A/N: hey everyone. love to know what you think of everything so far. any comments or suggestions are appreciated!
"Look at me, Kore… Kore."
I blink; turn myself to face Prometheus with a blank sort of expression. Because today's the day. Today the Games begin. I'll be thrown into the arena and forced to kill if I want to live. Kill children. Innocent children who have committed no sin except being brainwashed by the Capital into thinking that these ignorant Games are the only thing that will keep Elláda at peace.
The back of my throat is burning, and I think I may be sick.
"You're going to do this," says Prometheus, taking my face in his hands. His nose almost touches mine, we are so close now. I can see the desperation in his eyes, the sheer loss written there for everything that has turned wrong in his life. "Please, promise me you'll at least try."
"I told Despoina I would," I say nonchalantly, try and give him a smile but all it comes off as is split teeth. The stylist hens wanted to fix their crookedness and my slight gap initially, but Nyx objected when I gave her a look of utter horror. Now I think maybe I should have just let them go through with it. I don't feel like myself at all, so why should I look like me either?
Prometheus shakes his head. "That's not good enough. Promise me."
"Why do you care so much anyway?" I ask, glancing down at my hands all folded and tangled in my lap. "Just 'cause you loved my mom–"
"I love you too." He says it so fluidly, so quickly, that my eyes snap up and I cannot wipe the startled look from my face. "You're so like her– your mother," he explains, voice having gone soft. We're in my room alone, so I don't know why he feels the need to whisper, but I don't much care either. "You're so beautiful, Kore." His grip loosens on my face, one hand dropping so he can stroke my bottom lip with his thumb. "You're everything I could've wanted in a daughter," he says, but the look in his eyes is a step above parental affection. I don't know how to interpret that, so I say nothing and continue to stare at him, shocked. "I may not have been able to take care of Plutus, but I'm going to take care of you."
"You can't win the games for me," I say softly, fingers shaking as I feel him breathe against my mouth. Up close, he doesn't just smell like smoke but also wheat fields– that familiar scent of home and my heart aches. Are my mother and Despoina and Arion huddled around the television in the sitting room right now, watching miserably at the opening ceremony of the Games, President Cronus gracing the screen? Is Charon at home doing the same, his mother humming under her breath as she cross-stitches and his older brothers argue over who gets the last piece of cobbler as they always do the opening day of the Games?
"No, I can't win for you," says Prometheus in answer to me. "But I can help you. And you can help yourself."
"I'm not a killer," I say, my voice nearly lost in the silence of the room. "I can't kill the little kids in there, Prometheus."
"Then don't," he says. "Let them get picked off. But you can kill the Demigods. You proved that when you took Ares down in combat training. Promise me you won't hesitate Kore– promise me."
The urgency I see in his gaze is so sublime, I can't help but say, "I promise."
A relieved breath escapes him then, and before I can even realize what he's doing, he's got his lips pressed to mine urgently, a harsh sort of kiss. I've never truly kissed a man before– except for the little fumble I had with him receiving my Gamesmakers score, which didn't much count– and I can feel tingles in my spine at the prospect this will be the first and probably last kiss of my life.
With that thought, I let my eyes slip closed and kiss him back, not with much passion, but with a desperate sort of enthusiasm because if this is going to be the only kiss I'll ever have, it may as well count.
Prometheus seems just as frantic as I am, if not more, hands tangled in my hair and tongue suddenly in my mouth. He has the slightest taste of ambrosia and cigarettes, and also the taste of honey from the rolls he ate for breakfast this morning. It reminds me of summer mornings in the shop, where Despoina and I would bake bread for lunch and Charon would wait at the counter and chatter about how he wished to be a ferryman at sea someday before we walked to school together.
Whimpering, I fist my fingers into the fabric of Prometheus' shirt. I'm terrified, I realize with a start. I'm terrified to the bone and I would gladly let this man push me back on the bed and take me if it meant to keep me here forever, out of the Games and the bloodshed. Even if I am just some substitute of my mother for him, some substitute of my dead brother, Prometheus is the last person I will ever see that loves me, and tears threaten behind my eyes at the thought.
He groans into my mouth then, stuffed in between my legs and rubbing up against me intimately. I swear I hear him say Demeter under his breath, but I don't really care. I just let him finish with his kisses, tempering off with small, chaste ones at the edges of my mouth. He keeps his eyes closed and presses his forehead to mine when he's done, shaking his head only slightly with his hands still in my hair.
"I shouldn't have done that," he says after a moment, dark chuckle in his chest.
"But you did," I say.
"I did," he affirms, drawing away from me with this haunted sort of look. "You're going to live," he says.
"Are your kisses the kiss of luck, then?" I ask, mouth quirking up at the corners.
"Yes," he says, surprises me by kissing me once more. It's funny, how easy it is to kiss. Some sort of natural instinct that takes you over even when you feel nothing but hopelessness and fear in your gut. "I'll make a deal, when you win. I'm sure Atlas will lend a hand for the sum Cronus will want. I promise that no one else will touch you."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," I tell him knowingly. "Besides, that's a far way off. Worry about getting me sponsors for now. If thinking they get to deflower me or whatever makes them send me in something to eat when I start to starve, I'm game."
Prometheus chuckles, touches our noses together. "As practical as your mother."
My poor, sweet, overprotective, completely broken mother.
"If I die," I say, ignoring the defiant look in his eyes as I continue, "promise me you'll go see her? It would seem acceptable; I am your fallen tribute after all. See Pan's family too, to add distraction. Just…see her. Make sure Despoina and Arion are okay. Please?"
"Anything you want," Prometheus says, smoothing the hair out of my face. "But you aren't going to die, Kore. You're going to win."
The final kiss he gives me is one of goodbye, because I don't think he believes his own words, and neither do I.
"Where did you get this?" A tanned hand etched with galaxies holds up the narcissus pin I found in Charon's basket the day of Altar, the petals shining in the dim light.
Nyx and I are in a dark room somewhere, putting on my outfit for the Games. I was flown here in a hovercraft, all of the other tributes weary-eyed as myself. Prometheus said goodbye to me on the deck of the training center, touch lingering long enough everyone noticed the affection there. I didn't much care, keeping step with Pan as we walked to the hovercraft.
I was sat next to Hestia, who seemed even more nervous than me. Without thinking about it, I took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Artemis and Apollo shot me a weary glance from across the aisle but I shrugged. I knew Artemis would be hugging Hebe in the moment if she could anyways; they've grown close in the past days of training.
"What are they doing?" was the whisper that snapped me out of my silent rebuff with the twins, and I looked back to Hestia to see her eyes wide as servants walked down the aisle with needle-guns in their hands, injecting trackers into the tributes' veins.
"The Gamesmakers track us in the arena," I told her. "It won't hurt much, I promise."
It was then I noticed Hades on her other side, eyeing me wearily. His gaze lingered on my mouth, lips still swollen from the fervent kisses Prometheus had given me before we left Énteka's holding apartment. A bright blush formed on my cheeks and I looked down, only to glance back up as a servant took hold of my arm to inject the tracker in it. It stung, but not enough for me to really focus on it. I was too busy staring at the servant– a girl with wild red hair like the one back up in the apartment.
She hadn't been there before we left; I hadn't gotten to say goodbye and thank her for all of her help and the way she'd pretended not to listen to mine and Prometheus' private conversations.
That stung worse than the injection.
When the servant was done with me, she moved on to Hestia. I felt the girl tense, and told her to squeeze my hand as hard as she could if it would help. If the poor, little thing was this frightened of a needle, I couldn't imagine what would happen once we were in the arena. And I didn't want to. She squeezed my hand so hard her own knuckles turned white as she winced; I didn't complain.
Then it was Hades' turn, and the entire time he simply looked at me. I couldn't decipher anything in his expression, but it looked as if he was still trying to gage if what I had said the day before was really true or not. It is, I mouthed at him, and his eyes lit up in both surprise and what I would think to call hope.
I stared ahead at the wall the rest of the ride, letting Hestia hold my hand. Before we got off of the hovercraft, I turned to her and I said, "Good luck," and she smiled up at me and broke my heart. Then I took a moment to turn to Pan, who was undoing his seatbelt with shaking hands. I helped him, putting my own hand on his shoulder, reaffirming. There were no words, but I know he understood the look I gave him, the silent I will not hurt you and he simply nodded at me before following the line off the hovercraft.
All tributes were led out of the deck and into a hall, each branching off into their own quarters to get ready. Before Hebe was dragged away, Artemis, Apollo and I sent her a look that said remember the plan. It hadn't taken much for us to all agree she would be our ally; we had told her to get into the forest the moment it was safe to step off the platform, and we would meet up with her. I was supposed to do the same, while Artemis and Apollo were headed straight for the bloodbath at the cornucopia. They were strong enough both Prometheus and Atlas were sure of them being able to get supplies for us quickly and efficiently without loss.
I grasped each of the twins' forearms in silent vow before they too left me, stole one last glance at Pan as he disappeared into a dark room with Erebus.
The little, lost boy was crying.
Just as I saw Nyx standing by the door I was intended to enter though, I felt a warm presence at my side. Hades leaned in, breath tickling my ear as he whispered, "I will not kill you, Kore Hagne."
"And I will keep my promise," I told him, before following Nyx into the dark.
Once inside, your eyes adjust to the light very easily. It's dim– a stone room with a simple table and station for the stylist to keep their supplies at. The hens aren't here, and I'm shocked to realize I'm sad I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to their overdramatic persons. Even Iris had hugged me goodbye before I boarded the hovercraft, though I know she isn't too fond of me since Prometheus sent all his attention my way and not hers. It's pretty easy to see how smitten she is for the man, though heavens know why. Probably just because he's a God; that's enough for most.
"It's a narcissus pin," I finally answer Nyx, shuffling around in my clothes uncomfortably. What they gave me to wear is quite startling, as far as Games go. Most contestants have special-tailored outfits to fit their personalities, but mine is actually very…pretty. It's practical, of course. But the draping of the water-resistant fabric is very flattering.
I'm wearing thick leggings which stretch to my every move, with ankle-bindings peeking out from sturdy boots that fit my feet perfectly, sure to cause no blistering or ache. Atop the leggings I wear a thick tunic, which cuts sort of like a skirt around my hips and thighs, yet hugs the dips of my waist as a shirt would. The sleeves are long, ends hidden beneath fingerless gloves that wrap around my wrists in support. On top of the tunic I wear a thicker sort of shrift, shaped like a corset with a flare at the hips. It is made of coarse leather and I know meant to keep me dry, if the hood attached to the back is any indication. There's a belt around my waist, fastened with a golden clasp.
The whole outfit is in varying shades of browns and deep greens, like a forest. There are a few other golden accents besides the belt clasp, like on the edges of my boots and corset– tiny flowers weaved in the color of wheat.
Nyx braids my hair intricately, pulling my bangs back from my face and wrapping everything together at the nape of my neck. The flowered crown she ties in is a surprise, and I realize with a start it's made of olive branch, with clover, small palm leaves, holly and nasturtium. It's a crown that stands for luck, for courage, for protection, for victory. There's a single white lily woven in as well– virtue. I am the Maiden of the Games, after all.
"This is from Dódeka," Nyx says with shock, fingering the narcissus pin curiously. "Wherever did you get this?"
"My friend Charon," I say softly. "I told him I'd wear it in the Games. Is that okay?"
"Of course," says Nyx, blinking as she fastens it to the collar of my corset. "Many tributes wear homages, as I'm sure you know. It's just…"
"Just?" I ask curiously, tilting my head.
"This is a symbol of some of the oldest families in Dódeka," says Nyx, tapping the pin. "My own family being one."
"Truly?" I ask with curiosity.
"Truly," she nods. "I would be honored for you to wear such a thing Kore Hagne, though do know, if you were to kill the tributes from Dódeka, it would be seen as very…distasteful to the republic while wearing such a pin."
"I'm not going to kill them," I say, voice so sure Nyx looks up at me with bewilderment. I mean, the whole point of the Games is to kill everyone else. "We've got a mutual...understanding," I say, choosing my words carefully as she had moment before, "that we're going to stay clear of each other and focus on the others."
"You have many alliances it seems," says Nyx, putting rouge on my cheeks with an expert hand. There's also gold on my eyes, making them into cat-like slits. She promises the paint will not wear off, unless I scrub at it excessively. When I asked if it will irritate my vision, she assured it wouldn't. "Smart girl. I knew Prometheus was right to step in this year. Énteka may have a Victor yet."
I blush, not because she is complimenting me but because I know the real reason Prometheus became mentor this year. And I guess it doesn't help that I can still taste him– smoke and ambrosia and honey trapped on the edges of my mouth. Even the lip-balm Nyx applies does not cover the taste, which I am a bit thankful for. It can be something to ground me in the beginning– something to keep his words in my head and keep myself alive at least long enough to escape the blood bath.
"All finished," Nyx finally says, and when I stand from the metal table I have been sitting on, it is then I feel my lungs drop into my stomach, like gravity. "Don't be nervous," says Nyx, seeing the sudden hesitance in my eyes. "You no longer have time for that, Kore Hagne. Now is the time for fight."
I nod in answer to her, take a deep breath as she leads me to a glass cylinder in the corner of the room. I've been trying to steadfastly ignore the transportation-way since I walked in. I know it will lift me up into the arena. The time for the Games is drawing nearer and nearer, and with each passing second I can feel my heart threatening to tear from my chest.
"You can do this," Nyx assures as I step onto the platform in the cylinder. And invisible force encloses me inside, the door sealing with a hiss.
"Oh, Gods," I whisper, trying to swallow down bile.
"You can do this," repeats Nyx, the stars in her eyes showing me nothing but encouragement and praise. "You are the Maiden, Kore Hagne. You are the pure, the just, the timeless. You will survive."
Vaguely, I'm aware that a clock has begun to countdown from thirty in the background, already reaching twenty-two by the time Nyx has stopped talking. "Okay," I tell her.
She nods, very pleased with my acceptance of her speech. We stare at each other impassively then, until the countdown hits fifteen and the platform I stand on begins to rise. Panic sets in, makes me shout out to her, "Tell Prometheus to remember his promise!" as my eyes fly around unsteadily. She looks startled from the outbreak, but nods solemnly all the same, easing the fears in my chest.
The platform continues to rise and I feel my breath come in gasps, eyes going wide as sudden light blinds me.
When I refocus again, I can see I am in the middle of a meadow filled with beautiful flowers. The cornucopia sits in the middle of it, a golden horn of deceit. Starjars chirp in the distance. There is forest all around, made of Judas, beech, chestnut, poplar, cypress, pine and aspen trees. I can smell sage and primrose, as well as taste the salt of the…sea? Way beyond the forest though is where my eyes focus. A mountain rises high, glorious and beautiful into the clouds. It looks like it is made of gold.
Ten…nine…eight…
Taking a deep breath, I look at the tributes laid out around me. One step off the platforms before the countdown and the landmines will blow us to pieces. Everyone either looks terrified or determined. I cannot find sight of Artemis or Apollo– they must be on the other side of the cornucopia– but it's then I notice Hebe two platforms away from me. I catch her bright eyes and give her a long, level look before glancing to the trees to her left. She nods, understanding.
Next to her, on my left, is the boy from Pénte, who is too entranced with the scenery to notice our silent conversation. And to my right is…Ares. I try not to let my eyes widen in fear as they would like to at the sight of him, golden and strong with tunic and leggings like mine, but stitched with spears of war. What would be a corset on a woman is a chest plate on him, made of the same thick leather. There is a sword stitched into the collar near his throat, and he leers at me with silent threat as the countdown continues.
Gathering all the courage I can, I sneer right back at him.
It's enough his brows knit together. Why is she not afraid? I can see him thinking. Funny, because I am absolutely terrified.
Three…two…one…
I look up to the heavens, send a silent prayer to the Gods– please, show me the way– as the trumpets sound.
The Divinity Games have begun.