Valerius Vella, 18 (Male Tribute from Aquila)
Aquila clung to the mountainside like a stubborn shadow, its stone buildings rising in layered terraces carved straight from the jagged rock. The air was sharp and biting, laced with the scent of pine and the cold breath of mountain winds. Narrow streets twisted upward in steep inclines, flanked by buildings with dark slate roofs and walls weathered by generations of harsh winters. Copper veins ran through the stone, glinting faintly when the sun managed to pierce the thick canopy of trees that fringed the town's borders, casting an almost eerie glow across the cobblestones.
At its heart loomed the Great Hall, a fortress of timber and iron where the town's leaders gathered, its dark wooden beams reinforced with rivets that gleamed dully in the pale light. Smoke curled lazily from its chimneys, mixing with the ever-present scent of burning wood and molten metal. The people of Aquila were as tough as the mountain itself, their eyes cold and calculating, their hands scarred from years of working the forges, quarries and tending to their meager plots of land. They had the look of those who'd faced down too many storms and still stood tall—proud, unyielding, and fiercely protective of what little was theirs.
Above them all, perched like a watchful hawk, was the citadel, an ancient structure etched with runes and symbols from a time long forgotten. It had stood for centuries, enduring both the ravages of time and the ambitions of men, a silent reminder that in Aquila, survival was earned, never given. Fitting for the hub of Nova Roma's military might. From its highest tower, one could see all the way to the distant plains below, where other towns sprawled in gentler lands. But here in Aquila, life was hard, and its people wore their endurance like a badge of honor, as if daring the mountain to break them
But not everyone in Aquila struggled through life. Closest to the town square stood a cluster of grand, gilded townhouses—remnants of a time when Aquila was still tethered to Nova Roma's power. Though two centuries had passed since those days, the families who lived in these opulent homes still clung to the last vestiges of their fading influence, proudly flaunting their distant blood ties to the city. Chief among them was the Vella family, whose imposing townhouse, with its blue door and golden adornments, overlooked the town hall like a watchful guardian. Once, the Vellas commanded respect, a name uttered with reverence in both Aquila and beyond. They held onto their Nova Roma roots like a badge of honor, bestowing their children with names as grand as the legacy they fought to preserve.
Now, the once-great family was reduced to a single heir—Valerius Vella, a teenage boy whose existence seemed like a shadow of the glory that had once been. Val lay in the opulent bed, the silken sheets cool against his skin as the late morning light filtered through the heavy curtains. The room around him was a testament to what remained of his wealth—a large, intricately carved wooden bed, gilded mirrors reflecting the soft light, and tapestries that whispered stories of ancient victories. Yet all the grandeur felt hollow, like a gilded cage holding a man who knew his days were numbered. The legacy his ancestors built with iron fists and clever minds was now at the mercy of forces he could no longer control.
Val shifted his gaze toward the ceiling. The house had been his father's pride, a symbol of the old days when wealth and influence weren't just relics of a lost era. But now, all those symbols meant little. The grandeur around him only amplified the silence of the house—a silence that felt more like a requiem for a dying name.
Beside him, a man stirred, lifting his head from the pillow. His dark hair was tousled, and his eyes, still heavy with sleep, searched Val's face with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice thick and quiet in the stillness of the room.
Val sighed, his thoughts a tangled web of fear and resignation. "I'm going to die, Cassius," he said simply, the words falling from his lips like a confession.
The man's expression shifted, a shadow of worry crossing his handsome features. "What do you mean? How do you know?"
Val gave a groan, the sound heavy with a weariness that ran deeper than mere exhaustion. "I can't say how I know. But I do." He turned his head slightly, catching the other man's gaze, the honesty in his dark brown eyes unmistakable. "It's just a matter of time."
Silence settled over them like a shroud, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets as the man leaned closer, his hand finding its way to Val's hair. He began to run his fingers through it, a soothing gesture, as if he could somehow smooth away the fear that lay beneath the surface. Val closed his eyes, feeling the gentle pressure of the man's hand, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
His gaze drifted to the woman asleep on the other side of him, her face serene in the dim light. She was beautiful, her blonde hair spread out across her pillow, her features softened in slumber. Val reached out to gently trace the curve of her cheek with his fingertips. The touch was tender, filled with a longing that had nothing to do with desire.
"I always wanted a family," Val murmured, more to himself than to the man beside him. "A family of my own, with laughter echoing through the halls, the way it used to be. I wanted to give Drusus a safe home to visit, a place where he could grow up loved and protected." His voice wavered, the fear creeping into his words. "Maybe the Gods have deemed me undeserving of such bliss."
The man's hand stilled in Val's hair, his silence a weight between them. Val knew the man could offer no reassurances, no promises that things would be different. The world they lived in was not kind to dreamers, to those who dared hope for something more than what fate had allotted them.
As Val lay there, caught between the warmth of the bodies beside him and the cold certainty of his own fate, he felt the walls closing in. The life he had envisioned, the future he had wanted for himself—it all seemed to be slipping through his fingers like sand. And yet, even now, a part of him clung to the hope that there was still a way out, some path he hadn't yet seen. He just had to find it before time ran out.
But deep down, he feared that no amount of wealth, no bed filled with lovers, could protect him from the fate that awaited him.
Val shifted, turning to face Cassius. The man's touch lingered in his hair, but the heaviness of their conversation still hung in the air. Val could see the concern etched in Cassius's features, the way his brow furrowed slightly, but he knew he couldn't dwell on it. Not now. He needed to distract himself from the gnawing fear in his chest.
"Cassius," Val said, his voice softer now, almost playful. "How would you like to style me today?"
Cassius's eyes lit up instantly, the worry fading as excitement took its place. Styling was his passion, his dream, and it was something Val had always admired in him. Cassius wasn't just a suit maker—he was an artist, someone who could turn fabric into a statement, who dreamed of making his mark in the city one day as a stylist. "You mean it?" Cassius asked, his voice eager, as if he could hardly believe it.
Val nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Of course. I could use some of your magic today."
Cassius's enthusiasm was contagious, and within moments, the two of them were racing through Val's house, their footsteps echoing off the marble floors. The house was rich, with grand halls and ornate fixtures, but not crossing the line. It was a place of comfort and elegance, a sanctuary that reflected Val's taste for the finer things without tipping into excess.
They reached the wardrobe, a room unto itself, lined with racks of clothing in every color and fabric. Cassius's eyes roved over the selections, his mind already working through the possibilities. Val watched him with a fondness he rarely allowed himself to show. Cassius was in his element here, the flicker of creativity sparking in his gaze as he considered the options.
Cassius's hands moved quickly, pulling garments from the racks, laying them out with the care of a painter selecting his palette. "We'll need something striking, but not too ostentatious," he murmured, more to himself than to Val. "Something that speaks of power, but with a touch of vulnerability."
Val smirked, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Cassius work. "Sounds like you're describing me."
Cassius glanced up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Maybe I am. Now, what do you think of this?" He held up a deep emerald jacket, the fabric rich and smooth, with subtle gold detailing along the cuffs.
Val ran his fingers over the material, appreciating the craftsmanship. "Perfect. And for the shirt?"
Cassius moved swiftly, selecting a crisp white shirt with delicate embroidery at the collar, and paired it with a dark, tailored trouser. "Simple, elegant, but with just enough flair to catch the eye," Cassius said, holding the ensemble up for Val's approval.
Val nodded, feeling the weight of the morning lift slightly as he allowed himself to be pulled into Cassius's world. Here, in this moment, he could forget about the looming threat, the fear that had gripped him. Here, it was just the two of them.
As Cassius began helping him into the outfit, his hands deft and practiced, Val felt a rush of gratitude. For the clothes and the distraction.
"Maybe one day, you'll be out of your fathers shop doing this in the Nova Roma," Val mused as Cassius adjusted the collar of the jacket, making sure it sat just right.
Cassius smiled, the dream alive in his eyes. "One day," he agreed, his voice full of quiet determination. "But for now, you need to stop squirming."
Cassius and Val had always been close since they were children and his father styled Val's own father looks. As they grew older, they found other forms of comfort together, an intimacy that both enjoyed but neither mistook for love. It wasn't that Val was unwilling to be tethered for the right person, but Cassius was an artist who craved freedom, someone whose passions were fleeting and whose heart could never be truly captured. Cassius cared for Val—anyone could see that—but he could never love him. As quickly as a relationship began, Cassius would lose interest, his attention drifting from the copper-haired man to the next spark of inspiration. Equally, Val had little interest in making the connection romantic, content with it being a friendship with added benefits. Val wanted to marry, have children, and eventually to remain monogamous while Cassius wanted the complete opposite so they had decided long ago that they both deserved more suitable partners. Until then, though, they happily indulged in the added extras of their friendship, fully aware and accepting that by evening's end, they would part ways to be with different people. It was an unspoken agreement, a shared understanding that allowed them to enjoy what they had, knowing it wouldn't last.
Val caught his reflection in the mirror once more, the man staring back at him a carefully constructed image of elegance and poise. Cassius had done an impeccable job, as always. The deep emerald jacket fit like a second skin, the subtle gold detailing catching the light just so, the crisp white shirt beneath adding a touch of understated sophistication. It was perfect—almost too perfect. But the image felt like a mask, hiding the storm of emotions roiling beneath the surface. He sighed, the sound escaping before he could contain it. "The whole of Panem will see your work today," he murmured, his voice softer than usual, tinged with something neither of them wanted to name.
Cassius, who had been straightening the cuff for the umpteenth time, suddenly froze. His smile, which had been glowing with pride, faltered. The light in his eyes dimmed as he studied Val's face more closely. "Val… you're not planning on volunteering, are you?" His voice was quiet, but the concern in it was palpable, cutting through the morning's routine.
For a moment, Val didn't respond, letting the question hang in the air like a blade over both their heads. He could see the worry in Cassius's eyes, the sudden fear that the man he cared for might be about to throw himself into something he couldn't control. Then, almost abruptly, Val laughed. The sound was sharp, a little too high-pitched, teetering on the edge of hysteria. "No, I'm not," he promised, the words rushing out in a tone that was meant to reassure but didn't quite reach that mark. He could feel the weight of his own lie. The truth was he was less than an hour a way from possibly being Reaped. Only a few weeks away from potentially being slaughtered on national television.
Without warning, Val pulled Cassius into a hug, wrapping his arms around him as if trying to absorb some of the man's steadiness. Cassius's arms closed around him in return, the familiar warmth and comfort of the embrace grounding him, if only for a moment. They stood there in silence, Val holding on just a bit tighter than usual, as if the contact could stave off the inevitable. He could feel Cassius's heartbeat, steady and sure. He was his best friend, his safety and this might be the last time he embraced him.
But as the embrace ended, Val's gaze drifted past Cassius's shoulder to the window. The morning light spilled into the room, casting long shadows on the floor, and outside, the final preparations for the Reaping were well underway. The town square, with its grand Nova Roman-style architecture, was alive with activity. Workers moved swiftly, setting up the last pieces of the stage that would soon determine the fates of him and his sister, Octavia. Marble columns rose like sentinels around the square, framing the scene with a cold, unyielding majesty. The banners were being hung, their vibrant red color a stark contrast to the dread hanging in the air.
Val watched in silence, his thoughts a whirl of anxiety and resignation. This square, so familiar to him, now felt like the mouth of a beast, ready to devour anyone who stepped onto that stage. He could almost hear the cheers and gasps of the crowd, see the fear in Octavia's eyes.
Cassius, standing beside him, seemed to sense his turmoil. He reached out, placing a hand on Val's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Whatever happens, we'll get through it," Cassius said quietly, his voice full of the same calm determination he always carried.
Val nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on the scene below. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "We will." But even as he said it, a part of him wondered if that was true, if he would indeed emerge from this unscathed.
"This fell in my bag," a voice chimed from behind him. Val glanced over his shoulder to see Lucilla Marci, her blonde hair swept into a haphazard bun, strands escaping like golden threads. In her hand, she held a strip of small white tablets, extending them toward him with a raised brow. Val took them quickly, mumbling a vague thanks as he slipped them into his palm. Lucilla sighed as she adjusted her hastily buttoned dress, her eyes already distant. "I must go," she murmured, almost as if trying to convince herself, "my husband will want me home for the Reaping."
A wide smirk tugged at Val's lips. "Of course, it was a pleasure having you over," he replied with a sly wink. The flirtation had once been harmless—playful exchanges with the young, twenty-year-old bride of his neighbor. But that was before everything changed. Her husband wasn't just anyone; he was the Mayor, and more importantly, Lucius' cousin—a man who likely had a hand in the scheme to see both Val and his sister doomed in the Lusus Mortis. For Val, seducing Lucilla into his bed wasn't just temptation; it was the closest thing to revenge he could grasp. Petty, perhaps, but in a world that dealt in betrayals, it felt satisfyingly just.
Lucilla offered a small, almost regretful wave, before her heels echoed down the hall, leaving Val alone with Cassius. Val eyed the tablets in his hand, their smooth, sterile white suddenly feeling like a lifeline. He hadn't suffered a epileptic seizure since childhood, but the doctor's warnings still echoed in his mind. Skipping too many doses could bring it back—a vulnerability he couldn't afford, not now, not with so much at stake.
As he turned the strip over in his hand, an idea sparked. He glanced up at Cassius, whose brow furrowed in curiosity. "Do you think you could sew this into the lining of my clothes?" Val asked, passing the tablets to him.
Cassius studied the packaging, tracing a thumb along its edge. "Shouldn't be a problem," he said casually, though his eyes darted to Val with the hint of unspoken concern.
"Wonderful!" Val's laughter burst out, a touch too loud, too forced. "So, what piece of clothing are you going to make me strip off first?" The question was delivered with a teasing grin, but beneath the bravado, Val's mind was already racing.
We couldn't have Octavia as a POV character without her twin brother, Valerius being one too. And with that, we have met both Tributes from Aqulia, our version of District 2. Next we will travel to District 10 which is known as Faunalis in Nova Roma.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am concerned that they are turning out a bit longer than the average Tribute POV so I hope the length is okay. Let me know what you think!
Until next time!