happy ve day bitches! hope you enjoy erik!

SANCTUARIUM IN RENOVATIONE

Sanctuary in Renewal

VETUS VITA, VETUS MEMORIA

Old Life, Old Memory

SOLACIUM

Solace

The world Enki joined was stranger than the one he left. And that was saying something; the more he learnt about the 'normal' Panemian way of life, the more disconnected his upbringing seemed. It still felt so right despite everything. He was better clothed and fed as a citizen of District Two but nothing could replace the elysium on earth that he had lost.

That I abandoned.

Marida told him - forced him - to be grateful. She reminded him that the other Sanctuary kids hadn't been so lucky and were lost to a life of an avox or had been executed for treason. People like him didn't get, didn't deserve, redemption yet he was given that chance. He should be (and he was, in a way) in permanent penance for the life he led. Enki thought of it often, wondering why he had been chosen to live when the other kids he had been close to once - Elpis, Neti and Persephone - had either been slaughtered or sent to an untimely grave.

It's because I gave up. Why kill a pathetic dog ready for training?

Enki tried not to think of his former life too often, just in case the memories got all too painful. Instead, as he always did, he ignored them. It was easier that way. It didn't help the lithe voice in his head that chided he was a coward – that he more than any of the others deserved to be slaughtered and maimed – but Enki had long since resigned himself to that voice's permanence.

The Winter Mocks had dominated Enki's thoughts more than he would've liked to admit. A desire to impress those around him who otherwise admonished him without second thought bubbled fervently. Born to a simple desire to belong again, it was persistent and ever encapsulating. The thought ate at him nightly, fuelled by the moon and stars that reminded him so much of Nanna, his twin. He had, whether unknowingly or not, convinced himself that winning the Winter Mocks was the coveted key to a new, accepted way of life.

Listening to Kirkor Shale, one of Two's senior Victors, drone on about some of the rudimentary rules as if they hadn't been drilled into them for the past few weeks, Enki supposed he deserved to give himself a break. The whole Academy had been teeming with excitement, the Mocks consuming most of the conversations. It was only natural - expected, even - that it would pass onto him too.

Am I becoming more District Two by the second?

The notion horrified Enki; in between accepting the way of life of those who destroyed The Sanctuary and slowly forgetting the little things that made The Sanctuary special (repression was a bitch, really), he felt even more that he betrayed his people.

Coward. Weakling. Fake.

Marida's chidings ran through his head - her sweet little nothings that veiled themselves as reassurance. Empty promises that told him victory in The Hunger Games would be atonement; an absolvement of all his sins. Enki clung onto the promises, desperately believing her words. Part of him knew she couldn't promise him release from the torment that raged in his mind, not that he deserved it anyway. He had long since cared, craving the siren's song of redemption.

As the woman's words began to dwell too much on his mind again, he was grateful (for once) that Kirkor's bellow of a voice rang through his thoughts.

"- And absolutely no injuring each other on purpose." He looked at a few trainees in particular, some that Enki knew of as the richest of the Academy; the ones who automatically assumed that they would secure the volunteer spot. Perhaps it was the constant masquerade he put on to fit in with his peers or a growing desire nurtured by the environment around him, but Enki had half a mind to try his hardest to steal it from them.

The scowls they wore made him grateful that he had managed to secure some allies for the Games. He was a coward, sure, but he wasn't an idiot; entering the Winter Mocks without any allies was the equivalent of theoretical suicide. Enki's allies, Theseus and Lynaera, were just like him – outsiders. Both had their uses, however; Theseus was one of the best underdog archers of the whole Academy and Lynaera's knowledge of the landscape around them was unparalleled. How they weren't snagged for allies earlier, Enki wouldn't understand, but he was grateful nonetheless.

They, like him, scorned the richest of the Academy and were much more vocal about trying to steal glory from them. Associated by natural gravitation, it was often over lunch in the Academy's mess hall that Enki was always reminded that even the outsiders of Two were far more Panemian than he'd ever be.

All he needed to do was prove to them that he was deserving – that it was he who was the true volunteer. After all, his atonement depended on it.

Adrenaline and anticipation coursed through Enki's veins. Standing in the wings of the small colosseum Two had built for the Selection Tourney, he could hear the crowd – could feel the excitement bubbling. Next to the Games themselves, the Tourney was the biggest event in Two, beaten only when the district produced its own Victor for the Victory Tour. Everyone knew why; in less than an hour, Two would know which of the Academy's esteemed trainees would represent them in the Hunger Games.

If all things went as planned – as they were promised, according to Marida – Enki would stand victorious. And why shouldn't he? He had beaten the other competitors to make his way to the final spar. All he had to do was beat Cratos Levesque (an ugly brute of a teen, if you asked Enki) and he'd be the golden boy of Two. Not that the thought of actively trying to harm a peer to attain favour with murderers, the Victors, thrilled Enki but he ignored that (much like he did with anything to do with District Two).

The golden boy of a district that's not home.

Enki knew that guilt should've been gnawing at his body. It was, just not as he had thought it would. He still had nights where he cursed himself for being more ready to partake in Two's cruel theatrics than in the defence of his home – how he, somehow, was more prepared to try and fight in The Hunger Games than try and save The Sanctuary. Nightmares about what he'd have to do if he entered the arena keeping him awake until the cold hours of the morning. He always told himself (or tried to, at least) that redemption was what he sought. Not the actual act of winning the Capitol's sick pageant, not the coveted glory many around him aspired for, but redemption. Atonement. And Marida had said that the only way in which he could do that was to win The Hunger Games. Enki often pacified himself, reasoning that the redemption was why he could look at someone like Cratos in his face, don the charismatic Career persona, and rival even some of the richest in the Academy's cockiness.

He knew it was all a lie, deep down. The Sanctuary had been built on simple principles and one of them recognised that killing condemned people – it was why so many chose to fight when the end seemed to be in sight.

There was one thing that Enki had always prided himself on and allowed himself to indulge in. He – like some of the Victors of old – had been under the tutelage of Arkur. An unrivalled paragon of Two's very principles who had trained an array of the district's Victors, Enki had heard the other trainers lament that the Academy's standards had dropped since the man had left. Defected, to join us. He tried not to think about Arkur too much, lest the memories of the man's brains being splattered on the wall haunt him for months on end again.

Still, the man had (though unintentionally) made Enki a threat to the other trainees and he was more than grateful for it. Without the small tips that Arkur made a mantra of, Enki was sure that he wouldn't've won the Winter Mocks. Without Arkur – without the small whisperings of The Sanctuary that lived in his memory – Enki wouldn't pose a threat to the rigid status quo of District Two.

He would be, as many of the trainees had initially scorned him, the random kid that came in and usurped someone else's right.

Enki had come to have mixed feelings about the proud, almost maternal smile Marida gave him. It felt good knowing he was pleasing her and making her feel proud (he needed to care about that, right?) but, at the same time, the pit of dread he first felt when he saw her approach him outside The Sanctuary all those years ago remained stoic. She had shed her Peacekeeper uniform in lieu of training at the Academy but, sometimes, Enki still felt the weight her former duty had on the both of them. He the visceral dread that continued to stalk his nightmares way after he had settled into life in District Two and she the need to find a better purpose in life – right the wrongdoings she had either done or knowingly turned away from.

After only a few years, Enki had realised that Marida's proud smile also carried her own redemption she desperately sought; his success being the vessel in which she could repent. He always tried not to think about it, though those scathing voices always returned at night.

"Oh my darling Enki!"

Though it felt performative, Enki knew there was some love there. Somewhere. At times he thought he felt it when she hugged him close, squeezing him almost protectively. "You clever, clever boy!"

Pulling away for a second to find some much needed air, Enki could see the genuineness in Marida's eyes. He avoided looking at her smile and took solace that her eyes betrayed her feelings sometimes.

"Think I did okay?" He asked, the charming Career facade firmly on. Marida had commented she liked seeing the change in his personality when he began to force it more regularly. Ever since then, it had become a staple at home. "Not too close of a call?"

"Best combat I've seen in years –" Enki always shuddered when she sounded the most truthful about violence. He knew she had seen things to justify her words. "A model Career – truly."

Enki's smile tightened.

Always a model Career – always good at being someone else and not himself.

Being called into the office of the Academy was never a good thing, Enki knew as much. More often than not, trainees who found their way to the room were either expelled or harshly punished. Stories circulated around the Academy just as much as the spiteful scorns of non-Career Victors did; everyone knew of someone who had been lambasted and exiled. Sitting in one of the chairs that flanked the wall, Enki racked his mind to try and find where he had placed a foot out of line – if he had at all. Marida hadn't given him her usual glare of disapproval in quite some time, leaving him to naively think he hadn't done anything wrong. He knew harsh scrutiny was an unspoken downside to the designated volunteer spot but, as far as he knew, he hadn't committed any misdemeanours. He had, for all intents and purposes, been perfect. A true redemption story, if you asked Marida.

Yet as he sat there, he wondered if redemption meant anything in District Two.

The silence of the hallway echoed incessantly as he waited, each painful tick of the clock tormenting him. Each second gave its own theory – its own thought as to how he had ruined what was the promised second chance. He felt sick, stomach churning at the thought of the redemption he had worked hard towards being swept from under his feet with only mere months before the Games. Enki hadn't ever thought he'd see it all through those lens but, call it destiny (or harsh indoctrination), he began to yearn for the glory victory delivered. That had horrified him at first and it took him weeks to try and convince himself that craving it was an essential part of his success story. Enki believed, in a fucked up way, that winning the Hunger Games was a way to bring glory to those he betrayed.

It took an age before the door opened and the voice of Ellara Knut greeted him.

"Mr Lamarck – do come inside."

As he always did in the presence of those that absolutely saw the Hunger Games as a means of glory, Enki donned the charismatic Career wannabe facade he had meticulously perfected in lieu of facing bigger issues in his life. It wasn't perfect – he still stuttered and stumbled over his words much more than was preferred for a Two Career – but it fooled more and more people by the day.

One of the first rules Enki had been taught about life in District Two was that the Victors deserved unparalleled respect. Second only to the President, they were the sole purpose for why the district operated the way it did. Enki had remembered scorning at the thought, instead choosing to remember how harmonious and unified the Sanctuary had been but, as he settled into life in Two, he understood it. Barely, but he knew.

Enki felt small sitting in the seat opposite the Victor. It reminded him of the same plush one he had sat in as the Peacekeepers interrogated him about his true home; instead of handcuffs around his wrists, he now wore elaborate bracelets that Marida had gotten for him to show her love. In some ways, it was an ever growing rigid dichotomy between the two Enkis. In others, it was fucked at how little his life seemed to have changed.

Marida says I've come so far. I should be proud. Am I?

"I'm sure you're curious as to why you've been summoned." Ellara's voice ripped Enki from his memories; the face of his adoptive mother in his mind being broken in favour of the aged Victor's features.

"A little, ma'am." God I sound pathetic – and not myself. "Am I due to do another tour of the Academy for the prospectives?"

The old woman smiled tersely, shaking her head gently. "Unfortunately not, but I'll note you're keen to do them. As you know, each tribute is designated a mentor upon their entry into The Hunger Games," she said, looking expectantly at him. "For most of the districts, it isn't hard to ascertain the annual mentors –"

Reminders of how unfair life in Panem was for those beyond the Career Districts always hit Enki the hardest; made him remember the utopia of the Sanctuary more and more.

" – but in our district, we have the fortunate opportunity to choose."

Enki bit his lip before nodding along. "Such is an honour." He was thankful more than ever for Marida teaching him some of the etiquette needed to survive.

"Very much so," Ellara mused, her smile shifting to warmth as their pages became aligned. She paused for a second before straightening. "Mr. Lamarck, your designated mentor for the One-Hundredth and Fourth Hunger Games is the Victor of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games – myself."

Though Enki had spent countless nights wondering which Victor he would get as his mentor, his mind usually settled on someone like Kirkor or Athena; the two that Marida often praised and said would be a good fit for him. He hadn't expected the Ellara to come from retirement to help him. The last tribute she had mentored was Kirkor himself and promptly retired soon after, overseeing the Academy instead. He chewed his lip, wondering if the decision was a good sign of things to come.

He must've been quiet for a click too long as Ellara stifled a laugh. "Not what you were hoping for, Mr. Lamarck?"

"No, no, no!" Enki said, shaking his head as he felt his cheeks heat in slight embarrassment. Fuck. "It's an honour, really. I just… why?"

Ellara reclined in her chair for a second before she returned to having her elbows on the table, fingers locked as she stared down at Enki. "When you won the Tourney I just knew I had to be the one to mentor you." She offered him a smile. "Most of the other Victors were jumping at the chance to mentor someone that showed off Arkur's style but age and prestige wins out over youth and ambition, especially when The Hunger Games is concerned - from a mentoring perspective at least."

Though mention of his old mentor stung Enki's heart more than he would've admitted, it was strange hearing his name from someone outside of The Sanctuary. Even Marida neglected to speak of the man.

"I… Arkur… How?" His words were incoherent, his thoughts even less so. He was unable to wrap his head around the fact that the prestiged Victor seemed to know such an intimate detail about his life yet didn't say anything until that moment.

Ellara stifled a laugh. "When I first saw you come in at your mother's demand –" Enki tried his best not to wince at the thought of Marida being called his mother; people in the district tended to assume that. " – I thought I recognised something about your fighting style." The Victor paused, considering her words carefully. "It was too similar to Arkur's for me to just see it as a coincidence. I mean, you clearly listened and he taught you well –"

Enki let a smile settle on his face, taking the small pride in the thought that Arkur might've continued to be proud of him.

" – So I used my connections and found that he was indeed at the mountainside village you grew up in. Some of the Peacekeepers said some of the other village people indicated you were his favourite."

Enki shyly nodded, ignoring the pain of being reminded how some of the people from his home had been interrogated. He ignored even more the memory of Arkur's brains being splattered against the walls of some of the homes.

"How do you know him?" He asked without thought, not considering that Ellara likely trained alongside him once upon a time, impulse taking priority. "If you don't mind me asking, Ma'am."

Ellara's smile saddened as she rose from her chair and walked to the window. A hand being placed on the windowsill revealed a small, crude stone chain that looked similar to the one Arkur used to wear. Her other hand moved to touch it, thumb rubbing the soft surface. She turned to him after a second and Enki could see a sadness unbefitting of what he had come to imagine of Two's paragon victor. Where a stern smile usually was, her lips were tightened as if they held back years worth of pain.

"He was my older brother. Such a good fighter with a distinct style." Her smile came back as she returned to her chair and nodded at Enki. "One that I could spot a mile away."

Enki felt like his whole world had been rocked; the Ellara was related to Arkur? The older man had never mentioned anything about his sister being a Victor and always kept his life before The Sanctuary vague. "Your brother..? He never mentioned having any siblings…"

Ellara shook her head and smiled, the sadness still etched into her features. "He got very angry with life here, especially after I won. He didn't like how people only saw me as a Victor after my Games and not me – hated the fact I sided with the Capitol during the Second Rebellion even more." A poignant silence settled over the room as they both remembered how the man possessed higher hopes for what life in Panem could be. "He left not long after the Games were restarted and I never got to tell him I did what I did so we could still survive. After all, it was only him and I for the longest time. I never knew where he went but now…"

She looked at him with a knowingness and, for the first time, Enki felt like he wanted her to ask questions for him to answer so she could get what he was never given; closure on a sibling.

Getting up to leave after an afternoon of discussing what his angle was to be in the Hunger Games and how he needed to act going forwar, Enki exchanged a final smile with Ellara. It felt different to be depended on by someone but Enki didn't hate it. It felt different than feeling the need to prove himself to those around him and he briefly, for a moment, wondered if this was the true redemption he needed – giving the aged victor the details about a loved one's life that she had been deprived of.

"Just to be clear, Mr. Lamarck, don't let my age deceive you. I'll make a victor out of you yet."

Enki bowed his head and nodded, for once not feeling completely abhorrent towards the idea. "I look forward to it, Ma'am."

Marida was displeased at the news. She smiled all the same, but Enki could tell that the identity of his mentor disgruntled her. For months she had spoken about how ideal Kirkor Shale would be, or even Athena Cadaval and her nimbleness with a war hammer. The very thought of the aged Ellara Knut coming out of retirement to see him through the Games seemed to strike a nerve with the woman – probably because there was a connection through Arkur. Marida had tried hard to rid his mind of all things that reminded him of where he had come, instead imploring him to focus on the redemption he could obtain. Still, he found the reaction out of pocket, mostly because of how sweet Marida was to the victor's face. He put it down to pride, knowing that the people of District Two were fiercely protective of the thing.

"I don't know why it's such a bad thing," Enki muttered as he threw his training bag onto the dining room table, rifling through it to grab his water bottle. "Surely her coming out of retirement'll give me such a massive boost in the Capitol?"

Marida sucked her teeth as she shook her head. "No doubt about that but what could she teach you? Games have changed since then. Besides, how could her training be more advantageous than Kirkor Shale's or Athena's?"

Enki bit back a laugh at the implication that Ellara lacked physical prowess to train him or, even, that she was too old to do so – Marida herself was only two years younger than the victor but a superiority complex was embedded deep.

"But everyone knows she didn't retire because she couldn't, she did it so she could represent the Victors better in the Capitol." He defended her quicker than he thought possible – the words flowing from his brain to mouth faster than he could stop them. It wasn't a bad thing by any means to say but, after years of knowing what provoked Marida based on her experiences, he knew it wasn't the best thing he could've said.

"That's irrespective," She quipped, adopting the same tone she always did when she spoke down to him. It was the tone she had used often during his first few months in the main area of District Two as she explained to him how life worked. The tone undermined Enki, reducing him to little more than a petulant child. With each growing day, Enki could feel himself tiring of it more and more; wearing him down both in anger but also fears of her justly needing to use it. "Her training is shocking. At least both Kirkor and Athena had some training from the Peacekeepers - proper training if you ask me."

Enki furrowed his eyebrows and turned away. He hated talk of the Peacekeepers; many of his nights even still were filled with nightmares of them. He especially hated it when Marida built them up on a pedestal even after she had told him that she no longer agreed with them.

You can take someone out of the Peacekeepers but you can't take the superiority complex away, he thought sardonically as he huffed, taking sips from his drink.

Marida's expression softened after a few seconds of chilled silence, aware that speaking ill of Ellara would do little to help his situation now things had been said and cemented. She, to her credit, also knew Enki hated talk of Peacekeepers and tried her best to keep it to a minimum. The woman came and sat beside him, hands snaking through his hair in a way she intended to be comforting (it never was). "I just want the best for you," she said with a sigh, offering him a small smile. "My Enki deserves to be the greatest victor this district's ever seen and I just – I just worry that an older victor won't achieve that."

Enki remained silent, not glancing at Marida and instead focusing on the tablecloth pattern. Her hand stayed in his hair for a moment, searching for a warmed reception that'd never come. Marida sighed again and stood up. "I mean it Enki – I just want you to prove them all wrong and be that success story."

Keepers she makes it difficult to abhor her sometimes.

Enki's hands still shook. They hadn't stopped shaking since the initiation. All of it made him sick – made him relive far too many nightmares and memories he had tried to push away. Marida had told him he was destined for it, that he needed to experience some of the pain he had buried away but it didn't make it any easier. Enki hated that redemption – solace and serenity from the throbbing, pounding noise in his head – was buried beneath atrocities and things that made him question if he really knew himself.

"The man volunteered for this," Ellara had said as he emerged from the chamber, the man's blood stubborn under his fingernails. "It was this or being avoxed."

Her words were supposed to be reassuring, supposed to tell him that everything was okay and atonement was still achievable. She had even given him one of her sympathetic glances – the ones she reserved for when she seemed to innately tell when things were getting too much for him. Enki knew he'd have to kill to be victorious but so soon? Slitting a criminal's – no, a man's – throat was not what he had expected. Not what he had wanted, either.

He had spent the next few hours nursing an angry conscience and turbulent stomach, relieved only when he realised that Cleo had been feeling the same way.

They spent the night talking about what they had done and what it made them. Cleo was resolute that it was a necessary thing – something they had to do and that they shouldn't beat themselves up over it. It sounded idyllic and Enki wanted to believe it, Keepers knew he did. Yet the guilt continued to eat at him and he realised that if he had a chance in hell of keeping his mask on, he needed to become numb to those emotions, needed to forget about guilt and remorse until survival had been attained.

The central square of District Two teemed with excitement as people filed in. Over the years, seeing that Two would never change, Enki chose to find an appreciation for it. The fervour for the reaping almost reminded him of how much some believed in The Sanctuary's way of life. Both things were wildly different, insurmountably so, but recognising the shred of similarity helped him feel more adjusted to his new home. The home wherein the people revered the Capitol's twisted sense of entertainment and embodied the very obedience they wished to see emulated throughout Panem.

Through telling himself that it was beautiful and awe-inspiring that people would willingly die for what they believed in – the only similarity his two homes shared – Enki hoped that his nerves would be quelled.

Everything in the district was done with a finesse that was unseen in the other dwellings of Panem. Nobody was as regimented as Two (Thirteen was once, apparently, but had that stamped out of them according to Marida); nobody had the reaping rehearsed to the tiniest detail. From what Enki was told about the other districts, nobody else really cared. The other Careers – One, Four and Seven – came close in their own ways but it was no secret to anyone with an ounce of sense that District Two saw victory as their birth right – something that could only be stolen from them.

Persephodite looked as old as ever. Even so, she remained one of Enki's favourite parts of the reaping. He found the time much more enjoyable when looking at the outfits she wore during the ceremony, trying to decipher what the Capitol trends were from her garments. The thought of being distracted by her ensembles had even made the threat of him staying in the reaping past eighteen to make up for the ones he missed somewhat bearable. As if all that extra prettiness could mask the pain and torment that he'd undoubtedly feel at the hands of Panem's elite. Not that anyone would know – he'd simply tell them it was all part of them recognising how capable of a Career he was and then focus on asking them how they felt.

Lucky, people in District Two were just self-absorbed enough to enjoy speaking of their own merits more than another's.

Still, the escort's outfits remained a firm part of Enki's scarce enamour with the pageantry and she had failed to disappoint in his lifetime. Since being thrust into the world of Panem, he had grown an appreciation for the choice of things – the different clothes they could all wear, the variety of the foods they ate and the vast array of people he could connect with. As he had been told to expect, the Capitol did all of those things with a finely polished grandeur; so much so that he had been transfixed by Persephodite all those years ago.

Not so secretly (at least not to the few people in the Academy he spoke to like Theseus and Lynaera), one of the highlights of getting the volunteer spot was the opportunity to meet Persephodite and see her outfit changes up close. If the small things he had seen in previous reapings and the festivities of the Games, his eyes were in for a feast. Then, of course, there was the entire prospect of him wearing the finest clothes in the entirety of Panem, even if for a couple of days.

The social side of the Games excited him far more than anything else; the pageantry and the violence was eclipsed by the thought of all the people he'd meet – all the stories he'd hear. Enki never forgot about what needed to be done – what he'd have to do in order to relive his favourite parts again and again – but, in the interest of trying to keep himself sane (he figured he might as well start trying now, lest he try and quell it all in the arena), he pushed those thoughts to the corners of his mind.

The proceedings of the reaping had fascinated Enki when he attended his first one. To have the memories and history of a nation encapsulated so perfectly that some century later children still grew up knowing of the Dark Days and the first rebellion was something that captivated him. Perhaps it was the thought of all the stories that could've been told or even, simply, the constant motifs of nature that bombarded the film. In any case, Enki found himself every year only half-listening, focusing only on what he wanted to hear. Those around him recited it word for word, cheering and clapping for certain parts like when it was told the Second Rebellion's rebels had been destroyed. Enki had felt sick that first year, mind starkly being reminded that only a short while ago, he was a rebel too. Would his peers have cheered for his downfall? Did they know of The Sanctuary's demise and celebrate it behind closed doors? The very thought had made the first reaping hard and, ever since, his mind indulged in them irrespective of if he wanted to ignore them or not.

Existing in Enki's head since the attack on The Sanctuary was a fuzzed collection of noise. Some days it was quiet, others it was unbearably loud. At the start it was manageable – a reminder of what he had forgone and willingly sacrificed. As the years crept closer to what Marida had forcefully embellished as a judgement day, it got louder and louder. As he watched Cleopatra take to the stage, it consumed all his thoughts, ringing incessantly again and again. If he listened careful (not that he dared to), he was sure he could hear voices of old. Worst of all, he could hear Nanna.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Enough.

It wasn't until Theseus nudged his side that the noise subsided, just enough for him to remember where he was. Seeing a younger kid from the thirteen-year-olds section still making his way down the crowd, face painted with anxiety because nobody ever expected a designated volunteer to not scream their intent immediately, Enki's stomach dropped.

"I volunteer" He shouted, doing his best to don his Career smile whilst ignoring the growing pit in his stomach. The voices, the noise – Nanna – had been a warning. They had tried to make him stop and not go for it, giving him the chance to ignore it all and not face what he had been dreading for years. He knew it – and, yet, he ignored them. Just like he had ignored their pleas for help as he ran through one of the tunnels, he ignored them as he walked to the sentence that would make him murder out of a need for survival. Keepers, he felt sick and wanted nothing more than to take off into the mountains again and find his home – his true home.

It's gone. Stop. We're a Career now.

Cleo's eyebrows were furrowed as he glanced at him but Enki stood stalwart at the crowd beneath him. Any pity in a time like this was evocative of those first few days leaving his home; he needed to, and even if he had to scream internally to not let the charade falter, put on the mask he had perfected.

The cheer of the crowd was hollow to Enki. He tried not to think about how it sounded the same as last year's and the year before that; tried not to face that the only way he could get out of it now was by killing or die trying.

Marida was the first one to wish him goodbye. She sung a pathetic story about how she rushed to the front of the queue to see him, how she just had to be the one to wish her darling Enki a 'see you later.'

"Not a goodbye," She had said, beaming proudly at him with an intensity that Enki hadn't seen before. Probably because she was just as close to achieving her salvation as he was his, apparently. "Because goodbye means you'll die. You'll come back. I know you will, Enki Lamarck."

Enki pondered her words as he looked out of the window, finding some solace that he could see the distant rolling hills of Two's forestry. He wished he was back out there, even if it were in one of the mocks. There had been no steaks there – no true risk of dying. He deserved it though, or at least a voice in his head told him he did. Ran away from a life he loved and people who supported him and ran straight to here he was now. Clearly you wanted this.

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself away from the plush velvet sofa, much preferring the coarseness of his hands. Arkur had joked about that once, saying something about coarse hands indicating a true warrior. Enki had smiled with wide eyes then, enamoured with the idea of being The Sanctuary's best warrior. Now, it all seemed like a joke. Everything was a sick, twisted reminder of what he had lost – everything just tried to knock him down and remember, face, what he had left.

If he could, he'd let it all consume him and make him into even more of a pathetic husk of a man. Marida wouldn't let him, though, and he was forced to carry on as if nothing were wrong. How could he still be scarred from it? It happened years ago. Enough time to heal, so people around him said.

Keepers, he hated Marida. Hated how she tried to guide him through life; hated how she tried to tell him that she saved his life (what was worth saving?); hated how she tried to replace a mother her colleagues so willingly executed and he hated how she spoke badly about Ellara. Enki didn't know why he had fixated so much on the older victor but there was something about the way she smiled at him – the way she made him feel as if she understood what he was going through that made him want to stand by her. Protect her, almost. It was stupid (Marida had said as much) but he couldn't help it. Pleasing Ellara sounded more worthwhile than pleasing Marida as each day passed.

"We hope we didn't shock you too much." There was a hint of mirth in Theseus' voice, matching with the small smiles he and Lynaera wore. "We just wanted to come and say goodbye."

Why, Enki couldn't help but think as he glanced at them, still cupping one coarse hand in another with memories of old swirling in his head. He ignored them, instead smiling and mustering a laugh.

"Couldn't shock me with those heavy feet of yours," He chimed, choosing to cross his arms instead of looking like someone begging for forgiveness.

"A guy causes one twig to snap in the Mocks and he has to deal with it his entire time?"

"Mind you, that twig nearly got us all eliminated," Lynaera quipped, giving Theseus a nudge. "If I hadn't shot Kybele with that arrow, who knows how long we would've been able to run for."

Enki's laugh was less forced as he recounted the memory, especially revelling in the aftermath where the three of them had laughed and joked over Theseus' heavy feet for some hours after. It all felt so long ago yet, simultaneously, yesterday.

It felt right – natural – to hear Theseus laugh and see Lynaera smile a toothy grin. It took him back to some of the fun they had during the mocks.

"Yeah, well, we got the bread and did the damn thing and now one of us is about to become the Victor of the one-hundred and fourth Hunger Games!" Theseus beamed at Enki, pride knitting his features.

It was as if, for a moment, Enki felt how the popular kids did in the Academy, surrounded by friends. If Theseus and Lynaera were his friends, maybe dying in the arena wasn't the ending to his story.

Perhaps they were worth fighting for. He just hoped that things (or he himself) didn't change too much after he came back.