hers, gripping it tightly even if it made pain shoot out from the fingers he'd practically destroyed tearing at that rubble.
"Do you promise not to leave this time?"
"Zenith, I wouldn't dream of it."
This piece was written for the SYOT Verses discord's Victor Exchange event. Phobie, Zenith was a pleasure to write; thank you so much for sending him out. I have some fun plans for him, whenever I get to writing them, and I'm super excited about all of this.
I hope you enjoyed!