Enzo Charmont, 18 (Carbonarium Male)
Carbonarium was a land of perpetual twilight, where even the sun's rays seemed unable to penetrate the veil of smoke and soot that clung to the air. The entire sat buried beneath a thick layer of coal dust, every building and street coated in the same dull gray as if painted by the same ashen brush. The stone buildings had long since lost whatever original color they might have had, their facades chipped and cracked, barely holding together under the weight of years of neglect. Wooden shacks, rotting and sagging under their own weight, lined the narrow alleys like forgotten graves, their doors hanging askew on rusted hinges. The windows, streaked with grime, stared blankly like the eyes of the town's weary inhabitants.
The people of Carbonarium were shadows of themselves. Their skin, once human, had taken on the darkened hue of the very coal they mined, its dust etched into their pores like a second skin. They moved through the streets with hunched backs, their spines twisted from years of grueling labor in the underground mines, where they spent most of their lives in darkness. Breathing was a painful chore; the air thick with soot scratched at their throats and filled their lungs with a slow-burning poison that stole away their breath. It wasn't uncommon to hear the sharp, rattling coughs of those whose lungs were too far gone, a constant, tragic refrain that echoed through the streets.
The stench of burning coal was overwhelming to outsiders at least. A scent so ingrained into the very bones of Carbonarium that its citizens had long since ceased to notice it. The smoke rising from the countless furnaces and chimneys curled upward in thick, black plumes, merging into a single, ever-present cloud that blocked out the sky. Even on the brightest days, the sun was reduced to a pale disc, barely visible through the haze. The world here existed in a state of eternal dusk, the sky painted in sickly shades of orange and gray, where night and day were nearly indistinguishable.
Children, prematurely aged by the harshness of life, played in the dirt streets, their laughter hollow and subdued. Their clothes hung off their emaciated frames like rags, patched over and over until they were barely more than scraps. They would be put to work soon enough, joining the ranks of their parents in the mines, their lives already mapped out by the time they could walk. The promise of a future was a foreign concept here; survival was the only goal.
Deep beneath the ground, the mines stretched out like a labyrinthine tomb. The walls were blackened with centuries of labor, carved out by the blood and sweat of the people above. The constant clanging of pickaxes and the rumbling of carts echoed through the tunnels, a dull, rhythmic pulse that matched the lifeblood of the town. Workers moved like automatons, their eyes dulled by exhaustion, their bodies driven by routine. Safety was a luxury they couldn't afford, and cave-ins were common enough that no one bothered to mourn the dead for long—there were always more bodies to replace them.
Despite the decay and suffering, Carbonarium clung stubbornly to life. There was a grim pride in its people, a determination to endure despite the crushing weight of their existence. They knew they were the backbone of Nova Roma's industry, even if they were treated as less than human. Their sweat powered the city, their coal stoked its fires. Without them, the empire's grand ambitions would grind to a halt. But in return, all they received was more dust, more soot, and more chains to bind them to the earth they endlessly chipped away at.
It was a place forgotten by the world above, where hope was as scarce as sunlight, and the future was measured in breaths, each one harder to take than the last.
Enzo had always lived on the outskirts of the misery that plagued Carbonarium. His family, though not exactly wealthy by Nova Roma standards, held a position of relative power in the town, dealing with the bureaucracy that kept the mines running. They weren't miners, nor were they the dirt-covered masses breaking their backs deep underground. They were the ones who kept track of quotas, filed reports on accidents, and managed the endless lists of the dead and injured. It was a cushy life in comparison to those who slogged through the coal dust every day. For Enzo, it was a life he was grateful for but could never fully appreciate—because it bored him out of his mind.
From a young age, Enzo was trained to take over the family business: documenting the endless paperwork, monitoring the miners' wages, and ensuring the grim tally of fatalities was always up-to-date. Each death was nothing more than a name in a ledger, each cave-in a statistic to be filed away. He'd spend hours hunched over a desk, quill in hand, scratching out reports while the cries and coughs of the dying echoed faintly through the cracked windows. His parents were meticulous and dutiful, always reminding him of the importance of their work—how essential it was to keep things running smoothly. But to Enzo, it was drudgery, the kind of soul-crushing monotony that could drive someone insane.
At eighteen, Enzo found himself trapped in a routine that felt more like a prison than a privilege. Every day was the same: wake up in a modest but comfortable home, enjoy a hot meal while the town choked on scraps, and then head to the office to shuffle through the same dreary paperwork as always. It was a safe life, free from the grime and suffering that defined the rest of Carbonarium, but it was suffocating in its own way. Enzo craved excitement, something that would break the endless loop of tedium. But in a town where coal dust clogged every corner and the only smell was that of burning fuel, there weren't many options for an energetic boy with a love for mischief.
So, Enzo found his own way to entertain himself: by setting things on fire.
It started small, almost innocent. A few sparks here and there, igniting loose papers in an alley or setting a pile of discarded rags ablaze just to watch the flames dance. There was something cathartic in the destruction, a brief moment of chaos in a world that otherwise moved with soul-numbing predictability. But soon, it wasn't enough. The thrill wore off, and Enzo needed bigger flames, bigger risks. He'd sneak into abandoned buildings or forgotten corners of the mines, stoking fires that he knew would spread and cause just enough damage to stir up some trouble without hurting anyone—at least, that's how he rationalized it.
It wasn't just about the fire, though. It was about shaking up the dull monotony of his life, creating moments of chaos in a town defined by despair. He reveled in the shock it caused, the whispers and rumors that followed. No one knew who was behind the sudden spate of mysterious blazes. Enzo was always careful, always clever enough to keep his name clean, even as he watched the results of his handiwork with a smug grin.
The people of Carbonarium, beaten down and weary, saw the fires as just another misfortune in a town plagued by them. Enzo, on the other hand, saw them as art. A spark in the darkness. Something unpredictable in a world that was otherwise scripted down to the last breath. Sure, it was morally gray, and maybe it made him a bit of a bastard, but what else was there for a boy like him to do? To him, life was a game, and he'd found a way to play that kept things interesting.
But even Enzo couldn't burn away the realities of the town forever. The Reaping was approaching, and as someone connected to the administration, he was immune to the lottery that decided who would be sent to the Lusus Mortis. Or so he thought. The idea of being chosen had never crossed his mind—he was part of the system, after all. But Carbonarium was a place where luck was rare, and Enzo's was about to run out.
He just didn't know it yet.
Enzo sprawled out lazily on the uncomfortable cell block bed, one arm draped over his eyes as he grinned up at the flickering overhead lights. Through the metal bars, he could see the police officer—an older man with deep-set lines carved into his tired face—scribbling notes in a worn ledger. Enzo watched him for a moment, then let out a low chuckle.
"You're really good at that, you know? All that writing," Enzo said, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. "Bet you'd make a great novelist if you weren't stuck babysitting me."
The officer didn't even look up from his notes. He was used to Enzo's antics by now, having seen him in this same cell more times than he could count. "You're gonna get yourself into real trouble one of these days, kid," the officer muttered, his voice gruff but not unkind. "You think this is all a game, but one day, someone's gonna get hurt. Might even be you."
Enzo scoffed and rolled over onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. "Relax, old man. I've never hurt anyone, and I don't plan to. I respect fire. I know how to control it. It's not just about destruction—it's about creating organized chaos, making something beautiful out of nothing." His eyes gleamed as he spoke, as if he really believed he was some kind of artist instead of a bored teenager setting fires for fun.
The officer finally looked up, meeting Enzo's gaze with a flat, unimpressed stare. "You keep telling yourself that, but fire doesn't care how careful you think you are. One day, it'll get out of hand. And when it does, you won't be able to charm your way out of it with that silver tongue of yours."
Enzo rolled his eyes but didn't respond. Instead, he let himself flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a smirk playing on his lips. He pretended not to care, but deep down, a flutter of anticipation sparked in his chest knowing his father was on his way. He could almost picture the scene—his dad storming in, furious, maybe even grabbing him by the collar and demanding to know what the hell he was thinking. Enzo wanted that reaction, craved it even. Anything that might break the endless silence between them.
But he knew better. His dad wouldn't really be angry. No, he'd be disappointed—quietly, passively disappointed. Maybe he'd give Enzo that tired, hollow lecture about responsibility and family reputation before going right back to ignoring him. Or worse, maybe he wouldn't say anything at all, just bail him out and drag him home in awkward silence.
Still, a part of Enzo clung to the hope that this time might be different. That maybe his dad would actually scold him, maybe even punish him. Something that would show that he cared enough to be angry, to actually notice him.
As the minutes dragged on, Enzo swung his legs over the edge of the bed, tapping his foot against the cold stone floor. He tried to act nonchalant, but he couldn't hide the nervous energy buzzing under his skin. He knew his antics didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, that they were just his way of kicking up dust in a world that had long since turned its back on excitement. But maybe, just maybe, his dad would see through all that and realize what Enzo really wanted.
Someone to see him. To really see him.
As the heavy door creaked open and he heard the familiar footsteps, Enzo forced his face into a wide, cocky grin, ready to face whatever half-hearted reprimand his dad had prepared for him.
The heavy footsteps belonged to another police officer, his face set in a gruff, no-nonsense expression. He stopped just outside the cell, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sized Enzo up. "What's your age, kid?" he asked in a tone that was more routine than curious.
"Just turned 18," Enzo replied with a casual shrug, trying to maintain his usual carefree demeanor. But he quite hide the flicker of hope in his eyes. Maybe now the officer would have to call his dad. Maybe this time, there'd actually be some consequences.
The officer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he exchanged a glance with his colleague. "It's reaping day," he muttered. "Kid's probably got enough going on." He turned to the other officer at the desk. "Go ahead and let him out. No point in keeping him here."
Enzo's smile faltered. "Wait, you're not going to call my dad?" he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
"Your dad's tied up," the officer replied, already losing interest. "He said to let you walk home."
For a moment, Enzo's shoulders sagged, the bravado slipping as he deflated like a punctured balloon. The officer, noticing the change, softened slightly. "Look, if you want, I can give you a ride home. It's no trouble."
Enzo forced the grin back onto his face and shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. I can walk. But thanks anyway," he said, his voice tinged with false cheer. The officers nodded, one of them unlocking the cell and letting him out.
"Good luck out there," the older officer said as Enzo stepped into the early morning air. "Try not to get yourself into more trouble today, alright?"
Enzo offered a mock salute, his usual swagger returning as he walked away from the station. But as the door swung shut behind him, the cold morning air hit him like a slap. The streets were still mostly empty, the pale light of dawn just starting to creep over the horizon. A few stray crows cawed in the distance, their cries echoing off the crumbling stone buildings.
As he walked, he spotted a woman huddled in a doorway, her clothes threadbare and her face gaunt. She held out a trembling hand, eyes pleading. "Please… anything to eat," she murmured, her voice cracked and dry.
Enzo paused, his fingers brushing the few coins in his pocket. It wasn't much, but he found himself pulling out a couple of sestertii and placing them gently in her hand. The woman looked up at him with wide, grateful eyes. "May the gods bless you, child," she whispered.
He just nodded, mumbling something under his breath before walking on. The early morning light filtered through the dusty air, casting long shadows on the cracked cobblestone streets. His usual cocky smile faded, his shoulders sagging, and that ever present feeling of loneliness filled the emptiness inside of him.
Yet, that all melted away in seconds when he felt the singular match in his pocket.
And that a wrap for the Tribute Introductions! Octavia, Valerius, Cactus, Shepard, and Enzo!
Up Next: Aurelia's POV and Reaping. Although this may change as the chapter is shaping up to be a monster. I might split them haha. Either way, you'll hear from her next.
I hope I did Enzo justice and you liked him. Please let me know what you think!
Until next time!