PART I: RISE.
4
Talquin Seasbane - The Bluebird.
To Divert.
"My second suspect is Seasbane. Talquin Seasbane."
"W-why him? He's the most loyal person I know. Cynane, he wouldn't… he wouldn't do that. I know him. I know he won't."
"I understand your reservations, Daria, but consider this. Have you noticed his changes, lately?"
"I… no… but he hasn't. He's as I've always known him. Sweet, protective, kind—"
"Swallowed by ghosts. Am I wrong?"
"... No. But he's fighting for them. He wouldn't… he wouldn't betray The Vultures for the Capitol. Not when Alithyia and Atlantis died because of them. That doesn't make sense."
"Oh, no, I don't mean the Capitol. I believe he's been made by The Metals."
Talquin Seasbane has never seen a bluebird in his lifetime, but everyone insists on comparing him to one.
Sweet and beautiful and blue. And oh, have you heard of their voices? They sing so gorgeously.
So, at age ten, being a bluebird becomes his dream. Even if he can't sing— not like the shanty singers, nor like that pop singer Fonseca, and certainly not like the birds— he's gonna try his best to fulfil the rest.
Nerio never liked those comparisons. He never liked Talquin being any sort of bird at all. Least of all a bluebird, my son. Have you seen them? They're weak things. You can squish them in your hands without a struggle. I want you to be strong. Stand up for yourself. Don't be like me.
He still doesn't know what to make of Nerio's advice. It was undeniable that Nerio wanted the best for him. Even if it meant his sister damned for her existence with features a little too alike his mother.
(Even if it eventually meant his sister dead, by her own hand, from a cascade of chaos beginning with Nerio's abandonment of his own daughter, and Talquin still wonders, still spirals— he wasn't doing enough, he didn't see the signs, he should've seen the signs, he should've done more to prevent it.)
But what Talquin knows is this. A bluebird symbolises hope and happiness. Prosperity and renewal.
He doesn't know if he can play the part, but he'll try his best, to— for their memories.
He'll do anything to keep them alive.
He'd joined the Vultures out of necessity. He'd joined them because he was grieving: both for his sister, and for his best friend. He'd joined them because Talquin Seasbane had nothing left.
(In part, his decision was made thanks to Hezediah, and to Juno, who have both involved themselves in the cause. Heze's rationale was a measured: "They're the winning side, and the Capitol can screw off for all I care." And Juno's was a roll of his eyes, and a simple: "Fuck them.")
That was without mentioning Daria, who had involved herself with the Vultures when she was fifteen— she'd told him excitedly of her exploits, and had worried for her safety, which was how he'd been brought aware of the cause to begin with— and then later Cel, who was outwardly the most sardonic Capitol supporter to any member of the public, but he and Daria knew far better.
It wasn't difficult at all, in the beginning. He and the rest of the Victors involved in the cause had been assigned to create a weapons stronghold in Victor's Village. Which was simple: whilst the Capitol may raise an eyebrow or two at any regular District person with a multitude of weapons, they would give not a care about Victors stocking swords and guns and shields. Goes with the Victor aesthetic. After that was over, Havenside became his assignment, and… that was harder.
Because Havenside was home. Havenside was his friends. Havenside was memory.
Havenside was memory, and Talquin Seasbane would not do something so careless as forgetting.
DAY 2.
Rhodos and Althea arrive faster to their base than he expects.
"Welcome to Havenside!" Talquin says, a smile upturning his lips. He looks between Rhodos, who has his head slightly dipped, but there are stars in his eyes, and to Althea, who's looking at him cooly.
"And here's your official welcome to the Seaside Vultures. I've heard that you had some difficulty arriving."
He winks at Cel, who's standing a ways off from Rhodos and Althea, who rolls their eyes.
"Hey, lover," Tal says.
"Hey yourself," Celestino replies, as they envelop Talquin in a hug. "I've missed you."
"Me too," he murmurs. "What are the work hours over in Four's friendly neighbourhood Capitol bootlicking camp? I couldn't even reach you once this week."
"Shit's getting real," Celestino drawls. "Friendly reminder that the Games exploded two days ago. Besides. The Vivisector's decided to pay The Lustration a visit, which is always bad news for the Vultures."
"Fuck," Tal groans. "I can't believe this.
That could never be anything good. Having the Vivisector as a force alone in Four was bad enough— that Capitol terminator had massacred key Vulture bases and left nothing that could've been used as a weapon unwrecked.
"Are The Metals directly collaborating with The Lustration?" The homicidal Capitol-loving metal freaks with y'know, the pro-Capitol fanatics who tied rebels to stakes and burnt them alive?
That's catastrophe marrying a pandemonium.
"I doubt it, honestly. The Vivisector views me as competition. Don't think they're interested in an alliance. We're trying to figure it out," Cel stops. "Well, I am. Or was. Until your friends decided to barge in. Everyone in The Lustration know I'm gone thanks to—" and this, they jut their finger towards Rhodos and Althea, "— them."
"Best case scenario, I'm a defector. Worst-case scenario, I'm a double agent for the Vultures. Which I am, but." Celestino shrugs. "At least I haven't been made by them."
"I think you made the right choice," Tal says. "They were gonna find you eventually— it was just a matter of time. You just chose to strike first."
"I guess you're right," Celestino murmurs. "It's what it is."
As he watches Rhodos and Althea retreat into The Hove, Talquin feels something twinge in his heart. They're together: best friends of Four, surviving even till the end.
To say that he doesn't know what that reminds him of would be a joke.
Maybe in different world he and Alithyia could've lived. Defying all odds despite all.
They would've never died together, not in rebellion, not like how Brynn and Madison did: because that was not what the Games were for, for them. They were in the Games for a memory, and living could only be achieved through death.
Talquin shakes his head. But that's why he's here. He's here for his sister, and he's here for his best friend. This is how he'll ensure they'll be remembered.
"Cel?"
"Hmm?"
"You wanna go on a date?"
Cel looks amused. "It's midnight. And the middle of a rebellion? Is that really optimal?"
Tal shrugs. "I'd take it. Who knows how many more chances we're gonna get?"
"It's a date, then."
"You think Ria can call us in from over at Eight to join us?"
"I'm not above trying."
It's sweet to to be with Cel - to know what he still has. But that doesn't stop the torment and ache in his heart. The wistful selfishness that grips his throat with every word he says. Alithyia's eyes. Atlantis's. Watching and lingering.
Fuck. What would he give to not feel so empty.
"This is… your base?"
Talquin smiles. "Yup."
He is beyond aware of what they're staring at. Only at The Hove, Riocesse's baby, and Four's main base of operations! In allof its glory. Stacked chairs on tables, dead bar, growing dust corners. Just another day of honest work.
"This is just a run-down bar. Is it not?" Althea Ivory ventures, as she gazes quizzically from Cel to Talquin. "And a broken one at that."
"Ria told me that Havenside's base was nothing to behold, but even I wasn't expecting this," Cel mutters.
At all of that, Tal's smile only widens. "Wait for it."
He strolls up to behind the bar counter, to the shelves of drinks upon drinks. His hand reaches for where a specially crafted bottle lay. It wouldn't be anything to an outsider. But he knows this drink. It's the Seasbane Special, and though many have assumed that it was named after him and his victory, it was always created from a dare.
"Name a drink… I've got it! Lime-orange-lemon mix for the bitterness. Here's to the Seasbane Special!"
"Oh for fuck's sake Ali!"
But Atlantis was smiling.
He exhales. He pulls the bottle.
Immediately, the shelves fold inwards on themselves, without so much of a creak. Dust whirls— a yell, a gasp, a cough— and then it clears to reveal a passage of steps, descending down into darkness.
"Holy—" Rhodos whispers. "That is amazing."
Cel raises an eyebrow. "You know, when Ria said that this base was dusty, and because in Ria-speak that means shitty… I wasn't expecting this. Sorry, why didn't you tell me that you had a cool base?"
He can't stop the smile from spreading on his face. "Because now I have your reaction."
Talquin turns to the steps. He'd always been hesitant on this, especially when he first proposed to Cynane his plan of carving a hole underneath The Hove to construct a secret base. But Ricoesse gave him his blessing— for her memory — and he decided that he neededit too. After his victory, The Hove has physically hurt to look at. It held hostage too many memories, and along it the painful reminder that they were memories, never for him to experience, to have, to touch again, because the people involved in them were all dead.
It was a tableaux of pain and nostalgia. Tal had waded in it, in the months after Ali's death, until he decided that he couldn't takeit anymore.
To make things not hurt again, you have to build something new. Not to supplant, but to grow around the old. Like flowers in a new bloom, there to caress the withered ones. So that's what he did with The Hove: if it insisted on being his memory-place, then fine. But he'll make it a place of change too.
That's why this matters so much to him.
Everyone's fallen quiet. Talquin shakes his head, and waves at them to follow.
"What are you all waiting for? Let's go."
Just to set the record straight, their compound is not dusty.
He's subconsciously aware of Althea and Rhodos' stares, and in particular, Rhodos' gape. Talquin can't blame them at all.
He might've built this compound with his Victor winnings, but the Vultures were the ones who really brought it to life. Ever since the 53rd Games, they've funnelled resources and technology and weapons into Havenside for the rebellion. Direct radioing back to Thirteen, communicuffs and lines to other bases across Districts— while Thirteen is the brain of operations, Havenside is its metal heart.
Their recruit numbers only continue to grow. Their compound has space for up to 5,000 people: compact but efficient. Leaders, though, are only found in one place— and that's by the glass-panelled communications centre right by the entrance.
"Hezediah," Talquin greets. The sour-tempered Victor raises her eyebrows when she sees him. The glass door swings open, as she envelops him into a one-armed hug.
"Talquin," she responds. "Glad to see you back."
Talquin grins. "You too. Still as sardonic as ever?"
"Oh, you know it, Seasbane."
Then, she levels her eyes at the rest of the squad. She acknowledges Cel— "Oh, so you're our inner bastard," which was responded to with a half-grin, "Yeah, and getting all the intel and more that you could only dream of." Heze nods up at Rhodos and Althea. "Congratulations on being the two luckiest bastards of Four to ever enter the Games," she mutters, rue written across her lips.
She turns away from Talquin. "I'll be back with the debriefing. Just let me get Juno."
Just like that, the Victor which the 'Kov was named after leaves.
After a long silence, Althea's the one who dares to speak. "Is she always like this?"
Tal shrugs, feeling a slight smile pull up to his lips. "Heze takes some time to warm up to people. But she'll love you guys in no time, I promise."
"I hope so," Rhodos murmurs. His eyes are shining with disbelief. "I… I didn't know so many Victors was involved in the Vultures' Rebellion."
"There's more of us where you're coming from." A new voice cuts in. Talquin turns to find a boy gazing back at him, decked from head to toe in war gear, to a degree where he's sure it's more fancy than practical. Although he's an adult now - eighteen! - Talquin will always see Juno as a scowling, jaded, foul-tempered child.
"Hey, Argostoli."
Juno rolls his eyes. "What's up, Seasbane?"
"I've missed your dumbass."
"Funny. I did too."
"Cool the reunions," Hezediah mutters. "It's been, what, barely a week since we've last seen each other?"
Talquin chuckles. "Can't let us share some love around, Zenkovah?"
"Yeah, yeah," Heze scoffs, but another smile's lined up in her mouth. Then, she gazes at the rest of them: from Juno, to Tal, at Cel, until finally resting upon Rhodos and Althea.
"We're here for the same thing," Heze exhales. "You want to get your families back. We want to get Kani Fairchild back."
The atmosphere shifts. It's - discomfort. It's a feeling. Everyone knew that no Victor was immune to the Capitol's machinations. But the Capitol had kept them well-fed and safe in their Villages. Even if you knew you were being lulled into a false sense of comfort, it's difficult not to settle into it - till before you knew it, you believed.
Kani's imprisonment was proof of the contrary. What made it worse was that Kani was never involved with the Vulture's Rebellion, anyway. Never directly involved. Fairchild was always pragmatic: she was out for herself, and never a grand cause. She'd remained in the Village. Even when Heze tried to tell her - even when Tal tried to convince her to come with them, she'd remained resolute - I'm sorry, but I'm not going. This is where Althea'll find me.
She'd stayed when the Capitol stormed the Village.
"We need to get into the Capitol's camp. Here—" and waving her hand across her communicuff, Hezediah draws up a hologram of a map. Four, laid out before them, glistens.
Another swipe, and Hezediah magnifies a particularly fortified area. "This is where they're keeping your families."
"And Kani," Althea mutters, her eyes zeroed in at the location.
"Yes," Heze says. Her voice is heavy - though with what - anger? resentment? hate? - Talquin isn't sure.
"That's where Fairchild is."
And then Talquin meets her eyes, and then he realises.
Hezediah's eyes are blazing.
"Do you have a plan?" Cel ventures.
"Oh, I do. It involves you, mole," Heze says, her lips tilting. "You're gonna get us in there. You're going to give us the credibility that we need, because 'course the Capitol thinks that just 'cause we're not in our Village rotting, we've declared our loyalties to the Vultures. Which we have - years ago, actually - but they don't need to fuckin' know that."
Juno chuckles. "Oh, fuck yeah. I like that."
"Let me get this straight," Cel murmurs. "You can't get in there by yourselves, because…?"
"Because they'll just capture us from the get-go. Thinkin' we're defectors and the like. But going with you has the presumption that we've been workin' with you for a long time."
Then, Heze turns her attention to Rhodos and Althea.
"And then we'll need them."
"Us?" Rhodos splutters.
"Did I stutter?" Heze scoffs, a heh curling her words. "Yes, we'll need you. We need an excuse that isn't bullshit to get into that damn camp. So here's what we'll do - we'll convince them that we've captured Rhodos McNamara and Althea Ivory, and are here to turn them in. We'll march you both through the prison compound. Cel'll tell them that we're transferring y'all. Shouldn't be hard, as long as there isn't any holdup with the guards. Once they've got their backs turned, we're gonna pounce. Take 'em and take off. And fight, 'course."
"That's…"
"Well, it's dangerous. But that's the only way. If you want to save your parents. If you want to save your sister, Rhodos. If you want to save Kani, Althea."
"It's a yes."
"Althea, wait—"
Althea shakes her head. Her eyes burn with an unparalleled steeliness. "Yes. Let me save her."
"Good." Hezediah's snarl turns a grin upon her mouth. "The Capitol'll understand the price of fucking with one of mine."
"With one of ours," Tal emphasises. Approval flicks in Heze's blazing eyes, and agreement persists in Juno's.
They need this mission. Because they'll get to save those that would die, otherwise. Sacrificed by the Capitol who didn't care for them. Sacrificed by the world, for nothing more than pettiness, for nothing more than -
A lump's in his throat.
- Snow's entertainment.
The 52nd's fires burn so hatefully.
It's practically a mockery. He and his best friend in the end. They'll never let either of them live. They're nothing more than entertainment for them.
But Talquin can hope.
Oh, how much he hopes. But when Alithyia turns the sword inwards in herself, when her back hits the waves, when she gasps her last breath—
He knew. Didn't he, all along?
This was always their ending.
DAY 3.
They'll have only two days to prepare for their mission.
It's more nerve-wracking for them than it is for him, because they're the ones who are going.
"We need you to stay," Hezediah had told him, after dragging him aside. A protest had leapt to his lips, but she'd shook her head. "No. You know that The Vivisector's devastating all of Four's bases. We'll need somebody that can protect this base. Don't forget that this is the heart of communications."
"The Vivisector doesn't know about The Hove, Heze. They're all - destructive, ravaging, razing - I don't think that they care about us. Hell, they'll never find their way here. I swear my life on it."
Heze shook her head. "You never know, Tal. Better safe than sorry. And besides…" she exhales. "Tal, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but you've been running yourself fuckin' ragged."
His breath caught in his throat. "What?"
"Look. You've been doin' the Vultures' chores nonstop. Morale here, weapons distribution there… I can't even remember the last time I saw you sleep. I'm actually kinda fuckin' worried bout you. If I could, I'd keep Cel off the mission just so they can knock some sense into you or some shit. God knows you need it."
He tried to smile. "I'm fine, Heze. Really. You don't have to worry."
But she gave him a look, and he knew what that meant. No negotiations.
So, he'll stay. It doesn't make him any less nervous for what's to come. Especially as they rehearse their lines, their acts, and run simulations of the Capitol base, in order to perfect their infiltration— while he's here doing nothing.
He doesn't like not helping. Not when he can, and when he knows he can. It's in his soul to aid, in his soul to protect, and not doing it just feels… wrong.
As if you'd successfully protected Alithyia. As if you'd successfully protected Atlantis. Face it, Tal: there's a reason why they're going and you're not.
No. He's not gonna think like that. He refuses to. Tal is in the base because he's trusted to protect it. For the moment, the best he can do is encourage and that's what he'll give.
It has to be enough for now.
DAY 5.
Their farewells are uneventful. A wave as dawn murkily seeps through the land; a whisper here, a hug there. Heze's smile - "Don't get into so much trouble when we're gone, yeah?" - Juno's eye roll when Tal told him to stay safe - Althea's burning eyes, Rhodos's determined nods.
It is uneventful even when it should be anything but. Fuck, Talquin is terrified. He doesn't want any of them to die. He isn't sure if he can take any more. Not after—
Not after them. Not so fast, at least.
Maybe that's why it takes him so long to talk to his lover.
"Good luck, Cel," Talquin says. He curbs the waver in his voice. "I know you can do it. Come back alive to me, yeah? What am I gonna say to Ria if you don't?"
"The same goes for you, lover boy." Cel murmurs, a smirk upon their lips. They press a quick kiss to his. "I expect to see you alive by the end of this."
Tal grins. "Worry about yourself first. I can handle myself. You're the one venturing into enemy territory."
Cel snorts. "It's not the enemy if they still think I'm one of them. Don't forget that."
"I couldn't ever. Serpent of The Lustration."
A half-smile twists on Cel's lips. But then, they're called away into the truck; and just like that— Tal's left alone, right back at the base.
He clutches his arms tight to his chest. The hollow in his stomach grows.
Don't think, he thinks, as the truck rumbles away. Don't think, and the orange of the dawn tints his sight. Don't think—
The 52nd's fires burn so hatefully.
It's practically a mockery. He and his best friend in the end. They'll never let either of them live. They're nothing more than entertainment for them—
Fuck, no. Not again.
Stop thinking.
Stop.
Stop!
In his base, he overhears whispers.
They're quiet, fast, but present— a word here, another there. He catches a shard of a sentence— what to do — and snippet of a word.
But that word itself is enough to turn his blood into ice.
"What about the Forges?" Talquin asks, his brow furrowing, as he turns to the two recruits.
"Nothing!" The first recruit blabbers. He's a kid, no older than thirteen. So is the other.
The Vultures don't have an age limit on recruits, which was a reason why their numbers had ballooned across all Districts. But it was also a source of difficulty for situations like these.
"I can tell it's not nothing. Tell me."
"It's…" The second recruit's eyes dart about, looking at anywhere but Talquin. "I dared Leia to go in The Forges, to go and salvage the biggest cybernetic piece she could find. I didn't think she'd actually do it. And— and now it's been twelve hours, and she still isn't back— please, I'm worried. I don't— I don't know what's happening. I hope she's okay. I hope she's safe."
Talquin squeezes his eyes shut. Of course the teenage Vultures were going to fuck around and cause trouble, even at a time like this. Half of him's ready to sigh, with the same old on the tip of his lips: You did the right thing bringing this to our attention. I'm going to assign a soldier to get Leia out of The Forges. Don't ever do something like this again. We're in a war and you're wasting valuable resources.
But before those words slip from his tongue, he stops.
Because reflected in the teenagers is an old friend. Of him and her, best friends since forever, finagling themselves into shenanigans more than Havenside could handle. Of their ridiculous truth or dares, which ended in diving for deep sea creatures in the middle of their patrols, to see who could frustrate Anahita fast enough to be expelled for a few days. Of all the times Alithyia's antics got dragged into deep shit, and he had to drag her back out of it.
Was this any different?
Talquin gazes back at a pair of worried eyes. Fearful— nervous— begging.
Sentiment aside— he's the most qualified here for such a mission. Even if The Forges are run-down and abandoned, nothing more than a shell of its former infamy, it's still dangerous. But nobody knows The Forges like he does: because no Vulture in their base has been into The Forges and lived to tell the tale.
Other than him.
"Alright," Tal exhales. "I'm gonna go fetch Leia. Hold down the fort while I'm away; I won't be for long."
He closes his eyes, lets out a breath.
Alithyia's grin gleams back at him.
He opens his eyes.
"I'm going to bring her back. No matter what."
Going down into The Forges is a trip down memory lane that Talquin doesn't want.
Aside from being the place where he was branded— with a distinct Panemian logo, seared upon his skin, against the backdrop of a smelting hammer that was The Forges's command— it was also one of the last places in Four he'd been with Alithyia before the Games.
Before her death.
Talquin closes his eyes. Focus. You're not here for her now. Don't forget your mission.
The entrance to The Forges is a nondescript one. It's a dam gated by metal. It never was guarded, because you had to be a special brand of stupid to stroll up into Xianrith territory without permission.
Hezediah. Her name floats to Tal's mind, before he shakes it off as quickly as it came. She would scowl at him for defining her by her past mistakes.
Ever since Phaedra's death in the Games, The Forges have been abandoned. The metallurgists had went into hiding. The Xianrith's trade had all but collapsed: stemming from taboo and terror alike. It's why their gate is no longer a gate, instead broken through, as if something has blasted a hole in the metal entwinings.
Talquin sucks in a breath, as his fingers graze past the metal chains. As he takes his first step back into Four's Underground again.
It's cold. That's what he first realises, as Talquin navigates through the tunnel systems of the Underground.
The tunnels are in disuse: from the leaking pipes to the broken concrete. Of course, he knows that it's not really about the waterways, but it doesn't make it any better.
All that's illuminating his way is the soft white glow of his communicuff. Which absolutely isn't enough. He's realising too late that he's woefully underequipped for a rescue mission, that he'd underestimated the extent of the Underground's ruin. But the thought of a girl, shivering and cold and scared, calling for help and receiving none, makes him press on.
The 52nd's fires burn so hatefully.
It's practically a mockery. He and his sister in the end. They'll never let either of them live. They're nothing more than entertainment for them—
Wait. No.
"Oh, Talquin," Atlantis sneers. Metal light glints off her skin. She is a metal phoenix, and she spreads her hands, her rapiers spinning in her fingers, smiling with full teeth.
"Atlantis," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."
A storm crosses her face. "No need to be sorry, big brother," she scoffs. "I'm what I was always meant to be."
She's still smirking when she cocks her head and raises the rapier under her chin. "The only good Seasbane is a dead Seasbane, right?"
"No," he gasps. "No, no, no, stop, stop, please stop—"
Stop!
It's not long until he arrives at the mouth of The Forges' caves.
They're still the same as he'd remembered them. Still imposing, still towering: and in themselves, already a warning of what would entail, if a person dared to enter the Xianrith's trade.
Cybernetics. Amputation. Organ trafficking.
Memories of himself standing side by side with Alithyia return. As they'd entered The Forges together. An act for all of the 'Kov's prospective volunteers.
Memories of Atlantis. Going down to The Forges like it was a spending trip, getting herself modded and modded till she barely resembled herself any more. Becoming just another number in the sea that were obsessed with body modification in Four: it's the high, it's the pain, it's addictive, is what it was, and pain & pleasure was always what Atlantis thought she'd deserved to get.
Unconsciously, he rubs the Panemian logo on his wrist. But memories are not here, nor now. So with a breath, for once and for all, Talquin steps into The Forges.
The Forges are different from how he'd remembered them.
Is that surprising? Not necessarily. But without the bustle, as wretched as the trade was, The Forges are just eerie.
Empty smelteries. Broken scalpels. Iron remains. He passes the metallic beds that they used to operate people upon. Where people were outfitted with cybernetics, of their own will and against their own volition - and Talquin can't help but feel sick. Yes, it's dead, dust, gone, allgone, with blood so long dried that it's turned into rust—
But it's still terrifying.
(The memories are. The Forges were a ghastly paradise for crime. Murder, larcerny, smuggling, drugs, donations, trafficking— you have it all in history, only two year's past.)
For a moment, Talquin wavers. Why'd I come in here? Why'd I come back, when I know that there's nothing but evil to be found? When the memories will come, when my life'll—
But he steels his resolve.
There is a girl no older than fourteen trapped here. A child, who would've been abandoned to rot, for nobody of Four talks of the Forges again, and knows not of the route to rescue people from its winding maw. Just as all despised, unflattering histories are totally erased, so their nation of determined amnesiacs could prepare themselves for the next atrocity.
But Talquin has never let himself forget.
He's a saviour. That's why he's doing this.
That's why he does everything.
The 52nd's fires burn so hatefully.
It is a mockery. He has learnt that by now.
Atlantis stares back at him. Still metal.
"You didn't save me," she whispers, harsh, angered, cragged. Her fingers grasp upon his shoulders, deep enough to sink, and Talquin steels himself.
"I'm sorry," he whispers to Atlantis. "I can't— I couldn't save you. But I can save her. For you. For all of you. I—I can try."
"Does it matter? I'm dead in the ground."
"It matters," Talquin breathes out.
"If you couldn't save me, you know, your sister, what makes you think you could save her?"
His voice is stuck in his throat.
"I—"
"Take your saviour complex and shove it up your ass, Talquin. Nobody needs it. Everyone's worse off from your bullshit."
"That's not true," Tal whispers. "It isn't. I know it isn't."
"Really? Do you know just how much you've magnified my suffering? Let's not even talk about 'saviour'— you did a pretty fucking shit job as brother."
Her mouth moves open to speak again. But then, her face morphs.
Alithyia stares back at him.
A choke touches his throat. He looks at Alithyia, and he wants to speak. He wants— to hug her, to cry, to apologise, to tell her that he's missed her, that it's been so hard living life without her, and he's trying, he really is, but some days trying just isn't enough.
But she cuts him off with a deadened stare, and that takes his breath away.
"Hey, Tal. So long no see," Alithyia murmurs, still looking at him with too-dead eyes, and it's so different, seeing her without her usual liveliness, it's— Talquin hates it. But he can't, at the same time - how can he? - he's the one that's rendered her like this. He's responsible. He's…
Guilty.
And Alithyia seems to register that, too, because a rueful grin twirls by her lips, but they're bitter. So bitter— it's like he's seeing his sister's face reflected in his best friend.
"If you're a protector, Talquin, then why'd you let me die?"
It's a sock to the gut.
Talquin wants to speak. But he can't speak. All he can do is stare, as apologies make it to his throat, but never come through. Because how can he apologise to a person that he'd killed? How can he say sorry to someone that he'd undermined, by volunteering, because he didn't believe that she could do it? If he'd never volunteered, then Ali could be well and alive now. But his instincts overtook him, and in doing so— he'd damned her.
Apologies in his throat.
They never come through.
The sobbing is soft.
Talquin doesn't quite hear it - not at first. At first, he thinks another one of The Forges' creaks, even though they've long been abandoned. Of shifting boulders and metal, on the precipice of caving in or staying still. Dead, yes, but not quite dead enough.
Fuck, he closes his eyes. This place is a death trap. How am I ever gonna find her?
That is when he hears it—
Sobbing.
It is distinct, out of all the noises that churn through The Forges. Not too soft, but not too far away: that means she's close. His heart - and his hopes - leap to his throat.
I'm there. I'm almost there. Get to her, get out. I'll save her. I won't be—
I wouldn't have failed everyone.
Eventually, through the windings and the caverns, through the rocks and the nothingness, Talquin finds her.
He squeezes past the imposing stalactites that melt from ceiling to stone ground. This chamber is a familiar one: the Xianrith's main post. Decorated with cybernetic hangings, eerie neon glowing lamps, and unnatural crystalistic growth pulsing with liquid silver. Only now destruction proliferates in its hold.
Scattered skin screws and exo-chains, dissolved pieces of paper and legality, doused in blue fluid. Toxicity hustles up his body and Talquin shudders in a breath.
And of course, there is Leia.
He understands, immediately, just why she wasn't able to escape The Forges.
Her leg is trapped under a boulder. For a moment, Tal thinks the worse, but—
"Hello? Who are you?" Leia whispers, her eyes darting about, fear twisting her features. But Talquin steps out with his hands raised.
"Hey. It's just me," Tal murmurs. "Talquin Seasbane. I've been told by your friends that you were trapped down here. I'm here to save you."
"Tal? I'm so sorry," Leia whispers. She shrivels up on herself some more. "Please don't kick me out of The Vultures. I—I thought it would be easy. I didn't— I didn't think that The Forges would be like this. I never imagined that I'd get trapped… I'm so sorry, I was so dumb. I'm sorry, I really am. I get if you don't understand..."
"Hey," Talquin says. "It's okay. Priorities. You're okay. You don't have to apologise— what's done is done, right? All that matters is getting you out of here."
"Okay," Leia sniffles. "Okay. Um. I—I don't really know how…"
She gestures to her leg.
Yeah. That's the hard part.
"I think that I can lift the boulder up," Talquin says. "But you've got to help me, Leia. When I say go, go. I can hold it, but only for a few seconds. I need you to count down for me, alright?"
Leia nods. "Okay," she breathes out, "Can you tell me one thing? Just how screwed am I?"
"Not at all screwed," Talquin emphasises. "If I have anything to say about it." He moves his hands under the boulder. "One, two, three—"
Tal lifts. It's heavy. So heavy that his arms feel like they're about to break apart, and his throat's already stuck in a yell. He strains—
"Go!"
Leia moves her legs out of the way. A moment later, the boulder crashes back down.
She winces. "Okay. I'm glad that wasn't me."
"Me too," Talquin exhales. He drops to the ground, breathing out, collecting himself. The hard part's over. They just have to navigate back out of The Forges, return to Havenside, and everything'll be okay.
That was when the rumbles began.
"Oh, hell," Talquin curses under his breath. "This can't be happening now."
"It looks like it is," Leia says, her eyes wide.
"That's very helpful."
"Sorry."
Talquin gazes at the shaking caves. Of all times— now? They didn't even do anything to warrant this. Sure, they've moved a boulder, but that isn't anything. That's not enough to cause a cataclysm.
Isn't supposed to, anyway.
Talquin's eyes dart around, from the quivering caverns to the shaking grounds, and the rocks, threatening to fall.
"Has it always been like this?"
"It's… been this unstable, since I got here," Leia murmurs. "It's stopped, a few hours ago. But seems like it's starting up again."
Talquin shuts his eyes. Damn.
"I think it's 'cause of the maze system. Some of The Forges are artificial, and the Xianrith's wanted to protect their base from, y'know, nosey people. But, I guess some of the wiring or whatever's messed up, and I'm going off a limb and guessing that we've accidentally exploded some dynamite..."
"How do you know so much?" Tal asks.
Leia shrugs. "My parents worked for the Xianrith's. Used to, anyway."
"Is that why you thought you could venture into The Forges and come out without a problem?"
"Hey! There was a lot of money riding on that bet. And… yeah. I did. Top ten Dark Days betrayals energy, you get me?"
Talquin doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Instead, he shuts his eyes. How did Leia get so snarky so quickly?
"Okay," he exhales. "Alright. Let's… let's just try to get out of here as fast as possible."
Ofcourse, that's far easier said than done.
Because just like that, a chunk of rock tethers and topples from the above. And Talquin and Leia can only watch, as it crashes down in front of their entrance. And after the dust's cleared and the coughing's over, both of them realise just what's happened.
They're trapped.
Shit. That's the first thing that Talquin wants to curse. But he refrains from it, because there's an impressionable girl next to him right now. And, yes, Juno swore to the seven heavens at Leia's age, but Talquin doesn't want to impart anything that he shouldn't impart.
But swearingof course is the last thing that he should care about. They do have a cave-in to deal with.
"Why'd you come down here, anyway?" Talquin asks Leia. He knows that it was a dare, but it's more than that. Not even Havenside children come wandering down in The Forges for fun. Not anymore.
Leia shrugs. "Why d'you wanna know?"
"Just curious," he murmurs. "It's fine if you don't want to. It's just... I had people who I'd lost in here, too."
Leia's expression sobers. Talquin lets out a breath. Atlantis's suicide is known throughout the press. No doubt Leia's thinking of that now.
"My parents died when they— when the Lustration raided The Forges. I know my parents were wrong. But I thought I could… remember them, I guess. By coming here. Because I had good memories, and the bad, and. Not sure how well that's working out." Leia blinks, exhales, shakes her head. "But anyway."
It stirs. Because— isn't that what he's here for, too?
For Atlantis. For Alithyia. For they who have entered The Forges and didn't leave with their lives. Isn't that what he's in the Vultures for? To ensure that his family and his best friend'll be remembered. That they'll be immortal in time, for the role they've played in the Vultures' rise. He will give his body and soul to achieve that goal.
(Leia is a memory, reflected. A memory of the girls that he couldn't save.)
Talquin shakes his head. No use thinking about that now.
(But— he can save her. Can't he?)
(He can try.)
"I know what you mean," Talquin says, and leaves it at that. A glint shines in Leia's eyes. Like she understands.
"Yeah. Hey, can we check out the fun documents?" Leia chirrups, as she deftly limps her way over to the bookshelf. A bookshelf that Talquin hasn't noticed before, not least because it was carved directly into the rockface.
How amazing.
"Yeah," Talquin says, halfheartedly. "Fun documents."
Leia laughs. "Oh, c'mon! Lighten up! There's history to be found here. You know, fun topics like The Forges's founding— ooh, here's one about Xianrith family history— and other old documents! My parents used to say there was one with The Capitol that's super important. That's actually kinda the other reason I'm here. Vulture business!"
"You can't convince me that this is Vulture business."
Leia tosses document after document past her shoulder. "No, I mean, really Vulture business. If there's somethin' about The Capitol here then it'll give us insight. Insight wins wars! 'Sides," she turns her head to meet Tal's gaze. "You can't tell me that The Vivisector and The Forges aren't at all related."
Talquin's brow furrows. Now that was interesting. Sure, just because they were metal didn't mean they were one in same, but it… would make sense. Why The Vivisector was so relentless. Why its minions were so inhuman. Modded by The Forges was enough to break anyone in the guise of making them. If that were true…
"See? Found it!"
His eyes snap up. He takes the parchment out of her hands and starts to read.
TREATY WITH DISTRICT FOUR.
[OFFICIAL NAME REDACTED.]
[AKA: XIANRITH-SNOW TREATY.]
An agreement has come with Mr. Snow and Mr. Xianrith. This document is to certify and validate such an agreement, outlining the terms agreed to upon both sides.
Hereby, the Capitol shall supply District Four with advanced equipment which would result in higher odds in the Games. This includes, but is not limited to: Capitol-produced cybernetics, performance boosters, drug relaxers, morphine. Deliveries shall enter the District once every week, and arrive at a predetermined location owned by the Xianrith's, now dubbed "The Forges".
In return, Four shall enter a debt of life under the Capitol. This will be certified by the branding which will be seared upon every volunteer's body. This insignia is not removable and will bear evidence of proof of Mr. Xianrith's agreement. Four's Victors are expected to endorse The Capitol to the fullest extent possible, and will be more likely chosen to pleasure our citizens. Every branded's life are the Capitol's to control and to use as we wish. Such will be the price of metal and glory.
Signed,
Xianrith. Snow.
"That… can't be true," Talquin finds himself whispering, as his fingers shake against the parchment. He blinks, because he can't believe what he's seeing, but what's undeniable is that it's true. Proof is set out in front of him.
A pact with the Capitol?
That is…
No. The Forges were sponsored by the Xianrith's— and by their family fortune, and their family fortune only. Not to mention how The Forges are illegal. So, why—
Why would the Capitol sponsor The Forges? For what purpose?
Nothing about this makes sense. Well, at least he knows how The Vivisector got its metal augments— it was the Capitol's all along. But the Treaty just feels wrong. Why would the Capitol agree to such a pact when all they got in return was compliance? It wasn't as if Four was a particularly rebellious District. If the purpose was to subdue tension, then this should've been signed over at Eight. Not here, because Four was about as loyalist as you could get.
So why?
It nags at him. There's something else, at play here. He just doesn't know what.
"See!" Leia exclaims. "It's interesting, right? Told ya!"
"Yeah…" Tal finds himself murmuring. "Interesting is… one way of putting it."
A pact with the Capitol. Xianrith had a pact with the Capitol. And why? God, think. This is a conspiracy. There has to be more meaning to this… has to be…
He rubs the Panemian symbol emblazoned on his skin. On his skin. On his skin…
His communicuff begins to beep.
The noise startles him out of his thoughts. He didn't expect it— not in the least because he wasn't expecting anything to come through underground.
"What the fuck's that?" Leia says. Involuntarily, Talquin winces. So much for no swearing.
His communicuff beeps wildly. That could only mean one thing…
"Oh, fuck," Tal snarls.
He taps on the communicuff. "The Bluebird," he calls, as noise crackles from the other end. "Responding. What's going on?"
"Talquin!" A voice cries. "We're… we're under attack."
"We've been infiltrated—!"
"Mayday, mayday, please save us!"
"Talquin! We need you!"
"What's happening?" He wants to scream. "What's—I don't— someone respond! Please!"
The signal fizzes out.
Fuck!
Talquin shuts his eyes. Fuck. Something's happening at his base— and he doesn't know how, doesn't understand how, because it's his base. It's Havenside's base. It's the most protected of them all. Nobody should've been able to get in.
There's no way.
He doesn't know. He knows his palpitating heart and the sweat on his neck and he knows an ache and pain and a scream, he knows a wrench of his heart and feels as if he's dying—
This was stupid. He shouldn't have come down here. He shouldn't have tried to find Leia. He shouldn't have done any of this.
Just the same, Atlantis scoffs. You try your best but it isn't ever enough. When will it be enough, Talquin? When will you stop letting everyone in the world drown?
"I'm not," he whispers, clutching his hair, shutting his eyes. "I'm trying. I am."
Not good enough, his sister murmurs. Evidently. You live like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders when you're nothing more than a sanctimonious prick. My girlfriend - your best friend - would have lived if you didn't volunteer. Hell, I wouldn't have fucking killed myself if you didn't reach out at all! Is trying a synonym for making things worse? Because it sounds like it's all you do in your book.
He shuts his eyes. He wants to scream. Fuck, no, he isn't. He can't be trapped in here. He can't be swallowed by The Forges, from the beginning till the end, fuck, that's not who he's meant to be! He's Talquin Seasbane, here for Atlantis, here for Alithyia, a survivor, the Victorof the 52nd Games, he's nothing of what they make of him—
Isn't he?
He has The Forges' brand upon his skin. He has them upon him. His flesh is theirs, held up by a contract. He is the Capitol's Victor. What of him now will Atlantis— will Alithyia be proud of?
No. No, he isn't just that. Because Talquin Seasbane may be all those, yes, but he's a Vulture. He has been, since his victory, and hasn't stopped any, hasn't stopped fighting, and he wouldn't stop now. Because the Vultures have the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and he's more than happy to share the burden, if it means that the world benefits from it.
They let him changethe world. For the good of his sister. For the good of his dead best friend.
And he is. One at a time: starting with Leia. Nobody would've saved her if he didn't. And now— now he has to figure out how to get back.
He just has to get back. And Talquin knows it isn't redemption enough for what he's done to Atlantis, isn't redemption enough for what he's done to Alithyia— but he can try.
Can't he?
He opens his eyes. Did the mission fail? No. That can't be.
Cel. Heze. Juno.
Fuck.
No. He believes in them. They had to have succeeded. They couldn't have failed.
(They couldn't have died. Atlantis's voice worms into his ear, mocking, "Oh, Talquin—")
He needs to go, because this can'tbe happening, he can't possibly be trapped in Four's underground with nowhere to go. He is, but—
Talquin refuses to give up.
If the Vultures are still beating, then his heart will keep beating. He'll keep fighting.
He has to.
"Do you know of another way out, Leia?" Talquin asks. "You know this place better than me. Is there anything that we can use?"
Leia stills, for a moment. "I think we can get through," she says, pointing at the bookshelf. "Over there."
"How do you know?"
She shrugs. "My parents used to work here. I know that there's a mechanism that switches the rockface of the bookshelf. It's here somewhere."
Here somewhere.
Talquin watches, as Leia feels for the rocks. It's like he's watching himself in Havenside and choosing the bottle that has a past written inside.
He wonders if she feels the same way.
"Just a bit more— really, just gimme a sec, I can do it— there!"
The rock shifts. It turns and creaks and Talquin watches, his eyes wide, as he stares at the tunnel before him.
"Hell yes!" Leia laughs. "C'mon. Follow me. I can navigate. I know the way out."
Talquin follows. And soon, as Leia's fingers dance past the rocks, as light begins to yawn and shine into the dreary caves, as finally, they reach a metal exit—
They're out. They've survived The Forges.
Their return to the Havenside is immediate.
They go as fast as they can. Desolation and ruin's strewn all around, as they rush to the base: helmets and swords, burning and clattered upon the sidewalk. Stabbed-through bodies. Mangled limbs, stray eyes, thumbs entwined on guns…
Havenside razed.
Fuck. He needs to know if Cel's okay, if Heze's okay, if Juno's okay. Because if this carnage was laid waste upon Havenside, then what about those in the Capitol's camp themselves?
Talquin exhales. His eyes scan past Havenside, past the destroyed streets and the burning docks.
The burning docks.
The 52nd's fires burn so mournfully.
A conflagration of docks, mounting up and high with flames, of all sizes. Him, staring back at his best friend, in the edge of the pier. With tears in both their eyes.
Fighting over who gets to die.
He blinks. Atlantis… isn't here. She tends to be, sometimes.
Ali sheaths her sword.
"You're letting me…?"
"No. I've made my choice already, remember? I don't have to do it again." Ali says. "Focus, Tally. You're not helping anyone by worrying about them."
"But—" his words catch in his throat. "But I can't… I can't stop thinking. I can't just forget about it, don't you understand?"
The ghost's smile glitters.
"I know."
"... I can't just move on."
"I know."
"I'm living for you and Atlantis. If I just move on, then you die again. Atlantis dies again. And the worst part of it is that I won't care. Not anymore. Because there's nothing to remember."
"I know."
"... I can't not worry, can't not think, because I can't let them die too. I don't— fuck, this sounds so bad— but I don't want to live for them too. I don't want to live for them just to forget again. Just like you and Attie. I can't even remember what Atlantis' eyes looked like when she was happy, not even the phrases she liked. What was it? Sea bitters? Sea… something. Christ. And I'm already forgetting what it's like to live with you, too, your laugh, your smile— god, I can't remember what your smile looks like. I'm so tired. Ali, I'm exhausted."
"I know."
"... I'm sorry."
"I know."
He heaves. Tears glisten by his eyes.
"I'm not asking you to," Ali says, softly. "Moving on doesn't mean forgetting, Tally. And forgetting isn't forever, either. Even if all that remains of us is a shape of who we used to be, there will always be that shape. The hollow of us is there."
His laugh is shaky. "That doesn't help."
"No, it doesn't, I'm sorry." Ali's lips quirk ruefully. "But do you really think that we would've wanted you to stay stuck?"
"Atlantis seems to like it."
"No, she doesn't. You've just immortalised the worst of her here for your own misery. Am I wrong?"
He swallows. Slowly, he shakes his head.
"All I ask is that you don't just live for us. That's not a life."
"I…"
"And it helps no one. Not us - we're dead, remember? - and least of all yourself. So get up. Get back to The Hove. Help the fallen. Fight when you find enemies. Stand your ground."
"You still have Leia by your side. She's not safe yet."
"So protect her, Tal. I know you can."
"How can I? When I've failed you."
Ali shakes her head. "When you say that, Talquin… you're only failing yourself. So get the fuck up, okay?" Her grin's so bright. "I don't need your pain on my fuckin' conscience too."
Talquin blinks.
The smoke stings by his eyes, but it is fading as his tears roll down his cheeks. He coughs, and steels himself. Grips the blade on his belt, and makes way through the carnage.
"What's happened here?" Leia whispers. "I thought that the Capitol didn't care about Havenside. Because it's like, all old bars and shit for them to wind down at, and nobody knows that it's our base of operations. They think it's all over at Moriarty Bay. I don't… I don't get it."
His throat's heavy. "Me neither," he says. "But they've got to know something. Maybe a leak, maybe a mole…"
But there are no moles in their base. Are there?
There can't be.
Talquin shakes his head.
"It doesn't matter," he says, as he traverses further, past the wreckage and past the dead. "It doesn't," he exhales as he runs towards The Hove, burning in all its old glory, its bar-shelf open and its secret door exposed to the world, as shrieks and screams echo all about from the inside.
All that matters is that Leia survives this. All that matters is that the Vultures survive this. All that matters is getting as many survivors out as he can. Only then will his debt be paid, a little. Only then will he—
Will you be what?
— absolved.
"Hold the base!" Talquin roars.
Because if there's something he'll do, with the last breath he'll take, it is this—
He'll make sure that the Vultures survive. He will make sure their memories stay. He'll ensure they're here with him. He'll do that by fighting, by dying, by fighting again. Until he gives his soul to the world. Until he is damned in the dirt. Talquin Seasbane will not cease, because then he'd be letting everyone forget, and that's one of the last things that he'll ever let happen.
Talquin's eyes level at the centre of the chaos. There is a figure clad in total black, black with mechanics and arguments and cybernetics, and his throat sinks to his stomach, because he knows who this is.
The Vivisector has arrived to raze Four's last base to the ground.
They have two boys locked by their throats, in their arms: the same ones who've sent Leia on her dare. Whimpers stream from their mouths, tears fall from their eyes, as the Vivisector drags them away.
"Face me!" Talquin yells, pushing past the pandemonium. "Pick on someone your size, for fuck's sake!"
He wasn't expecting it to work. But The Vivisector turns, and their eyes land on his. There is a moment of silence - for what reason, Talquin doesn't know, doesn't understand, can't read beneath the Vivisector's mask.
The Vivisector is oddly still. Oddly small, too. And they don't move.
The boys slip out of The Vivisector's hold and dart away. Still The Vivisector does not move.
He hefts his blade. Well. I'll go first, then.
His sword descends down The Vivisector's face. The Vivisector's dodge sideways is almost casually smooth. The return blow Talquin deflects with his rebar. Fuck, he grits out. Because the Vivisector may be lithe, and small, but they're agile. They're strong. They push back against him, both blades brought down against his sword, and his back's knocked against the counter, as they push down, and down, and down—
He closes his eyes and grips his blade with both his hands. With a roar, he pushes back.
The Vivisector stumbles. And stumbles, as Talquin gets up from the counter, and regains his footing. He swirls his blade in his hand, as he advances against the Vivisector. He won't let them go.
Not after they've destroyed all of the Vultures' bases in Four, and killed countless more. Not after they've razed Havenside to the ground. Not after everything which they've done, and oh, he hates them for stealing the world from him!
His sister. His best friend. His life!
Talquin snarls. He isn't himself but fuck if he cares. Fuck if he cares: they've broken The Hove, they've trampled upon his memories, they've destroyed their legacy.
He won't give them mercy.
The Vivisector's right before him.
Talquin swings.
The Vivisector feints.
His blade meets a head.
Talquin Seasbane watches as Leia's life leaves her eyes.
"No," Talquin whispers. "No, no, no, no, no—"
Her life drains away in a flash. An explosion sounds in the distance, and it is almost like a cannon.
"No!" Talquin roars. Tears stream down his face. His stomach knots. Leia wasn't supposed to die, fuck, not die—
Die like Atlantis did, die like Alithyia did, die and die because that's all you're good for, Seasbane!
"No!" He gasps, as Leia falls. No. Fuck, if he can't save her, then he can save everyone else. If he can't save everyone else, then he can save the world.
(He can't save Atlantis. He can't save Alithyia. What makes him think that he can save this rebellion?)
(Oh, my boy, Nerio murmurs, his eyes wistful, as he ruffled his hair. After he'd looked up at his Dad, a plea in his eyes, a question in his breath, why? Why are we leaving Atlantis behind?)
(Don't bother yourself with those questions, Nerio had told him. You're no protector, Talquin. You're a real man. Unlike me. Saving people is not your concern. I've learnt that the hard way with Abenahir. And you shouldn't try. Trust me, my boy: I mean the best for you.)
"Fuck," Talquin whispers, and he can't stop the tears from streaming down his face, because isn't his father right. A Seasbane was never meant to protect.
A Seasbane destroys. They destroy until there is nothing more to destroy, and here he is, here— a blade in Leia's head, because he wanted to—
Wanted to protect?
The thought is laughable.
Because isn't it just what he'd done? He'd thrown Marathon over the cart, he'd murdered Argentine as she'd shrieked for her legacy. Destruction, and he'd smiled with it too, even as reprehensibility sunk into his bones. It was what he'd done to Atlantis, when her body was swept from the shores, and he'd let her be carried through the waves of her self-loathing till she'd crashed dead. It was what he'd done to Alithyia, his best friend he was meant to be a hero to, and yet his hero's blade was buried into her gut, as her body fell to the flames.
Is the Vivisector laughing? Because they must be, seeing him here, slaying who he's sworn to protect.
Talquin chokes. He tugs the blade out of Leia's head and she falls, eyes glassy, long dead. He turns back to The Vivisector.
"Fuck you," Talquin snarls, but he doesn't know if he means the figure or himself.
The Vivisector is still again.
Still and remains still.
He grits his teeth and advances. The Vivisector doesn't move. He kicks the Vivisector's gut and they fall.
His sword is at their throat at an instant.
Why isn't The Vivisector fighting back?
The Vivisector breathes. They don't try to move, as they stare up at him— or at least he thinks they do, it's impossible to say with their mask— and it's only then when he gets a good look at the Vivisector.
And realises.
This is not The Vivisector. No: the Vivisector is notorious for being inhuman, but inhuman with an exoskeleton of cybernetics. This individual is modded all over: from their arm-knives to the slodge of metal over their chest, to the titanium that sits where their stomach is supposed to sit. No: the Vivisector has a face, one open and brazen and smirking, proud of who they are. This individual is cloaked across every part of themselves, as if to keep their identity a secret. No: the Vivisector is known by their coarseness, and their repertoire of snark. This individual has been nothing but silent throughout their battle. Not mocking, not gloating.
But grieving.
"Who are you?" Talquin croaks out. His hold on his sword goes slack. "Tell me."
It feels almost like eternity until the person speaks.
"I think," and the voice is metal, but it is wistful, in a melodic that tears his heart apart, because, because.
"I think you know."
And he does know. It's a voice he's laughed with on too many occasions, in bars and in streets, and upon the coast when they'd go their nightly duties for Havenside. It's a voice that's joked with him, that's pleaded with him, that's told him her deepest secrets. It's a voice that he never thought he'd hear again, for he'd heard her her last words and her last breath, upon a burning dock of a Games bygone, her final wishes coalescing in his ears— thank you.
"Ali?" Talquin whispers. "Is that you?"
This is how the Vulture rebellion begins, for Talquin Seasbane.
He descends into The Forges in chase of a child and a memory. He writhes through vision after vision of sisters and best friends, blades and blood wrenched in skin, mouths pulled too taut for grins. He finds the final remnants of tradition that Four would rather forget.
Upon every step he remembers. And it is that memory that brings him to his end. He stares wide-eyed, at the figure underneath him, his mind running wild with possibilities. But a truth never stopped thrumming in his bones. There's only one other person that could've known which bottle to pull.
(All in all, diverter was a word that fit Tal. Running from his duties and into the embrace of The Forges; turning his back away from The Vultures in favour of his remembrances. It is no surprise, then, that this is his betrayal.)
Chapter 5: Coming 24th April 2022.