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Gryffon gulped in as much air as he could manage, but he couldn't help but feel the strain his eyes had as they narrowed further and further, leaving little trace of any black in his gold-green irises.

Life was never fair. He knew that, there was never any denying it.

"Daddy, look!" a six-year-old grinned, lifting a piece of paper up to a much taller man. "Happy birth - "

"The fuck is this, Gryffon?" The kid let go of the paper once the man took hold of it and he stared up at the man expectantly - naïvely.

"It's a birthday gi - "

ZZZT

"Daddy!" The man raised a brow at the boy whose eyes brimmed with tears, though his own glare reflected nothing but annoyance. "Why . . . w-why did - did you . . ?"

"Quit your blubbering! It was just going to be another pointless piece of - Hey! Hey, you shut up!"

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"Canworm, what the hell is this?" Gryffon spat, glaring at the atrocity that hung in front of him. "It looks like a clown puked on a mutilated lion." One could compare the furry leotard and shorts to something a bodybuilder-circus-lion might wear with added glitter and a sparkly black bow tie. The outfit even had a hoodie with a mane and ears. "Do I have a tail, too?"

Yes . . . He did.

"Relax, Gryffon, it's not - "

"Is everyone else wearing this same crap, or do you just - "

"You'll see, Gryffon. C'mon, change," Canworm urged, looking at his tribute with expectantly. Begrudgingly, Gryffon complied, and with the help of his stylist, fit into the tight suit. "Thank god you're slim, otherwise this would look absolutely ridiculous!" The man laughed at his own lie of a comment as he adjusted the hood over Gryffon's head so the bow tie fixed itself at his collarbone. Canworm spoke as if he didn't already look ridiculous . . . Ridicule was a big thing in the Capitol, Gryffon noticed.

The longer he stood in the outfit, the tighter it seemed to become, but he let himself think he imagined it for the time being as Canworm pushed him toward a pair of dress shoes that sat by the wall before standing the teen up and meeting his eyes. Canworm's violet contacts gleamed under the blue light of his tattoos, as did his little smile. He looked both smug and sorry. Gryffon didn't believe either emotion to be sincere.

"Be careful, Gryffon. The Capitol's testing you guys," Canworm said, his smile falling into a near-perfect frown. The Capitol always tested the citizens of Panem, no matter your age or profession, but even so, the power, strength, and intelligence of the Capitol interested Gryffon. Who cared if the people were murderous and sadistic bastards? . . That was the attitude he needed for now. Forget all his doubts of the day before . . . Right? That's how things had to work for him from here on out.

The tribute nodded once and smirked. "Thanks, Canworm."

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"Gryff'?"

"Yeah, Jay?" He received no immediate answer from the girl; her head simply slumped over his shoulder and her fingers intertwined with his, periodically clenching and unclenching as she thought about her answer.

"I'm sorry, you know." She blinked up at him, frowning at his puzzled expression. "About your father . . . And for doubting you like he did . . . But . . . But he's gone now. You've nothing left to prove, Gryff' . . . You can just drop it now - " Gryffon cut her off with a sigh and untangled his hand from hers before standing up.

"We're late for school. Let's go.

4
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"How much are you ready to lose, Gryffon?" Annabelle asked, linking her hands together over the table as her tribute analyzed the rainbow arrangement of macaroons before him to stall, trying to gain himself another minute or two to think his response over. What did she want to hear . . ? What did he want to say . . ? What should he say . . ?

"Everything," Gryffon shrugged, avoiding his mentor's gaze. "I volunteered, didn't I? I must be ready to lose everything." Proud and stubborn or not, he was lying to himself and they both knew that. He knew he wasn't ready to lose his remaining family, much less Jay, but one way or another . . . He was going to. He had no choice anymore.

1

The world swerved and danced in his vision. His gaze had suddenly become watery and his face burned, specifically his cheek and temple; his back was to the wall and his throat had clenched up.

What had he ever done to deserve any of this at so young an age?

BOOM

He couldn't let it get to him this time, though . . . Not again.

Three seconds passed before Gryffon shot off his pedestal, just barely getting ahold of his thoughts. He had to suppress the urge to keel over and think. If he did, he surely wouldn't get back up. There were so many bodies surging around him - he couldn't risk one of them stopping him.

His footing was clumsy and weird in the too-tight shoes, and he was finding it hard to run in a straight line, as if the air itself was meant to ruin the tributes' coordination. With a shake of his head, Gryffon skidded to a halt and felt his side collide with the Cornucopia. Just hardly being able to ignore the throbbing of his arm, he pushed off the horn and dove for the closest pack, trying his hardest to disregard the grunts echoing around him.

There weren't other people there. He couldn't see them, he couldn't hear them, and they couldn't hear or see him, either. They were invisible to each other. He couldn't show fear - no, he couldn't freeze like he wanted to. Gryffon, move! Get up! No matter how he urged, his eyes, wide and staring, watched and searched. He wanted a weapon. That's what he was frozen for - he had been defenseless then, he didn't want to be so again.

But why was it that all he saw were packs? Were the weapons all inside the horn?

Gryffon was knocked back onto the sharp grass when the 3 boy, dressed in a suit identical to Gryffon's, landed in front of him, hitting his head heavily on the ground. Sapphire flashed Gryffon a smile and came down on all fours on top of the boy, letting him writhe below her and her mouse attire. "Hey there, babe," she greeted before applying pressure on the body below her. The boy let out a gurgling scream, one that brought Gryffon's attention to him, making him stop and stare. Sapphire had both hands fastened into one of her heels, the blunt end of the shoe slowly cutting into the boy's throat and closing his airway off, and by the way she glared at Gryffon, he could just imagine she was starving for bigger prey; and he wouldn't doubt he'd become the next target.

A rush of fear and adrenaline brought him scrambling back up to his feet. Gryffon shook his daze away and he pivoted, shoving a body or two out of his way.

"Gryffon!"

He ignored his name, frightened that if he turned around, he'd only come to find Sapphire waiting to suffocate him as she was doing with the boy. Gryffon hadn't imagined his desperation to be so strong at the very beginning - all that bravery and cockiness . . . It was almost for nothing. Gryffon was sure he'd lose all his sponsors for running from a Career, and though that thought slowed him down, he valued his current survival more than the reality show the Capitolites were all watching eagerly. Now wasn't exactly the moment to worry about the Capitol's or his father's opinions of his actions.

Instead, he kept running, dodging other fleeing tributes. There were many yelps and screams behind him, but most were strangled or fearful - nothing reminded him of a deathly screech like he often heard coming from his district's square time and time again.

He couldn't be afraid. He stared death in the eyes more than once, and always escaped. This would be - should be - a piece of cake.

As the ground inclined, Gryffon noticed the sounds coming from the horn lessened in volume and left him in an artificial silence, but by the time he realized things had quieted down, he had already clambered over several hills on shaky feet. Slowly coming to a halt, Gryffon stumbled and tripped over his own feet, landing knees first onto the grass, feeling the plant prick into his skin. He let his one pack fall to the ground beside him and arranged himself to sit.

He pulled his shoes off, feeling an instant relief around his toes and ankles, not having realized how much they had been aching until the leather was removed. Gryffon let the shoes roll down the hill behind him before straightening up again. He brushed his fingers along the collar, finding it too skin-tight to be torn off, and the equally as constricting suit wouldn't be convenient if removed if the arena turned out to be cold at night.

With a shake of his head, Gryffon ran a hand through his hair, stopping short when he felt the fur of the lion's mane brush against his fingers. With a sigh, he turned his eyes down and stared at the ground beneath him. The grass was unmistakably black and sharp, almost like glass. Tearing his gaze away from the floor, he tilted his head in the direction he was running toward and noticed a large castle that stood partially hidden by the many hills, one that appearing grand and pristine, looking very out of place in this dark world of blues and greys. To his left and right stood nothing more but a forest made of gnarled trees with deep violet leaves and dark wood. Behind him, in the center of the cluster of hills, sat the Cornucopia with little to no tributes left around it, and beyond that still lay a house, its roof nearly hidden by the distance and trees. After picking his bag back up, and as he was about to continue his trek down the hill, deciding it would be more dangerous in the forest, the canon that ended the bloodbath boomed and made him jump.

Already?

Boom
Boom
Boom
Boom

Gryffon stood there, waiting, expecting at least another ten blows – but nothing else came. Four. Only four deaths. Well, that was probably going to set some sort of record in the Capitol.

Before he could shoot one last glance toward the Cornucopia to see if he could identify any of the deaths, he heard two pair of feet rustle the grass behind him, making him tense up.

"Hey, lion-boy, wait up!" He was given no choice before a hand grabbed his shoulder and whipped him around, knocking him right off balance. Gryffon fell to the ground with a grunt, his pack slipping out his grip and landing a few feet beside him. "Tame little beast, aren't you? All roar and no bite?" The giant of a boy - the District 2 male - pinned Gryffon to the ground by his shoulders and chest, and kept his knees at Gryffon's hips to keep him from moving. The large Career boy had a black tophat almost as big as his own head, and the rest of his magician-like tux was colored in many different shades of purple.

"You're one to talk," he retorted in a forced snarl, swallowing the lump in his throat that wanted to shut him up and keep im from answering the older boy. "Cute hate, 'darling'." Oh god he was going to join the batch of four kids. He was going to be the fifth. God, no, he couldn't die now . . .

"Keep your trap shut, bitch!"

Gryffon winced against his will at the snap, finding the command far too familiar.
Weakness - he was showing weakness. No! He couldn't!

"Mag', kill 'im or move," a higher-pitched voice demanded. There was more than one of them!? Behind 'Mag' stood a girl with as good a build as her district partner, and just as fitting an appearance for his huge hat in her playboy bunny outfit. The Career over Gryffon narrowed his eyes and reached behind him, stretching his hand to his partner. Taking advantage of this moment, Gryffon flashed his free arm up and let his fist land right below the man's jaw and rolled away when he flinched away. Instinct. Just run. Just run away and keep going!

"Fucking idiot - Hey!"

Gryffon didn't risk the glance, he just kept going, letting himself practically whiz down the hill and started up the other. Minutes seemed to pass and no other feet pounded behind him, and when he finally looked, he realized he was running from nothing. Real smooth . . . And of course, every time he lost the fear, he remembered another.

Sure, he been killed . . . But Jay. What about Jay? Fuck, he had no idea if one of the four bodies was hers . . .

If one of the dead was her, then he broke his promise within the first fifteen minutes of entering the arena and he might as well have been killed right there and then - or at least chased, and wounded . . . Something!

The Fallen would be shown later, though. He just had to wait for that. Wait to see if her face would be showed in sky and that was . . . that, he supposed.

As he slowly collected himself and looked around, trying to reassure himself no one else was there, Gryffon faintly wondered why not having found Jay didn't scare him as much as he thought it would . . . Maybe it was because he remembered having his name called, maybe it was her. Maybe it was because he knew she would at least be able to escape the bloodbath - she might not be the strongest, but she was fast and small enough to get away. For whatever reason, he wasn't exactly worried. More like wanting to slap himself for, once again, falsely proving to her 'he didn't care'.

He just had to hope that he'd find her before the day ended. That way she'd have nothing to hold against him . . . That sent a chill down his spine he didn't want to feel. If he couldn't find her, he'd hold that guilt himself and, with or without her, he'd pin the blame on himself and hold it forever. He had to find her, as quick as possible. He didn't need a bag right now . . . And he knew he wouldn't be able to go on without a sort of alliance.

Forever seemed to pass before Gryffon reached something other than a hill, and when he did, he realized it was something worse than a bunch of rises and falls: a maze. He felt very little enthusiasm at the thought of having to go in, but he saw no other way - unless he wanted to go back and risk running into the Careers again and not getting so lucky to earn their . . . pity? Sympathy? Mercy? Well, whatever it was, he didn't want to have them go back on their decision not to kill him while he could avoid it.

Gryffon's feet slowly dragged themselves over the black grass, watching as the hedges on either side of him gradually grew and rose from the ground beside him. They, rather than being black like the ground, shimmered a sort of violet color. It was quite pretty and reminded him of the flower orchards at night. So dark and mysterious, but rather than calm and comforting feeling the trees and flowers often let off, the hedges surrounded him like walls and the dark colors made the space in the middle seem small and claustrophobic.

With a shudder, Gryffon rubbed the side of his arm, noticing the throbbing sensation as he calmed again, and paused for a moment. The ground seemed to be shaking, or rather, pulsing, but no matter where he looked or how he focused, the floor was motionless aside from the twitching grass blades that were nudged by the slight breeze. With a shake of his head, Gryffon dismissed the feeling and trudged on, his eyes trailed on the space in front of him, mentally taking note of whatever part of him ached even a little bit. His arm, mainly, and his shoulders from where 'Mag' had put pressure on, but other than that, he was completely fine. He had escaped the bloodbath unscathed andnot dead. That gave him a bit of hope on his own survival, but the time he thought he would be there only increased.

Four deaths. Only four deaths meant the Games were going to take forever. He could just feel it. Gryffon closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He was going to be stuck there for weeks upon weeks . . . That is, if he managed to survive the rest of the day and night - apparently gaining the 'pity' of anyone else.

Gryffon was forced to stop when a sharp pain hit him square the face, making it seem like he got slapped by a pine bush. Opening his eyes, Gryffon saw he stood face-to-face with the death-colored hedge, the ten-foot barrier towering over his head. He could hardly see through the thick foliage, and when he turned his head to the side, all he saw was another short path that ended with two directions to go in.

It's just an orchard . . . I can get through it. After all, the biggest threat he had encountered thus far had been the Careers, which could hardly be considered a threat since they did relatively nothing - and his biggest loss by far was dropping his pack. But he still had his life, and he still had a chance. He had to keep that in mind.

Taking a deep breath, Gryffon turned left and started down the path.

Another left.
Then right.
And another right.
Straight.
Straight again.
Back where he started.

He blinked once, an annoyed look entering his eyes. How did he end up where he started if there hadn't been a second path from where he entered? With a grumble of annoyance, Gryffon took a step down the first path again, his pace quicker than before. He took that first left, then instead of taking the second left like he had the other time, he went right, coming to another fork. Taking the left, he started down a path that grew more overgrown the farther he walked, and if he didn't pay attention, the switch of the hedge's purple to a dark grey color would have startled him more than it did.

The pulsing sensation grew stronger as he went on, and the light seemed to play with the patterns on the leaves with each thmmp. Each leaf flashed with a different shade of grey or indigo, making a sort of light show with dark hues. His vision quickly grew distorted, and the straighter he thought he walked really only lead him toward the hedges. Only when he crashed into one of the walls did he flinch back and realize what was happening, but that didn't stop the blinking of lights.

The plants swirled in front of him and his heartbeat grew louder, deafening him. All he could taste was his own dread and his movements grew irrational and as distorted as his vision; before he could stop himself, he was practically running in circles. Patterns played before his eyes and all he could see were colors: bright, dark, monotone - he even heard them! Loud, soft, repetitive, practically silent. They became a chant and grew to a softly spoken mantra, echoing in his ears and eyes, enclosing his entire being in one big bubble of swirling figures with little sense to remind him of where he was.

Gryffon rubbed his eyes, trying to clear them, but that only seemed to make the enclosure of the hedges darker, obscuring whatever little distance he could see, ending the illusion but creating another. He was completely blind. He hated the feeling of not being able to see anything, of not being able to sense anything but darkness. It confused him more than the many colors, it made him vulnerable and scared, and those were the three things he couldn't afford to be right now.

He tried moving quicker, as if he could escape this part of the maze, the part that blocked the red sun and wrapped a blindfold around his face. Gryffon's footing grew mismatched and his feet hit the ground hard every time he took a step, running in whatever direction he could manage, turning at every touch of a hedge but the darkness never ended. It was like the arena had been shrouded and –

Boom!

Five. There were five dead now. What if they were right in front of him? What if someone had just died silently before him!? What if that someone was Jay? What if they were coming after him next? What if –

A deep growl made him and his thoughts freeze, the darkness settling around him. One second, two, three . . . Silence. Then a blood-curdling screech.

Boom!

The scream seemed to come from ahead of him and sent goose bumps up and down his arms. Instinct was telling Gryffon to turn around and run, but he barely knew where 'back' would be, so he let his feet continue in the direction they were facing. After making one blind turn, the hedges gradually turned purple again and after a few hundred yards, opened up to a gazebo seven times its usual size in the middle of a small yard just as big. The pearl white structure stood greatly out of place, but perhaps even more misplaced was the tiger-sized cat perched on top of it. Its dark red pelt was splotched with even darker spots, and Gryffon would have even mistaken it as its markings if it weren't for the fact it was cleaning the liquid from its paws.

Gryffon tried to back up, but as soon as he moved, the lavender glare of the cat turned to him and another growl broke the stillness. Deciding it'd be best to keep the cat in his sight, Gryffon inched to the side, not once taking his eyes off the mutt. Slowly, he made it to the path on the other side of the gazebo, gulping in air as he took his last step facing the cat. It hadn't moved from its spot: single paw raised in midair, stuck in a splayed position as it waited to be cleaned.

The moment Gryffon pivoted and ran down the path, he heard claws against wood and the muffled pounding of feet against the ground. Gryffon made a sharp right, rushing down the grassy road in the hopes he'd somehow be able to outrun the cat. But, wishes ignored, the creature appeared mere feet ahead of him, causing him to come to a skidding halt. Gryffon was a whisker away from its muzzle, and at the realization he could just be cut into ribbons on the spot, he went pale and cold.

The muttation stared at its prey with its large, round eyes analytical and his mouth parted in a toothy grin. Gryffon couldn't understand it - why hadn't it killed him yet? Why was it just staring at him!? Slowly, its nose twitched and it stretched its head forward, sniffing the fur on Gryffon's chest. What?

The cat let out a purr and backed away, his eyes narrowing in the process before the warm sound turned into a snarl. Gryffon could only stare at it, his chest pounding and his mind swirling. He was still alive? The cat had no intentions of killing him? What sort of game were the Gamemakers playing and why was Gryffon the target?

Gryffon started forward slowly, just barely grazing the cat's personal space before dashing off again, as far away from the teleporting cat as possible afraid it would change its mind, until he reached the new dead end. This time, there was no fork in the road to turn to, there was just the hedge. Biting his lip, Gryffon began to wonder if he would have to turn back again when he noticed the foliage wasn't as thick as before and he could even make out the outline of a large building on the other side. Pushing through the leaves, Gryffon ignored the pricking of the oddly colored pines and felt his balance waver when he was out of the maze.

The air let up and it was like he could breathe again - or would have been able to if the collar wasn't so tight around his neck. With a blink or two, Gryffon adjusted his focus and let it graze over the wide moat that surrounded a sort island. On the island sat the castle he had spotted from atop the hill, except it was much, much bigger than his sense of space had imagined. It took up almost the entirety of the island, its black and white figure much more imposing than it had seemed. Connecting the island to the strip of land he stood on was a bridge, one that looked like the wood was rotting. The pulsing was stronger in this area, and unlike before, it felt like he was moving with it, as if it belonged to him.

The arena made no sense whatsoever. Usually it was a forest, or a volcano, or even a meadow with unrealistically pretty flowers, but this was ridiculous. Not even the mutt made sense. Kill two tributes then leave the third be . . . That is, if it was even the one to kill the pair of tributes he heard the canons blow for. Maybe the cat was just a decoy, just something to scare the tributes.

Gryffon pressed his palms to his eyes, forcing down a breath and letting go of it slowly. He was too rash and was acting too quick. He had to calm the fuck down and choose his next moves wisely.

"First and foremost: Jay . . . " How he could even have forgotten her in the first place was a stupid mistake. He had let his thoughts take over, and even now he was still just bolting left and right like a lost puppy, not knowing what to do. Figures we're all just fucking show dogs . . . We're dropped here, expected to know what to do with our lives!?

Frustrated and afraid, Gryffon threw his hands up in the air and marched toward the bridge. Before he could even place his foot on it, he caught the sight of faded trails of blood leading from where his toes brushed the wood toward the end. Slowly, he stepped aside and walked in between of each trail, making sure his feet were placed in a straight line as to not touch the dark streaks.

Yes, he was in the Games, but the feeling of someone else's blood was not exactly something he wanted on him unless absolutely needed . . . It always smelled too metallic, too strong, and never felt comfortable - blood was associated with death which ultimately tied in with fear. It was too sticky, too thick, too entrapping, it seemed. And yet I'm ready to kill . . . to keep her safe. Gryffon shook his head, disbelief at his own words edging around his mind, but on which part he didn't trust himself on he didn't know. This sort of hesitation - he had never imagined and never thought it to be true, or at least, he never imagined it would apply to him. But it did. Of course it would . . .

When he focused on the bridge once more, he realized how much he felt like he was vibrated, as if his own heart was beating, hard enough to shake his very being and the ground and moat around him. When he glanced into the water, he noticed the ripples spreading over it in beat with the pulsing, but whether that was because the water was bubbling or because of the beating he felt he couldn't tell.

Gryffon's foot brushed against something soft, reminding him of a rabbit's fur. Looking down, he saw the long, bent ear of a blood-stained rabbit, and looking down the length of the body, he froze. Laying side-by-side were two girls, dressed in what he could only imagine to be rabbits in leotards and corsets. Both their faces and sides were torn up, and Gryffon could swear the leg of one of them was bent in the wrong direction.

Well, if the cat muttation could do that, then Gryffon was glad it had spared him.

Inhaling one shuddering breath, Gryffon turned away from the bodies and let his eyes turn in the direction of the grand doors of the castle. The large knocker that hung way above his head shook ever so slightly, constantly vibrating against the door with the pulsing. What did he have to do to get in? Knock? But before he could even try, one of the doors swung back, opening up into a dark corridor, appearing to lead into some sort of horizontal abyss that he would never be able to get out of.

So much for keeping a clean facade up, he supposed. So much for appearing strong. So much for keeping his promise. He wasn't ready to lose shit and Annabelle knew that . . . But might as well try. Might as well give it all up now because he wouldn't have another chance. Once dead, he'd be lost forever with nothing left to do and nowhere else to go.

He shifted his foot forward, and the moment his toes touched the first cold tile of the castle's ground, the floor shook and the pulsing engulfed Gryffon, dizzying him for a moment before it subsided another second after. Here goes nothing.