II. Penumbra
almost shadow: the region in which only a portion of the light source is obscured by the occluding body.
Sol? Hey, Sol, wake up.
Mrgrh… Franz, what is it?
Games start today. Can I just… hang out here, for a while…? Until it starts…
… Sure. Of course. Are you okay?
Yeah… It's just… you…
might not come back.
Sol wakes up with a ragged gasp, a claw at the covers. Turning their head, they see not Franz, their brother, or the room they've filled with curious knicknacks, the moth-eaten but still beautifully knitted blanket, but… the same grey, clinical room they've called home for the last week.
Is the last time I see Franz really in a dream…?
They lean forward, head resting on their sweaty palms. If they think too deeply about him, they'll end up crying. He's fine—they're safe, back in Nine, and there's nothing to worry about. Surely Franz is sitting diligently in the living room, waiting for the Games to begin, to see whether Sol survives this first day.
For a moment, they think, it'll be okay if today is my last, but then they remember the previous night—their new fellowship, their promise to Oleg. Then it won't be okay. Then I just need to try to get through this, no matter what.
So they heave themself out of bed, shower, dress; by the time they're ready, they hear gentle knocking at their door.
"Just wanted to check you're doing alright," Inigo says with a soft smile.
They've just finished towel-drying their hair, hand still wrapped around the doorknob. "I'm good," Sol says with a toothy grin. "Well, as good as I could be."
Inigo nods with a soft, sad smile. "Can I come in?"
"Of course."
Inigo shuts the door behind him and sits on Sol's bed, his back hunched and fingers laced together. Sol chews on their lip as he sizes them up.
"Things will be rough without you, if you do… you know." Inigo starts.
"I know."
(It would be worse if Franz was here.)
"But they'll also still be rough if—when—you come out. You know that too, right?"
Sol swallows roughly, blinks a few times. "Will they?"
"C'mon, Sol. You're smarter than that. Just… keep it in mind, hey? Being a Victor isn't…" He waves his hands about. "—all the glory and glam it's made out to be. And it especially wouldn't be for you. Not with… Oleg being how he is."
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"All I'm asking of you is to be brave." Inigo says. "I know I'm not in your life as much as Oleg or your other siblings, but… I care about you a lot, Sol. And I just want you to be brave. Can you do that for me?"
Family has always been something hard for Sol to come to terms with. Even back when they were small, when Franz plucked them up off that dusty street corner and showed them what family could be, it felt like there was a block in their head that kept them from seeing it as permanent. If my original family didn't care about me, who's to say my new one does? And so for thirteen years they've been wondering when the cord would snap, when the Bauers would finally decide they weren't wanted anymore.
Inigo is not family. But that's what makes him saying he cares mean something.
"I can do that," Sol replies softly, and Inigo gets up to hold them close. They hug him back. "I'll be brave."
"Good. Now, we need to get some food in your belly before we send you off, yeah?"
When they stand at the landing of the ninth floor, Oleg hugs Sol tighter than he ever has before. They try not to extend the moment too much, though—if they do, they'd probably end up as a blubbering mess. They've said all that needs to be said.
Inigo hugs Brandy, too. He crouches down to her level and kisses her forehead, wishing her good luck. It hurts for reasons Sol doesn't want to think about. Their escort is there too, but she cannot look either of them in the eye, simply telling them to do their best as the elevator arrives at their floor.
"See you soon," Sol says with a wave as they step into the lift, trying not to tear up.
"See you soon." Oleg repeats back, clearly doing a worse job than Sol.
The doors shut. They're gone.
Sol sighs shakily and presses the button for the roof. Though they try not to gaze Brandy's way, when they start moving she sits on the floor and speaks.
"I heard you speaking to Oleg last night."
"—uh. Oh?"
Sol tries to remember what he said, but… they might have had a bit too much to drink at the party. Regardless, the main thought occupying her mind is that perhaps eavesdropping runs in the family.
"I just… don't know what to think. Of you. I thought maybe, just maybe I could find something here, that thing that was missing at home. But you really don't want me to be your sister, do you?"
"I—I don't know what you want me to say."
"I want you to say something!" Her voice cracks a little at the end. Sol's eyes flicker between her and the floor number. They're almost there. "Something, anything, before I die."
The doors open at the roof, and Sol sees the hovercraft in the distance, a handful of tributes and Games staff helping them on. They softly take Brandy's hand and pull her up, but she looks down at her feet.
"Come find me in the arena. I'll have more time to… explain. I can't do it now."
When she looks up at them, there's something like hatred there.
She then takes her hand back and storms off towards the hovercraft. Sol chokes out a pathetic sound before a Peacekeeper comes their way and tells them to get out of the elevator. They oblige, apologising as they do, and stumble forward, following Brandy's lead. They wish they had better words for her. They still just can't find them.
As they slowly approach the hovercraft, they take one final look at the sky, the sun shining bright as it hangs in the air of a breezy summer's morning. If they were in Nine, it would be beautiful.
But the arena awaits. It might not even have a sun—their namesake, the one thing that has always been there for them. They try not to think too deeply about it, allowing the artificial light of the hovercraft to take them away from this precarious sense of normalcy and into the unknown.
The hovercraft ride takes a few hours, wherein Sol attempts to get some shuteye. Their arm stings where one of the Gamemakers inserted their tracker, a lump in their right forearm, and the other tributes are mostly loud. Brandy stays silent throughout the entire trip, but Marion, seated to Sol's left, offers them some words before she too appears to try sleeping.
"Remember what we talked about last night? We'll just grab some basic supplies and reconvene far from the cornucopia. Hopefully things will go to plan."
They don't have the heart to say that they don't really remember much of the night before up until they agreed to the truce with Oz's alliance, but they just nod their head.
"It will," they tell her. "I can't afford to think anything else."
It's all too quiet in the tunnels. Inigo told the Bauer children about it, once, when Mickey was too curious about it and asked. Oleg had never told any of them about what it was like to be in the Games, but Inigo was more obliging. Sol can admit that they were curious, as they were about most things, but not enough to ask themself. The cold concrete walls are no comfort, especially not for someone used to the wide open fields of District Nine, and Sol feels that distinct sense of claustrophobia now. It makes them sweat, but they ground themself as they always do with deep breaths and clenched fists.
Inigo told them that the dressing into arena attire isn't as bad as the other times their stylists dress them—they're allowed a privacy panel to get ready behind. Sol is thankful that it remains as true now as it did four years ago, because they don't like Floriana, their stylist, very much. She just gives them the set of clothing—what appears to be a white cotton tunic cut off below their knees, a sash in District Nine yellow that their stylist helps tie, and leather sandals. It's unlike anything Sol's ever worn before, and as they try to move around a bit, they find the tunic limits how far they can raise their leg.
Floriana smiles at them. "It suits you."
"Thank you," they force out. "Is it time?"
She nods, doing the final smoothing of creases and tightening of knots, stopping for a moment to pull out the chain that hangs from Sol's neck and rubbing her finger across the smooth gold of Oleg's ring. "It is indeed."
Sol reaches out a hand to gently pry Floriana's fingers away from their token. Her face twitches slightly, but she concedes. "Your ring. I recognise it. I didn't realise where from, before. But I think I know now. Your mentor gave it to you, didn't he?"
"Uh, yeah. I… I feel almost bad taking it in with me."
"Don't. Tributes often bring in special items… for luck, or to remind them of home. A part of Oleg Bauer is going into the arena with you. I can't think of anything more special than that."
And so when Sol enters the glass tube, they hold their ring tight. They continue holding it as the doors slam shut, as Floriana waves them off, as the platform begins to rise.
As they find themself in a horrifying new world, they do not let go.
(ZERO)
Twenty-four children enter a large, circular room; some by choice, most by force. The ceiling is high, space dimly lit only by sconces on the far walls, on which are several staircases that lead to a floor above. Though there are arches that open up to something outside, that outside is dark and stormy, crashing waves against the structure. Little do the tributes know how far the waves extend outwards, or how far the structure extends upwards.
60… 59… 58…
Solan Gardener, Nine's sun, tries to look around the circle for their allies. Still clutching their father's ring tightly, they spot Amir and Marion standing almost equidistant on either of their sides. Amir nods to them, and they nod back, shaking their head to unclear their mind. They unclench their fingers from the ring around their neck, tucking it securely beneath the fabric of their tunic, and they tell themself to be brave.
50… 49… 48…
Marion Chenelle, Eight's keeper, stands tall and strong as she surveys her surroundings. It believes it hears thunder and crashing waves from behind her, but keeps her focus in front of her. She is needed back home, and must focus; on the packs laid out before it, on keeping its allies safe, on surviving the coming few minutes. The career to her left side smirks at her, but she knows better than to goad them back.
40… 39… 38…
Amir Asterix, Five's scapegoat, is far from ready to die for syr brother's mistakes. Se tightens syr fists at syr side as se notices that syr whole alliance is situated to the back of the cornucopia, unable to reach the bounties within without risking injury or death. Se will have to make do, then, with compromise—but that's something se's used to, and se can handle a little more of that if it means going on another day.
30… 29… 28…
Beatrice Battencourt, One's luminary, has been watching the players in her Game carefully. She knows they plan to orchestrate her downfall; nonetheless, she doesn't feel threatened by them in the slightest. They're the extras in her show, little more than ants beneath her feet. Those ants will not be allowed to steal her limelight any longer. If she cannot serve her country in the Quell, she will make sure this Game is its perfect prelude.
20… 19… 18…
Oz Mackinaw, Eight's machinator, observes all those around him. His allies are in good position to gather supplies and flee, but he's a man of his word, and he won't be one to stick his foot in his mouth. These people, sequestered into their warring factions, almost remind him of home—and if there's something Oz knows how to do, it's survive like a stubborn cockroach whilst those around him tear out each other's throats.
10… 9… 8…
Brandy Gardener, Nine's daughter, is not ready. She doubts she's ever been. It feels like this past week has been one long, awful nightmare, a scary story concocted by her unconscious mind. She'll wake up from it soon, and there won't be any Hunger Games, or an older sibling who challenges everything she thought about mama and papa. She'll be happy again. But whilst she remains in the nightmare, she knows she has to try her best to unravel the lie of her life before the sun comes up.
3… 2… 1…
"Let the 124th annual Hunger Games commence!"
Sol leaps off their platform, trying not to stumble over their feet too much, hiking up the fabric of their tunic so they have more freedom of movement. They're solely focussed on putting one foot in front of the other—they hear a scream, someone tripping, the sudden clash of metal on bone, but they don't stop until they've successfully picked up a pack and slung it over their shoulder. Sol quickly scans the room for their allies, seeing Amir a bit further off, though se begins sprinting their way, screaming at them to stop standing around—Sol shakes off their daze and starts running again.
They soon see why Amir was screaming—the boy from Four, Sol thinks, armed with a trident and a sick grin seems to have turned his sights on them, conversing with Beatrice who just finished off one of the outer district boys. The sight of blood, that boy's empty expression as he lays lifeless on the dirty tile makes Sol's hands go cold—and Four begins running towards them with a sick grin on his face. Sol's frozen in their tracks as he approaches, feet unwilling to move, and Four's suddenly in front of them and there's a stinging pain in their face, and Sol's ready for this to be the end, but—
Then there's hands hooked around their arms, and someone else jumps in to slash back at the Four boy, and Sol closes their eyes tightly and allows the other person to drag them away, their footfalls heavy as blood runs steadily down their chin and in their mouth. There's metal clanging and a thump from behind them, but Sol just continues to run with their eyes squeezed shut. If they can't see the blood, they can keep moving onwards.
"You fucking idiot—why were you just standing there?"
It's Amir, but they could have guessed that. Sol doesn't answer, just following sym as they head towards one of the four staircases bordering the room. Sol opens their eyes to see the steps, climbing as swiftly as they can, but it seems endless— ten, fifteen, twenty steps, and by the time they've reached the top, the cornucopia beneath them looks a mile away. Blood paints the floor, but the gorey details aren't noticeable from up here, and then they're gone as the pair move up over the precipice.
(ONE — TWO)
Sol pulls back their arm as soon as they reach a wall to lean up against, and Amir moves for a few more steps before turning back to face them, panting but looking as if se still wants to go on. "Sol, we need to keep moving."
They reach a hand up to their face, and their fingers come back red. That isn't what they're panicking most about, though. "We left Marion."
"I know. We'll find her."
The words Sol wants to say—no, we should go back—die in their throat at the sight of Amir's face. They can't read it, but it clearly says no, we are going onwards. Sol just sighs wearily and nods; Amir gently touches their face, wiping their mouth with the fabric of their own outfit, before grabbing their hand. and turning back around, leading them through what appears to be a collection of labyrinthine rooms. Each one looks the same as the last, white granite walls mounted with what appears to be tools of masonry, pickaxes and chisels. Amir stops to take one off the wall.
"I wonder if they're doing some weird theming shit," se grunts. "Second floor is District Two? They just skipped One?"
As far as Sol remembers, the first floor was just dark brown stone. They shake their head.
"Okay. So there's at least twelve layers to this thing. Let's try find the next staircase."
Because there wasn't one where they left the first floor; just the empty stone room. "Alright," Sol agrees.
As they cautiously wander through the corridors and hallways, Amir's pickaxe outstretched, Sol remains antsy. They swear they can hear commotion coming from elsewhere, but the halls are so narrow and so numerous that they can't be sure where it's coming from. The fighting has continued below them, they're sure; just not why they can hear it, considering the walls seem relatively thick.
It's then that Amir stops in syr tracks, Sol following suit.
"—I said I'm fine, get off me—"
"You're not fine. Let me help you."
"Be careful," Amir says, softer on syr feet now as se heads towards the source of the noise. Sol just nods, curious to confirm the voices' identities.
And just as they suspected, when they turn a corner, they see a disgruntled-looking Marion sitting up against a wall, with her district partner tying bandages around her bloody arm. Her face softens when she sees them enter, sighing with relief.
"Fucking hell, guys. You scared me."
"Sorry," Sol says softly. "Your arm…"
Marion chokes out a sardonic laugh. "Yeah. Your face."
"Is it really that bad…?" Sol mumbles. Touch tells them that the slice runs from their lip to just below their eye, and it stings again. Oz sighs as he looks over.
"Stop touching it. Do you want an infection?"
Sol rapidly shakes their head, wincing. Of course they don't. "What happened?"
Marion looks between Sol and her district partner. "One of the careers clipped me on the way out, but they didn't follow. Thank fuck."
"They don't want to leave the cornucopia," Oz says, tying the bandage securely. "They do this every year."
"They'll abandon it soon enough. We need to keep moving."
"What you need is rest."
"We can't afford to rest," Amir interjects. "Go find your allies, Oz."
Oz furrows his brow and shoots Amir a dirty look. "To be alone in this maze seems like a death sentence. We'll stay together until we run into them, and only then will I leave."
"That's fine," Sol says softly. The three of them turn to look at them, and they wipe the sweat that's formed on their brow. "I mean, it makes sense. Safety in numbers. Hopefully the careers won't come looking for us until they've formed a plan."
The Eight boy grins, getting up from where he was crouched next to his district partner. "Finally, some sense."
And so their three becomes four, for now, and they continue through the jumble of rooms until coming across a new staircase, not as long as those between the first two floors.
(TWO — TEN)
The third floor's rooms are more open, clad with wooden planks, leathers and mounted animal heads hanging on the walls. Sol thinks it's strange—if the second floor was themed after Two, then why is this one more akin to Ten?
It's not worth it to point out, so they don't. "Just a few more and we can stop," Amir states. "We need to make distance."
Sol's calves already feel like they're on fire after just two staircases, but they don't complain. Marion's injured arm is tucked into the sash that crosses her chest like a sling, dots of blood peeking through the bandages that cover the gash. It makes Sol a bit sick to imagine what it looks like under there, and even more so to think of what their face looks like now. They're just pressing a wad of gauze to the cut to try to stem the bleeding, since Oz said it's not deep enough to warrant stitches.
"I'm fine," Marion grunts softly, like she's noticed them staring at it. "I won't bleed out or anything."
"If you're sure…"
It's unsettling, too, that they don't come across any other tributes as they make their way through the rooms of this floor. In one of them, there's what appears to be a pen of chickens—Oz laments that he isn't hungry and that their meat spoils too quickly to kill and eat one now, and Sol is glad. They might be hungry enough for it later, but with what would they cook it?
(And Sol knows they wouldn't even be able to stomach killing a bird, let alone a person.)
It's then that the group stops in their tracks at the sound of cannons, finally firing to signify that the dust has settled.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
(Sol can only hope that Brandy isn't one of those nine cannons. They haven't thought of her until now, but they're hyper-aware of her absence, now.)
(All they can do is go onwards, hoping they'll find her, and that she'll be willing to listen when they do.)
There are a few things Sol takes note of during their first day in the tower. Because that's what it is: an enclosed circular structure, reaching ever higher with each staircase they come across. They're not sure how long it'll go on for—after the cannons from the bloodbath, they sat down with their allies to assess the supplies they gathered from the cornucopia. Two or three days rations and water, depending on if Oz finds his own alliance and leaves; Oz's first aid kit, and a curved sword he keeps tucked into the sash at his waist (Sol also learns, once they notice the bloodstain, that he's already used it. When questioned, he says he ended up killing the boy from Four with Marion's help. Sol is almost relieved at that); two knives, one for Sol and Marion each; a fifty foot coil of hempen rope; and, strangely, a pad of paper and a graphite pencil. Sol quickly takes on the role of keeping track of floors—the actual floor number, and then its theme. After they've climbed ten floors, it seems almost random, each one being decorated in the style of one of the twelve districts' industries. On the tenth floor the walls are painted with wheat stalks and a false blue sky, the room wide and open with only three rooms. Sol makes the guess that this is based on Nine, and it also offers their first glimpse at what lies at the centre of the tower; a great, open stairwell, extending upwards until the dot at the top looks like nothing but a pinprick.
They're starting to wonder if they'll ever see the sun again.
After discovering the central staircase, their progress is far quicker. They don't have to wander around endless and seemingly random rooms and corridors anymore, but the spiral of stairs seems to come to an abrupt end at floor fifteen with a jagged pile of rubble. Amir peers further upwards, seeing the stairs continue further up the tower, but the gap between where it ends and starts up again is too far to jump.
(FIFTEEN — EIGHT)
"I'm already sick of this," se groans as they sit down together around a table decorated in coloured cloth, which Sol notes down as Eight. They're tired as well, but they're also thankful, at least, that the arena's layout has seemingly allowed them to bypass interacting with any other tributes. They still haven't come across any of Oz's allies—or any other tributes at all, for that matter. Even though there haven't been any further cannons, they're still concerned.
(The climbing has been difficult and stressful, yes, but they're worried that Brandy didn't make it out of the bloodbath. If she's been climbing like they have, or if she's been stuck on one of the lower levels, abandoned.)
They absent-mindedly nibble at a granola bar as Oz surveys the room they're in. He seems antsy, unable to keep his fingers from fiddling with one of the group's knives.
"They've got to be somewhere," he mumbles to himself.
Sol nods, even though Oz isn't looking their way. "We'll find them. Don't worry."
It's a self-assuring statement towards their own insecurities as much as Oz's. The Eight boy looks up at Sol, something like softness in his eyes. "I'm not worried."
And so they continue upwards. Another thing that Sol's learned is that it's difficult to tell what time it is here—without windows or clocks, all they can do is guess, and it's not a very good one. But what they do know is that their thighs are aching and their lungs feel like they're on fire, and the others look just as exhausted. They haven't spoken for the last few floors, which might mean minutes or hours. It doesn't matter, though; it's night time for sure when the Capitol anthem blares, signalling the end of their first day.
(TWENTY FIVE — ONE)
It rings out through the large, open room only a few minutes after they make it up there—projected on the nearest wall are the nine faces of the tributes who died at the bloodbath. Each one leading up through the districts has Sol more and more nervous, but they let out a sigh of relief when the boy from Seven's face is followed by the girl from Ten's. They then realise that even though Brandy is alive, the Ten girl was her ally, and then they're overcome with a deep, dreadful pit forming in their stomach.
Brandy's alive. But she's also alone, most likely.
But she's alive. Sol has to focus on the positives, however few there are.
"They're alive, so where the fuck are they?" Sol hears Oz hiss under his breath.
"They might not be as insane as us," Marion huffs, sitting down to redress her injury. It's mostly crusted over by now, and it seems like she knows what she's doing. "Y'know, climbing what, twenty-five flights of stairs? They've probably been looking around and gathering supplies, unlike us."
He huffs and crosses his arms. "Whatever. We'll stop for the night, I suppose. Let's have a quick scout."
They split off into pairs, Sol with Marion and Amir with Oz. There's been a few floors like this one before, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and rich tapestries hanging on the walls—there's a distinct lack of anything useful to pull off and place in their packs, however. Maybe there are more useful items hidden throughout the floors, but their group's been so focussed on keeping up the momentum to really look.
"I can't stand Oz's complaining," Marion mumbles, clutching her sides. "The sooner we find his buddies, the better."
"Surely there's strength in numbers, though," Sol says. "I mean, not that I'm disagreeing with you or anything—just that he seems to know what he's doing, y'know?"
"I dunno. I don't trust him not to stab us in the back."
Sol swallows roughly. "Good point," they say quickly, eyes downcast. They hadn't even considered the possibility that Oz's been stringing them along—they like thinking that people generally act with good intentions.
(But they also know that good intentions can turn out awfully in the end, don't they? After all, didn't they volunteer with good intentions, and now they'll probably die for that decision?)
They stop in their tracks not a moment later as they turn a corner and reach what appears to be an arch in the wall—they've come across what they think were the outer walls of the tower before, curved in a way that would make sense for a structure of this size, but… they haven't seen arches to the outside since this morning, on the ground floor.
"Woah," they breathe out as they step out, crouching down at the edge of the platform that hangs off the side of the tower. A sudden sense of vertigo washes over them as they look down to see what's got to be almost a thousand-foot drop, the turbulent waters far, far below them crashing up against the tower's foundations. Looking upwards, they still can't see the apex, only dark grey clouds stretching out as far as the horizon. And to each of their sides…
"Oh, shit," Marion mutters as she sees them, too. Rickety, creaking staircases, leading both up and down the tower. How far they lead and where they stop, Sol can't begin to guess. They place a tentative foot on the first step upwards, but the wood feels like it'll snap if they put their full body weight on it.
"Definitely not."
"God, yeah," Marion agrees. "That shit's just asking to collapse."
Sol nods, trying to swallow down their nausea. "Let's head back."
And so they do, but on their way back to where they split from the others, Sol stops in their tracks as they pass by the staircase they came up not fifteen minutes prior.
Brandy stops dead in her tracks, eyes wide, as she just stares at them. But she doesn't move. Sol almost can't believe that she's here, and she looks relatively okay, no major injuries marring her 's a relief, of course.
"Brandy?" They say softly, like they're coaxing out a scared animal. Their sister seems to recoil at their voice, but they take a deep sigh and try again. "Brandy, it's okay—you'll be safe with us. I promise."
Her eyes are downcast and then locked on Sol again in the space of only a few seconds. Who knows what rushes through her head—but eventually, she makes her way to the top of the stairs, and says quietly, "Okay."
There's no hugs or laughter or true joy that should come with a family reunion—Sol's only comfort is the knowledge that they'll be able to be there for her, at least this one time. They hope it'll be enough.
After meeting back up with Amir and Oz, Sol and Marion told them about the outer staircase, to which they agreed it would be a poor decision to use unless they were desperate. To Sol's relief, they were both receptive to Brandy's appearance—Amir especially, patting Sol on the back with a warm, reassuring smile. "I'm glad she turned up," se whispered. "If you need any help talking to her, just let me know. I know how siblings are."
Making camp in one of the rooms on floor twenty-five, as far away from any staircases as possible, Sol ponders what they should say. They've had the entire day of just climbing to try and figure out what to tell Brandy, but part of them didn't expect they'd find her so early. They're sure she knows about her ally's passing, so they don't want to bring it up first. What is there that they can say without making her upset?
So they wait for the others to go to sleep, Sol telling them that they'll take the first watch. They can tell that Brandy doesn't fall asleep like the others—it's likely she knows what they're doing. And so when Sol's sure the others are unconscious, they pat Brandy's shoulder and ask her, "Can we talk?"
She waits a moment before responding with a nod. "I thought you'd never ask."
"... Do you want to start? I haven't been a very good excuse for a sibling, I know, so…"
As their voice trails off, Sol sees Brandy's brows furrow in thought. After a few beats of silence, she asks, "Why is your surname Gardener?"
"Huh?"
"You were adopted by Oleg Bauer. Why are you not Solan Bauer? I've been trying to wrap my head around it. The only reason I knew we were siblings at first is because of our surnames."
Sol chews at their bottom lip, fiddles with their hands. "Uh. Well, I was adopted when I was really little. Just before you were born, I think. Oleg asked me if I wanted to change my name to match his and Franz's, but I told them no. I think it was because I didn't feel like I could make a big decision like that. It would be like… giving our parents up, just like they gave up me. I couldn't do it."
"But you didn't change it even when you were old enough to understand what it meant," Brandy pushes. "Didn't your new family think that was strange?"
"I don't know. We never talked about it."
She just sighs, chin resting in her cupped hands. She looks sad, and Sol's decided they hate it. "So why didn't you?" Brandy asks.
Sol hopes their family never has to watch this part. "I was scared," they whisper, "that it wouldn't be permanent. That they'd give me up. It's stupid, I know, but… part of me would never accept that any family would want to keep me, I guess. Even after living with them for over a decade, I wouldn't let myself believe things would stay that way. And I guess I was right, because I'm here now."
"They didn't give you up," Brandy retorts in a low tone. "You gave yourself up. You clearly view them as your real family, so… why can't it go both ways?"
Sol pulls one of the tapestries they've pulled off the walls to use as a blanket tighter around themself. Why can't it? Why can't the Bauers care about Sol as much as they care about the Bauers? Why are they the problem, when Oleg and Franz and the cousins have never done anything to suggest they don't reciprocate the way Sol feels about them?
When they don't reply, Brandy talks again. "I mean, mama and papa love me, and I love them, but lately I've been wondering how much of it was a lie. Because if they gave you up, maybe one day they would have given me up, too. But the thing is, I'll just never know."
And that's the worst thing about it, isn't it? There's no way to read your parents' minds or know how they truly feel about you.
But there's one thing Sol can know now.
"I wish I'd been there for you," they say, "and I wish I could have been your sibling under normal circumstances. I wish I would have been allowed that and my life with the Bauers. In a different time or place, maybe we could have properly met each other back in District Nine, but… I don't see why we can't try to be siblings now, whilst we still can."
Brandy stares at them for a moment, and Sol almost wonders if they've said the wrong thing. Instead, tears well in her eyes, and she simply lets out a sob and leans her head against their side. The sudden touch makes them jump ever so slightly, but they let it happen, and wrap an arm around Brandy's shoulders.
For now, they can experience what both of them have been denied. At least for Sol, it's enough.
They've been slowly trudging up the central staircase for a few hours before anything interesting happens. Shortly after Sol woke up this morning, they heard a cannon; then a few minutes ago, another. It seems that after a day of exploration and preparation, the careers have begun their ascent, and that makes Sol slightly thankful that Amir was so adamant on outpacing them. Knowing that they're trained for this, though, is less than reassuring. They've been holding Brandy's hand this whole time, though, softly reassuring her every time they hear the boom echoing through the stairwell. It's okay, they'd tell her, it just means we're a little closer to making it out. Even if they're scared too, they have to put on a brave face for her.
Either way, they've passed by at least fifteen more floors by the time they actually hear what makes their group stop in their tracks. It's quiet, at first, but then Sol trails off a sentence and tells Amir to shoosh as they peer over the side of the spiral and down the stairwell. They can't see anyone, but they know voices when they hear them.
"Who'd you reckon it is?" Amir whispers, joining Sol in looking down. They try to concentrate hard on listening—there are two, maybe three distinct voices. Two boys and a girl?
It seems Oz comes to a stark realisation as he too listens intently. "Oh, shit." He then rushes to the edge of the staircase and looks down, yelling "Deacon!"
Whatever conversation the group below them was having halts abruptly, and one of them responds in a much louder tone, "Oz? Where have you been, you crazy bastard?"
Oz's hands are cupped around his mouth as he replies. "With Marion and her entourage! What floor are you guys on?"
"We haven't been keeping count. Stay right there!"
Oz sighs in what seems to be a mix of relief and exasperation. He turns to the rest of them, shrugging. "It seems I leave you here."
Marion's hands are placed firmly on its hips. "Well, I'd say your company was delightful whilst it lasted, but that would be a bit of an over-exaggeration."
"Never change," he laughs. "I'll be glad to stop this endless march and get back into the action, I think."
"You'll go back down to fight the careers?" Sol asks, getting to their feet.
"Most likely. We can't just let them plough through everyone else on the lower levels, can we?"
Sol hums. "I suppose so. Do you want us to wait with you until your allies get here?"
"Don't worry about it," Oz says with a shrug. "You guys just keep moving forward. One of us needs to get out of here, after all."
"You're so melodramatic," sighs Marion. "But if you say so. Thanks, I guess."
Oz smiles wide, and there's something of a knowing glint in his dark eyes. "I don't need your thanks. Hopefully I'll see you all round."
"I really do hope so," Sol says. "I know you killed the guy from Four, and… well, I think you might have saved my life. I really do appreciate it. Stay safe, okay?"
Before they're dragged off to continue the endless climb, Oz pats Sol on the arm. "Of course. What was I supposed to do, just let him kill Capitol Enemy Number One? Nuh uh."
They're not quite sure what to respond to that with, so they simply don't say anything.
He waves them off as they continue their ascent, Sol reaching back out to take hold of Brandy's hand again. She clutches it tight as Amir hangs close to Sol's other side, whispering "Do we not share the position of Capitol Enemy Number One?" as soon as they're a few flights further up.
"Um. I suppose so?" Sol winces. It's not exactly something to be proud of.
"But that does make me think," se adds, "do you think we'll get any sponsor gifts? I mean, even if people wanted to send us stuff, do you reckon the Gamemakers would block it?"
"Is that how it works?"
"Samson told me once that it can happen. If the Gamemakers don't want a tribute receiving an advantage, they just withhold their gifts either until it's too late or they don't send them in at all. It's why the careers get them most of the time. Cuz usually, the Gamemakers want them to win."
"I mean," Sol huffs tiredly, "if they targeted us with our scores, I wouldn't put it past them."
They only stop again once the staircase breaks off, much like it did lower down in the tower. Sol's counted up to fifty on the floor they've stopped at, and when they peer up again, there's still no signs that it'll end any time soon. By now they should probably know better than to bother checking.
(FIFTY — TWELVE)
There's a thick black coating of soot on seemingly every surface of floor fifty. It's rote by now; explore the floor in pairs, discover a staircase, move onwards, check for the centre, and if there's an entrance to the spiral staircase, move back onto it. Sol and Brandy find themselves alone for the first time since the night before.
"I'm tired," Brandy sighs as she drags her feet a bit, "Can't we sit down for a bit?"
Sol stops, sitting after kicking some stray rocks out of the way. "Sure. Do you need anything?"
"I'm okay. Just… scared. The trained kids are gonna catch up soon, aren't they?"
And as if they could tell exactly what she just said—
BOOM!
And Brandy looks like she's going to burst into tears. "Hey, hey," Sol coos, brushing a strand of her coily hair out of her face. "They're not here yet, so just… don't think too much about it. We'll handle it when they get here. But they're not here yet."
"I don't know how you can do it."
"Do what?"
"You just keep on saying things will be okay when you know they're not."
"Well," Sol sighs, fingers brushing over the now-scabbed over cut on their face, "Sometimes you have to tell yourself that to be able to carry on. Even if you know you're lying to yourself… you just have to do it. It'd be too painful to move forward without a bit of hope."
"I'm just not used to it. I never had to worry about anything in Nine."
"And I'm glad you didn't," Sol says, biting back an ugly swell of bitterness. "I noticed, y'know, that, um… mama and papa seem to really love you. And I'm glad."
Brandy looks downcast. "But it feels bad, now. That they loved me but not you."
Sol keeps a smile on their face, but it stings; whether or not it's their injury or simply from how much force they're putting into it, they can't tell. "There's nothing we can do to change that. So we just have to keep going. Can you do that for me? We'll do it together."
"Alright."
And so they carry on.
(SIXTY-SIX — FIVE)
That night's anthem precedes four faces; two that Sol doesn't recognise, and two that make their stomach drop.
"Kessler's one of Oz's allies, right?" Amir asks as the Three boy's face is projected onto the wall, stern and serene at the same time.
He's followed by the girl from Four. "I reckon they had an altercation," Marion says as she finishes eating tonight's meal. They're gonna start having to search the floors for their food soon, since their supplies from the cornucopia are running out. "Wonder how the rest of 'em got out."
"It doesn't matter—just that they did. Only four careers left ain't too shabby." Then, it seems like something changes in syr expression when the next face shows. "Oh, man."
"What?"
Amir grimaces. "My district partner. Y'know what they always say: he wasn't much, but he was from home. I mean, I knew he was gonna die, but…"
"It sucks," Marion agrees.
With every face Sol feels the pit in their stomach grow ever wider. With nine faces from day one, and four from today, that makes thirteen people dead already—the last Games that were this fast-paced were Inigo's. If it continues on like this, they might be looking at only a couple more days trapped wandering these endless halls.
"Ah, well. District Four's probably really embarrassed, at least." Marion then pulls out the tapestry they all used as bedding last night. "Another day in the shithole successfully survived. Anyone volunteer for the first shift?"
Sol figures they might as well. And so they do, letting their allies get an early night, but their rest is short-lived.
A rumbling begins somewhere beneath them. Brandy, using their lap as a pillow, stirs ever so slightly; Marion and Amir murmur a bit, but they don't wake up either. Sol's on guard as the rumbling begins again, slight perturbations making items scattered around the room jitter.
The foundations of the tower rumble for a few moments longer, before stopping as quick as it started. None of their allies have woken up, and Sol's left wondering in horror if something's about to hit. So they wait. A minute. Two. Five. Ten.
Nothing happens.
Even after the duration of their shift has passed, they're on high alert. They pass off to Amir, telling sym about the shakes. "If something was meant to hit us, it would have by now," se says, and Sol is sort of in awe of how relaxed se remains. "Get some rest, Sol."
It takes them what feels like hours, but they do.
They dream of the tornado. The dark grey storm clouds as far as the eye could see, the heavy downpour that signalled the approach of the swirl of violent wind. Sol clung so tightly to the rungs that held their mattress, hoping that the rickety bed frame would provide enough cover from the storm. They wept, unable to untighten their fingers, for their mother, their father, but neither of them could hear Sol's cries over the noise. Their house rattled and creaked and Sol was ready for their roof to simply fly off, the wind carrying Sol and their meagre belongings off into the sky.
But it doesn't and Sol's still alone under the bed when the storm passes. When they bring themself to stand up, finding their body much smaller than usual, and they begin to search their house, calling "Mom! Dad!", still, nobody answers, and the hallways seem to extend far longer than they should. Their childhood home was not this large, with this many near-empty rooms and endless corridors.
They find a window, eventually. But when they look out, there's nothing but endless sky beneath them. Their stomach drops at the sight, the thousands of feet open below them, and then the floor falls from underneath them, and they don't even have the time to scream before
BOOM!
Sol's chest is tight when they shoot up, face covered in a sheen of cold sweat.
"Sol? Are you okay?"
Though they're mostly focussed on forcing in and out breaths, they realise with some amount of embarrassment that Amir is staring at them. "Was that cannon real?"
Se's sitting in front of them, Sol notices, and they also notice concern etched on syr features. They don't like it—they've never seen them look like this. "Yeah. You were turning a lot in your sleep, so I figure you were just having a nightmare. Am I right?"
Sol holds their makeshift blanket tight around them, resting their head on their knees. "Mhm."
"Do you… want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"That's okay. I'm glad the cannon woke you up."
They turn their head to look back at sym. "I mean, it seemed like a pretty bad dream," Amir adds, sounding a little defensive.
Looking around them, Marion and Brandy are still sleeping. They're almost surprised they didn't wake up too; the cannon seemed so loud. "Are we gonna get up?"
Amir yawns. "I mean, I guess we could if you wanted to. I only woke up, like… an hour or so ago?"
"Go to sleep. I'll stay up the rest of the way."
"Are you sure?"
Sol hums. "I can't go back to sleep after that."
"I understand. If you do want to talk, though… I'm here to listen."
"... Thank you. Get better sleep than I just did, alright?"
Amir huffs out a laugh. "I'll try my best, captain."
Sol waits until they hear the soft rhythmic breathing of sleep before getting up and fumbling about. They're not sure if they're disoriented from the dream, or from exhaustion, or both; they have something to eat and drink. Thankfully, there's still plenty left in their canteen, since just before they stopped to make camp for the night they passed by a floor themed around District Four. With nothing else to really do, they open up their pad of notes, flipping through the two pages they've filled so far. As they try to figure out what everything really means, they begin humming a little—a ditty they picked up at some point, just to fill the quiet. Noise always makes them less afraid. If they're making noise, they're okay.
It will all be okay. They have to keep on telling themself that.
There are a few things to note about Solan Gardener's third day in the arena.
Unbeknownst to them, the waters that break against the base of the tower have risen quite significantly. It was the crashing sound they heard the previous night; a tirade of water flooding the first twenty-five levels of the tower. If the careers hadn't moved on by then, it would have killed them all. But unluckily, they'd already made it fifty floors up. They're moving as Sol wakes their allies to continue their ascent, quickly catching up with them. They have more supplies, more experience, more stamina; suffice to say, it's no issue for them.
Sol knows that things will take a downwards turn eventually, but they don't want to face how soon it will be. They hold their little sister's hand tightly, guiding her up through the layers, and they speak with Marion and Amir as if they've been friends for years and not a week. It's almost normal, surrounded by people who remind Sol of District Nine. It's both a blessing and a curse, to be sure; when there's nothing they love and miss more than their family, whilst believing that none of them would do what they did for Franz to them in return. Of course, it's untrue—Oleg said it himself, and as the number of living tributes ticks steadily downwards, their siblings back at home wait, glued to their television. There is nothing they want more than their sibling back home, and Franz was entirely honest when he told Sol that he would never forgive himself if they died.
None of them are too sure how to think about Brandy. But what matters is what Sol thinks of her, anyhow. And for now, they've entered a sort of peace, where they'll pretend they've always been siblings, and Sol will pretend that they've never harboured bitterness towards her. She's only small, and she couldn't control her birth, couldn't control her parents keeping her; this, Sol objectively knows, but they still remember that festering wound every time they look at her face. Like many other uncomfortable truths, Sol pretends they don't feel it sitting heavily in their chest.
It festers still as they reach the seventy-fifth floor of the tower, only an hour or two after getting up again. Unlike the other floors they've catalogued up until this point, it is barren. No rooms or corridors fill the space—it appears to be a carbon copy of the ground floor, where the cornucopia once rested. Of course, that's now under eight-hundred feet of water. Sol hasn't put it together yet, but each floor's theme corresponds to that year's victor. Nobody won seventy-five. If they made it to floor eighty-four, they'd probably be able to figure it out. But they won't see floor eighty-four.
Instead, Sol's group will gawk at the wide open space, much wider than any floor they've seen so far. There are arches that open up to the staircases that wrap around the outside of the tower, and of course four more that continue upwards inside the tower. Brandy lets go of Sol's hand, only for a few moments, just to look outside.
"It's so far down," she says. "I feel like I'm gonna be sick."
Marion joins her side, Sol and Amir hanging back. Neither of them intend to look down, themselves; Sol's already seen the drop, and Amir doesn't want to.
It's just about here that things start going wrong.
It happens all too fast, and Sol doesn't really comprehend it, per se—they won't, not until they're given some time to reflect, to try and piece together the events. One moment, Brandy and Marion are there; the next, there's a scream, and Sol turns around to see one of the careers, brandishing her bloodied shortsword. Marion falls to the ground. Brandy runs. If she'd been standing on the left instead of Marion, it would have been her. The careers have made use of the precarious outer steps, but to Sol, it appears that they've appeared out of nowhere.
Amir grabs hold of Sol's arm, yanking so hard it almost pops out of the socket; se won't let them stand there waiting to die again. But we've left Marion, Sol almost says, but they don't.
Not but we've left Brandy.
Someone shouts behind them, but Amir has already dragged them both to the opposite side of the room, to the second outer staircase. Se's a quick thinker; Sol likely would have headed to one of the inner staircases, but Amir knows that if the floors above are just as labyrinthine as the seventy-four below them, they'll be cornered and slaughtered.
Amir Asterix doesn't want to die. Se's willing to take a risk to prolong syr own life, taking Sol along with them. There's very little choice in the matter. But when have the Hunger Games ever been about choice?
One cannon rings out as Sol takes the first step onto the creaking, uneven outer staircase. There's fire in their lungs and their mind is blank, so they hardly comprehend the second cannon, either. All they can do is put one foot in front of the other, trying not to slip on the rain-slicked steps. All they know is that it's them and Amir, and all they can hope is that it's just another nightmare.
The three careers behind them don't follow. They've whittled their numbers down from ten to eight, which is good enough for now. They already lost one of their members this morning; too heavy for the steps, he tumbled down into the abyss below as one collapsed under his weight. A tragic end for a boy who's trained since his adolescence to achieve a dream that so many in District Two reach for. Oh, well; there will always be boys just like him willing to volunteer, regardless of the risks.
Sol and Amir run for what feels like an hour. It was only a few minutes, in reality. The pair slow their pace, steadily, not because they want to, but because they can't keep it up. Neither of them are athletic enough. When Amir lets go of Sol's arm, they almost fall over, steadying themself against the tower's wall. It's only then that they squeeze their eyes shut, a sob wracking their chest, and they stop in their tracks.
They can't force out any words. Not that they'd know what to say. Amir stops, too, a few steps in front of them. When se looks down, se thinks they might fall, too; they are so far up, and the steps they stand on now are only a few feet wide. One misstep and either of them would tumble down into the rocky waters below.
And above them, the sky is still overcast.
At least it isn't raining.
File 4: Transcript of Solan Gardener's final eight interview, District Nine Victor's Village, July 13th 124 A.D.D., 11:48am.
[Three teenagers have assembled outside of Oleg Bauer's residence in the District Nine Victor's Village: Franz (17M), Mickey (17NB) and Pax (15NB) Bauer, Solan's siblings. They look nervous and mutter among themselves before the Capitol cameraman tells them to be ready for the broadcast.]
CAMERAMAN: Alright, MOC is done with District Eight. You'll be on in one minute.
FRANZ: [hushed] I can't do this.
[Mickey reaches over and squeezes Franz's hand.]
MICKEY: It'll be over before you know it.
FRANZ: This is so awful, though…
CAMERAMAN: Ten seconds.
PAX: I hate it too.
CAMERAMAN: Smile, you're live.
[The screen broadcasting Pallas Auclair comes to life. She smiles softly at the teenagers.]
PALLAS: And now we're live from District Nine with Solan Gardener's adoptive siblings—you all heard so much about them during Sol's interview, so I'm sure you're all excited to meet them!
[The crowd cheers.]
PALLAS: So, Franz. You're really the crux of all of this—we don't often get to hear from someone who was reaped during these late-game interviews. Bit of an open question, but how do you feel?
FRANZ: Do you want me to be honest?
PALLAS: If you would.
FRANZ: I'm fucking terrified. Knowing that… I could be there. That Sol's going through all of this just for me. It's been eating away at me. I'm not sleeping, I'm not eating—I'm just glued to my screen, because what if this is the last time I'll see Sol alive?
PALLAS: That's awful to hear. I'm so sorry.
FRANZ: Sure you are.
[The crowd gasps, but Pallas doesn't flinch.]
PALLAS: I take it that it's been a difficult week so far without your father there, too. Do you have a carer for when he's in the Capitol?
MICKEY: No. We look after ourselves.
PALLAS: That must be hard.
FRANZ: We manage. We've been doing this our entire lives, after all.
PALLAS: Makes sense. Did any of you know about Brandy, then? I think it's a question that's been hanging on everyone's lips.
[The three teenagers exchange glances for about ten seconds.]
FRANZ: We knew. Sol… [he shrugs] They envied her, I think. I used to think their parents were evil for giving them up, but I think it's more complicated than that, now. But that's also not something I feel comfortable explaining on television. At least not whilst Sol's still alive and out there.
PALLAS: Understandable—I think it's good to be respectful of your relatives who are still in the Games. We have eight very strong contenders, and nobody can fault you for holding out hope. Is there anything you'd like the audience to know about Sol as we head into the final league of the Games?
PAX: Sol is one of the strongest people I've ever met! They can go through anything and still come out the other side, so you better believe they're gonna win!
MICKEY: I haven't been the greatest sibling in the world. I've sucked really bad, sometimes… but I still love Sol. We might not be blood siblings, but we might as well be! We're all waiting for them to come home.
FRANZ: [He sighs.] I think that's enough.
[The broadcast ends here.]
"Amir," Sol cries, leaning up against the tower's outer wall. They're wobbling, slightly, footing unsure above the abyss. "I think we're going to die."
Amir stops walking. Se's carried on ahead of Sol, looking over syr shoulder every minute or so to make sure they're following. When se turns their head this time, syr expression is grave.
"We just have to keep going."
"I can't," Sol whimpers, voice more pathetic than it's maybe ever been. "Brandy—I—"
"She was going to die anyway, Sol. I'm sorry, but, we just… we have to keep on moving. I'm sure we'll reach solid ground soon—"
"She was my responsibility, and because I was an idiot she's gone, I just—"
Amir sighs so loudly that Sol can hear it over the wind that threatens to knock them both off their feet. "We're not having this conversation here. Just trust me and follow. Please, Sol."
They have to wait for a few moments before responding, trying their best to clear their mind. Think of Franz. Think of Oleg. You can't disappoint them just yet.
"Alright."
A soft smile graces Amir's lips. "Just be careful, okay? If you slip, I don't think my reflexes are good enough to catch you."
Fortunately for Sol, their desire to not disappoint people is greater than their desire to give up. They tread carefully, trying to push thoughts of Brandy and Marion and blood from the forefront of their mind. They're back to the basics: one step at a time.
(ONE HUNDRED—TWO)
By the time they reach the hundredth floor, both Sol and Amir can't bring themselves to climb any higher. Sol's legs have given up on them, and from how Amir winces when they sit down, syrs have too. And so as the pair catch their breath up against the wall, Sol's mind returns to what just happened.
It all happened too fast. How long ago was it? How many of them are left, now?
Brandy. That's right.
They bury their head in their hands.
Amir places a hand on their shoulder. "We can talk about it, now. Assuming you still want to."
Sol sniffles, then lets out a long exhale. "I can't believe I left her."
"I made you. I'm sorry."
"I'm supposed to protect my siblings. I promised our parents I'd protect her, I promised her, I promised myself… I failed."
"Maybe. But, and I might sound a little callous here… sometimes you just can't keep a promise. In this case, it was impossible. Like, Sol, we're in the Hunger Games. You tried your best. I could sort of tell how hard it was for you to even make that first step. Y'know, to actually see her as your sister. So don't beat yourself up too much about it."
"She deserved better."
"I know. But you know something else?"
Sol looks up from the ground beneath them. "Hm?"
"You do too."
They make a face. "How can I when I just… can't do anything right? Franz was mad at me for volunteering for him, my parents probably wish I was never born, Brandy would have been better off never knowing me…"
"Okay, Sol, I need you to take a few deep breaths for me. I get where you're coming from. But you're not looking at this whole thing clearly—maybe those things are all true, but they're not the only truths."
(They know in their heart that Amir is right.)
"This isn't fair on you."
"Yeah, okay, so there's an easy way to fix that. Only you can make it fair."
(Se's right, and Sol knows this, too. They've spent too much time waiting and reacting. What good is hoping for the best when they won't commit the necessary actions to achieve that best outcome?)
"So we just. Need to keep going."
"It's our only option, Sol."
(If they survive this, they will have plenty of time to mourn what they've lost and handle the consequences of their actions. But for now, they have to focus on what's directly ahead of them.)
When Amir smiles at them, they can almost imagine se's Franz, encouraging them to take a step out into the great unknown.
They'll take the lead this time, though.
Somewhere further down the tower, other tributes continue their ascent. That's the thing about stories like this—you only see snippets of one person's experience. The other six tributes who remain want to live as much as Sol does. Maybe they even deserve it as much. But it doesn't really matter, does it?
Only one person really exists in this arena.
Two, if you count Amir. Se's the other one that the Gamemakers are concerned about; their other worst-case scenario. Right now, they're all mumbling among themselves about how to get rid of them. They tried, but not hard enough. They hadn't really planned their arena around their two rigged tributes. It caught a few of them off guard. Those few weren't all too happy their Head Gamemaker had gone behind all of their backs to engineer what really amounts to an execution.
It's only early afternoon when Sol and Amir decide it's time to continue moving onwards. They don't know that they've almost reached the top of the tower, but they're the furthest ahead.
The Games have advanced too quickly for that night's raising of the waters to matter all too much. Sol has to tell themself to be brave when the shaking begins up again that night, but Amir's arm is linked with theirs, a grounding force. "If you asked me, the Gamemakers had no clue what they were fucking doing this year," se says, and those very same Gamemakers will ensure syr words never make it on air. But damage control can only go so far.
Sol tries not to cry when they see the faces projected on the wall that night. Brandy looks so much like them, and Marion hadn't even seen it coming, which maybe stings worst of all. It'd done more than Sol could willingly ask for; all they can think now is that they don't want her death to be a waste.
(But every death in the Games is a waste. So much potential snuffed out in only a couple of weeks. Is there anything more tragic?)
The night will pass in relative peace. The Gamemakers eventually decided that the Games had already been moving a little too fast for comfort, so they don't force anything. They're sure that as soon as their finalists are pushed to the final floor they'll have a finale for the history books. One where, with all hopes, Solan Gardener and Amir Asterix will meet their ends.
Hope also only goes so far. You need a little more than just hope to get what you want in this world.
(ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY FOUR — ?)
When Sol and Amir make it to the top of the tower on the fourth morning, they almost can't believe it.
"It just… ends?"
Amir sits, fiddling with their knife. "Apparently."
It's easy to notice now how the size of each level has decreased. The platform the pair now stand on must be about half as big as the one they started on not even four days ago. Four pillars at each corner frame the singular central staircase entrance; the two tributes stare at it uneasily. Any moment, someone could come and end it all.
"Let's make a plan. You willing to try and ambush them?" Amir asks.
It makes Sol feel uneasy. What if it's Oz? He's still around, right? The careers would probably see us coming, wouldn't they? But then they mentally correct themself: we have to make the first move. It doesn't matter how much I worry about it or how scared I am, because it's going to happen anyway, and we might as well just try.
So they agree, and when they've got it all figured out—Amir's still got syr pick, and Sol's got a few knives to throw as a distraction—they're left with nothing to do but wait.
"If anything goes wrong," Sol mumbles with a nervous laugh, "which it probably will… thank you."
"Don't sweat it. If you go down, I'll be sure to win for you."
"And I for you."
"Fuck what the Capitol wants from us. One of us is gonna make it out. Right?"
Sol takes a deep, steeling breath. They hope their eyes reflect the same determination that Amir's do. "Right."
(Truth be told, Sol doesn't want to be a part of anything to do with the Capitol, or rebels, or either of their machinations. What they want now more than ever is a warm bed and a cup of tea and to see the sunset over the golden fields of wheat behind their home.
… but they do want home. And if they're going to see home again, they're going to have to spit in the face of the Capitol.)
They pull Amir in for a hug before they take their places behind opposite pillars. Sol keeps an eye peeled on the centre of the landing, but the more they have to wait, the more nauseous they feel. Their hands shake around the hilt of their knife, but their grip doesn't falter. They don't want to kill, or see the carnage that will inevitably take place as soon as another tribute makes their way up.
But they have to. (But they will.)
(They've had it too easy.)
BOOM!
It starts like a clap of lightning. Sol jolts in place, peering around the pillar. Nobody's there when they look, but they can hear the sounds of clashing metal and screams somewhere below. Sol sees Amir peering out from the other side of their vision, and se nods. Be ready to strike.
BOOM!
Another cannon, and then the scuffle of boots on stone. Someone gasps and coughs as they surface, but Sol doesn't strike them yet—another bloodied form emerges, and Sol can feel their heart pumping in their chest as they raise their arm to throw the knife.
It leaves their grip and connects with someone—Sol couldn't possibly bear to know who. They ready the second one, but they have to be quick, because whoever else now stands on the platform knows they're there. They throw it and immediately move to dive out of the way, darting past a blade—
Part of it connects, but not with their body. Sol sees the chain that connects their token to their neck break, the force on the back of their neck, the ring flying off in the opposite direction.
It's too late to worry about it now. Amir's already sprung into action, swinging syr weapon like a bat towards one of the tributes. Sol hears a cannon as they sprint from the girl who just sliced at them, running in the direction of one of their thrown knives. Amir pulls syr pick from the head of the girl from Two, then there's a sharp stinging pain in their back and it's over, it's all over, isn't it? at least they tried, at the end, and at least amirs still breathing as far as they can tell and they can feel wetness spreading across the back of their tunic, hot and cold at the same time, and as they collapse the least they can do is kick out and throw their knife with the last of their strength, right?
there's too many voices, too much pain, and it's all far too scary, and they want to apologise to amir for not getting up to carry on like they wish they could—they squeeze their eyes shut and hope it'll stop soon, because it has to eventually, right? the darkness behind their eyelids will become their forever, and they never will see the sun again like they wanted to, will they?
another boom rings out and they want it all to end. they can't move, can't even crawl. would oleg be proud to call them his child like this? as if things couldn't get worse the foundations of the tower shudder and shake violently again, but more than the last time, far worse, and someone else screams, but it fades away quickly.
there's talking that they don't hear. pain that they don't feel. and when things still haven't ended, but the noise has subsided, and all that's left is a deafening silence, sol tentatively cracks open an eyelid.
blood is the first thing they see, slicked across the entire surface of the platform. then there's the bodies, but sol forces their eyes to unfocus. they're not strong after all, because four days would never be enough to desensitise them to the horrors of state-enforced murder.
"Sol?"
they blink a few times to clear their vision. they last saw amir, what, a minute ago? two? they can't tell. and now se's almost unrecognisable, drenched in blood, punctures and lacerations marring their light brown skin.
somehow, though, se brings symself to laugh.
"You did a really good job at playing dead there," se hacks up along with a globule of blood.
sol tries to reason with what just happened. "What just happened?"
amir laughs again. it's a bizarre sound to hear at a moment like this. "Guess our truce came in handy. Oz and the other guy—" se winces as se drags symself closer to sol, leaving a red streak behind sym, "it all happened pretty damn quickly, but it doesn't matter now, does it? I think everyone else is dead."
sol's speechless for a while. maybe they are dead and this is just some feverish imagining before they actually pass on. the bleeding continues, and they press a cold shaking hand to the right side of their chest to try and stem it at least a little bit. enough to finish this conversation.
"Does that make us the final two?" they force through sharply painful breaths.
amir hums. se's next to them now, lying down flat, and sol decides to join them. now that they're looking at the sky, the clouds are parting.
instead of a full sun, though, it's just a ring, golden and bright, the interior dark as the sky that surrounds it.
they've never seen anything quite like it. it's almost beautiful.
sol hears a wheezing breath next to them. "I wonder if they'll send something to strike us down. Make it another seventy-fifth. I wouldn't put it past them, y'know."
"I don't know," sol replies. "That would mean they win, right?"
"They would. They'd also win if we killed each other, now that I'm thinking about it."
"I don't want to kill you."
amir hums, like se's just grinned. "I don't want to kill you either, Sol."
"Then let's just… not."
"Wait until one of us bleeds out first?" amir chuckles.
sol lets out a shaky breath. "I suppose so, yeah."
a few moments of silence pass between them, and sol almost thinks that amir's passed out already. they reach over and nudge syr arm. se nudges them back.
"If I die, would you tell Samson that he's a bastard for me?"
the huff sol lets out is indignant. "I dunno. Only if you told Oleg that I… I love him a lot, and I'm thankful that he was there for me when I was left all alone, and…"
"Sap."
"I couldn't call your brother a bastard. Sorry."
"I think you just did."
it's so stupid.
(is this stalling, this anticlimax, not their utmost act of rebellion?)
the pain's starting to subside, and amir's laughter dies down, too. sol starts to sing a little, just under their breath, if only to remain conscious a little bit longer. their eyelids are heavy, and they can taste blood in their mouth. they're just staring up at the sky now, the almost-sun, so far away despite how much they've climbed.
their vision begins to blur, but they continue humming.
and eventually, there's the distant boom of a cannon, and they cannot be sure who it belongs to.