Have you heard the tale of Tomyris the Great?
It's a story that's been passed down through the generations, whispered in every room of District 2. It's one that parents tell their children before tucking them into bed, and one that drunk Peacekeepers will bawdily recite to passively disinterested barkeeps in taverns. It's one that can be repeated word for word by any student in 2, and not just the ones enrolled in the Academy. It's the story that will inspire Enobaria, Cato, and all the other fierce tributes that come out of the Academy's training grounds more beast than man.
Most of the students at the Academy take after a certain Victor, hoping to learn their strengths and weaknesses and develop a strategy. It's a common tactic. All human advancement is built on a collective pool of shared knowledge, so why wouldn't 2 use theirs to their advantage? The Victors that run the Academy seem to agree. Mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery, and most of the trainers are more than willing to take a student or two under their wing every year, molding them into their own perfect tribute. Students that want to win their Games through cunning and strategy learn under Argus or Slate, studying battle tactics until their heads spin. A more common path is the one of strength — Cassius, Brutus, and Feldspar each run their own brutal training regimen. Still others will earn the approval of the headmaster himself, Invictus. What he teaches his pupils, however, is a secret only shared by him and the ones he brings back.
It is thus that every year, dozens of cadets line up in front of the Testing Chamber. to take the Trial of Tomyris. A few of them nervously chatter among themselves, discussing their strategies and how they hope they will pass. The ones more familiar with what is to come just stand still, waiting for the inevitable.
Eventually, two legionnaires, former Academy cadets who were passed on to enter the Games, will appear and allow the initiates into the chamber one by one. The young students are placed in individual rooms, each tiled with rough stone and dimly lit with only torch-fire. They are given one weapon of their choosing, then left alone. A few minutes pass, each second feeling like an eternity. Then, the trial begins.
It starts slow. The first rounds consist of a rabid dog or two, or in harder years a failed mutt imported from a Capitol lab. Most trainees pass these with ease. They've trained for this moment for years. Things start to get a little more interesting at round four, when they send in a swarm of tracker jackers, or perhaps a few supersized mantises. This is generally where cadets begin dropping out, either from exhaustion, injury, or fear of what the next rounds will bring. If Tomyris is feeling particularly spiteful, then round five is when they bring in the bear.
Round six is when the wheat truly becomes separated from the chaff. The gate slowly opens and a legionnaire will lead a hooded figure, bound by chains, shuffling through. Typically, this person is a criminal on death row, usually for crimes of treason against the state. The legionnaire will unshackle the prisoner, give them a sword, then leave. The rules are quite simple. If the prisoner kills the cadet or makes them quit, they win and have their execution postponed. If the cadet kills the prisoner, they pass onto the next round.
For the few that make it out of round six alive mentally intact, one final round awaits them. They are led out of their rooms and into one final testing chamber: a circular arena built to mimic the original Hunger Games. They're told to stand on pedestals surrounding a pile of weapons. A timer starts counting down, and then the cadets do what they do best.
Nobody is intentionally killed in the final round. District 2 is District 2, and blood is thicker than whatever lies ahead. Tomyris will not abide fratricide, and anybody nearing their deathbed is quickly pulled out of the arena by legionnaires. Besides, the waste of life would obviously be too great for a workforce largely responsible for the peacekeeping corps of Panem, and students at the Academy, plebes that they might be, still have civil rights. But if a few are gravely injured every year and incapable of continuing their education… Well, they knew what they were signing up for, didn't they?
With this final round completed, the last tribute standing becomes Tomyris's sole pupil. They disappear into the woods, undergoing months of brutal, body-molding training, before re-emerging before the reaping and partaking in the mad dash to volunteer as tribute. Many of her students that don't make it to the podium on time go on to hold prominent positions in District 2 and Capitol society. Bartholomew Sift, the Nut's Chief of Security and Romulus Thread, Head Peacekeeper of District 12 come to mind. The ones that do reach the reaping platform and declare themselves as tribute, however, go on to unleash hellfire upon their enemies inside the arena. Just look at Enobaria, who massacred her opponents in such a savage fashion that the Capitol was forced to put parental advisories on all recordings of her Games. Tomyris's tutelage is hell, but effective. If anybody was born for the Games, it was her.
—
It was Tomyris's finest pupil that would end up uncovering most of her secrets. Long after she had perished and the Second Rebellion had ended, Enobaria Malachite embarked on a quest to unearth the legendary Victor's origins. Not her Games, of course — anybody remotely familiar with Tomyris had seen her hack and slash through a record 14 tributes with her twin knives. The dual-wielding style was a massive hit in the Capitol, and replicas of her weapons sold out within a day. The mystery lay within where she came from. Usually the tributes from 2 were fairly well televised, made micro-celebrities by their birth status alone, but Tomyris was a complete mystery from the moment she appeared out of nowhere to volunteer and steal the spot of Cassius's promising young tribute. Even Argus's best spies couldn't find where she had come from. The only clue Enobaria could find was a puzzling note, carelessly scribbled down in Invictus's personal diary:
T from northeast? reach out to M to confirm.
It took months, but Enobaria was eventually able to track down one Ruth Bridges living in District 13, daughter of the now deceased Macy Bridges. There, she was regaled with a tale of the native settlers who had lived in 13 long before the Districts had even been established. Their people had been almost completely wiped out, their culture long forgotten, but their lineage remained. Several hours of flipping through old and tattered photo books later, Enobaria discovered a century-old photograph portraying the last vestiges of a tribe. Three figures from the right she found a young woman carrying Tomyris's unmistakably sharp features and piercing eyes. Bingo.
Carrying the lineage of a long dead nation, Tomyris would become District 2's biggest advocate. No other Victor would come close to her level of fanatical nationalism. She paid her dues to the Capitol as all Victors were forced to do, but upon the rare occasion that she put her foot down, Snow actually listened. Over the years, the two would forge a highly mutually beneficial relationship. Tomyris's people watched over 2, reporting potential traitors and sources of dissent to the Peacekeeping corps, who would swiftly deal with them. As a reward, President Snow's administration secretly pumped hundreds of thousands of dollars into the Academy's checkbooks, allowing Tomyris to send the best and strongest tributes into the Games and giving her the chance to bring her District's children home. Tomyris and Invictus became well known in Capitol society, constantly appearing on television parroting political talking points that mysteriously seemed to align perfectly with what the president himself believed in. Their services were so thorough and effective that when Snow began the rather unsavory practice of trading flesh, the Victors from 2 were exempted. Many theories would pop up over the years on how this deal with the devil was made. A popular rumor was that Tomyris herself was sleeping with Snow, but no actual evidence of this ever manifested. Regardless, under her watchful eye, District 2 prospered.
—
No matter how much she was loved in 2, however, Tomyris was always the most popular in the Capitol, where she was nearly worshiped like a deity. The people loved her, and despite her instincts Tomyris began to love them back. She couldn't help but fondly remember her first days in the Tribute Center. She'd never felt as alive as during the parade. From the moment she was carried out by crescent-white horses on her chariot dressed in full Valkyrie armor, she held the Capitol in the palm of her hand. Merchandise flew off the shelves; Nordic-inspired costumes became all the rage. When she scored an 11 in training, it marked the end of any media coverage for any other tribute. From the next moment she appeared in public, a camera and microphone never left her vicinity. Her begrudging mentor, Cassius, grit his teeth and answered the reporters' questions as diplomatically as he could. He answered questions about how Tomyris was feeling and what her strategy for the Games was, lying through his teeth the entire time. In truth, Tomyris had yet to speak a single word to him. No amount of cajoling could get her to budge. Right before seeing her off to the arena, he turned to her and wished her luck. Only then did she turn to him and finally opened her mouth:
"I don't need luck."
With that, she walked off to the tribute tunnels to take her place. Cassius shook his head. She was strong, that much was certain, but overconfidence had been the death of many a District 2 tribute. He gave her three days before she pissed off the wrong ally and ended up with her head on a spike.
Needless to say, he was very wrong.
—
The Hall of Victors is, on most days, a very depressing place to be. The museum was initially built by President Snow after the first Quarter Quell as a reminder of the Capitol's strength and power over all. It lies in the heart of the city, right next to the original colosseum that was used for the first ten Games. Nowadays, the colosseum is long torn down and the museum has been converted into a memorial for the lives lost during the Second Rebellion. It was Plutarch's idea to turn a long-standing symbol of oppression into one of reflection and mourning. Unlike most of his post-war ideas, this one was actually quite successful. Hundreds of visitors come each day to leave a flower at the nameplate of a loved one, or to take in and appreciate the vast scale of life lost to the war. Most linger at the garden that surrounds the memorial, maybe spend a few moments looking at the statue of Finnick Odair at the front door, then leave. The Hall itself remains largely untouched and unseen, other than the occasional curious teenager or Hunger Games historian. To anyone alive during the Games, those memories are much too painful to relive.
Those that do wander further down the carpeted stone corridor are greeted by rows of life sized statues on each side of the hallway. They can see near-perfect marble replicas of each of the Victors standing tall, accompanied by a hologram with a brief description of their respective arenas. Before the war, they could also see a short clip of their Games, but Plutarch at least had the foresight to have that removed and replaced with a submitted video from their families or loved ones. You can see Annie Cresta dancing at her wedding or Cecilia playing with her children. This is how they'd want to be remembered. But one who looks at the statue eight rows down on the right side will see a hologram of a very stern looking woman, hunting knife in each hand, standing atop a pile of rebel corpses. This is how Tomyris would want to be remembered.
—
They came for her at dusk.
Treacherous scum, with their riot gear and mockingjay pins. They'd hanged Argus in the square the night before, those fools, then celebrated by rampaging through the street. As if there was any honor in stringing up a seventy-year-old man, as if they had any idea how much he'd done for them. The rest were long gone, either wrapped up in the chaos that was the tribute center or having taken the opportunity to flee. Her tributes, her friends, her family… all gone.
She heard a crashing sound coming from outside. A man yelled, and Tomyris was knocked down from the reverberations of a battering ram slamming into her front door. There was no more hiding. Finding her bearings, she rushed to the safe next to her bed, punched in the access code, and pulled out the pair of knives she kept next to her. It was a second degree felony for District 2 civilians to be caught with lethal weapons, but her status had afforded her certain privileges unavailable to others.
Clutching the knives, Tomyris slowly crept out of her room to the long spiral staircase outside. She ducked down, careful to avoid making any sound, and waited for the mob to come up. Every hair on her body stood up, and her breathing slowed to a crawl. The shadow of a smile drifted across her face. She hadn't invoked the demon within her in decades, and it was absolutely starving.
When she saw the first head pop up into eyesight, she didn't even hesitate before pouncing. Her motions were fluid, occurring as naturally as talking or breathing. The first rebel ate a knife through his throat. The second discovered a hilt sticking out of his eye. By the time the third had realized something was off, Tomyris had ripped her weapons back out and given his neck a crimson smile. As the bodies toppled over, the rest of the mob took a step back. Tomyris scanned the room, reading their faces. What she saw was apprehension, trepidation, and oh, so much fear. Just like the kids in the 16th, she thought to herself. She assumed a fighting stance and raised the knives in front of her. The civilians facing her wavered. Their hammers, fireplace pokers, and wooden bats quivered in their unsteady hands. The old, gray-haired woman standing in front of them in a nightgown and slippers smiled a predatory smile.
"COME AND FUCKING GET ME!" she screamed.
When the sun rose, Peacekeepers had finally put the District on lockdown. The riots had been largely quelled by force, and whatever remained of the rebel force was hanging by a rope in the city square. A squad of troopers burst through each door in Victor's Village, looking for any signs of life. When they finally got to Tomyris's house, they raised their rifles and kicked down the door, expecting a band of rebel soldiers. What they found instead was a mass of dead bodies strewn across the house, littering every corner of the massive mansion. Rebel corpses made a macabre trail to the center of the dining room, where the 16th Victor of the annual Hunger Games sat, slumped over, at the head of the table. Even in death, Tomyris held her trusty knives in hand, and if not for the massive, bloody wound in the side of her abdomen, it looked like she could have been sleeping. The Peacekeepers lowered their weapons and took a knee.
Two days later, Tomyris's body was preserved in the Capitol's honored mausoleum. Snow himself gave a speech at her funeral in front of the Chief Justice Building. His speech was one of anger, expressing disdain for the rebel forces and proclaiming Tomyris to have been a loyal servant of the Capitol. He spoke about her virtues, extolling her bravery and courage until the very end. It fell upon deaf ears. The Capitol had long moved on from the aged woman, who had fallen out of relevance decades ago. Not one soul from District 2 stood in the gathered crowd. Anybody who would mourn was either back home in lockdown or dead.
—
"Here." Enobaria slammed a stack of papers into Beetee's chest, then turned around and started marching back outside. The self-proclaimed historian adjusted his glasses and glanced down at the headline.
"'The Tale of Tomyris the Great.' A bit aggrandizing, don't you think?" He placed the stack of papers on the table and went back to his laptop. "Regardless, thank you for all of your support with the project. You've been a tremendous help so far."
"Sure." Enobaria turned around quickly so he wouldn't see her tears, then walked back outside. The night air was cool and gentle, and a small breeze pushed past her, carrying her long hair upwards into the wind. As she walked over to her motorcycle, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number. After a few rings, somebody picked up. She raised it to her ear.
"Plutarch. I need a body moved back home."