Author's Note
I do not own the Hunger Games.
This will be the last update of this year, as I'm taking a break from updating over Christmas and the New Year. Have fun, everyone!
Vivaldi Perlman, 16
"You don't have to actually leave," protested Marcellina as Luminita helped Zephyr over to the door.
"You don't want me here," said Zephyr.
"What we want is just to understand," protested Iridescence. Now she was sat down, she didn't look willing to stand again, but she was watching after Zephyr with concern and suspicion in her eyes.
Vivaldi felt like he was watching everything fall apart. They had been through hell together, they were meant to be able to rely on each other.
God, he wished Thorin was here.
"You and Celeste have always known all this stuff, but you've never told us why," said Emeria, folding her arms. "Maybe if you'd just explain some of it to us–"
Zephyr inclined his head, the tails of his blindfold swishing behind him. "You wouldn't understand even if I did. It's not something knowable. I never understood when Celeste had it and I didn't, and I can't explain it to you now that I have it and you don't. It's just… It's all part of me, on the inside."
Vivaldi wanted to believe him. But he'd never really known him before he was… this. This afternoon was the first time he'd seen him uncover his eyes for more than a few bare minutes.
"And sometimes I just know things. Like I know how people are going to die, and if this is how Celeste saw everyone, I'm not surprised she was half-mad. I always wanted her to be normal, but she was as normal as anyone could be if she saw the world like this her entire life."
"How will I die?" asked Vivaldi.
There was a cold silence in the room. As though a question had been voiced that never should have been. But if there was any way of proving what Zephyr said, it might be this.
"Do you want to know?" asked Zephyr.
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes!"
Zephyr turned towards him, even though Vivaldi had moved from where he'd last been. "I've never seen any visible injuries. But your head doesn't sit right. Damage to the deck. And your skin looks like the others who died."
"Well, that's vague as hell," muttered Emeria.
Zephyr smiled bitterly. "Yours is easy if you want that instead."
"Go on then."
"Are you sure?"
"Wouldn't have asked otherwise."
Zephyr shrugged. "You drown. Purple water."
"Disturbingly specific," said Ares.
Zephyr turned back to the door. "I should go."
"I'll see you home," said Luminita.
Vivaldi watched them leave and raised a hand to his neck, running his thumb over the unmarred skin.
Your head doesn't sit right.
What did that say about his future?
Luminita Summerfield, 17
Zephyr was silent as they walked the streets of the Capitol. It felt like everyone was looking at them, questioning and judging them, their eyes burning holes into Luminita's head. She shuddered. Zephyr didn't have to deal with any of that level of judgement while wearing his blindfold. Lucky kid.
He never seemed to have an issue navigating around people and obstacles, as though he already knew where they all were, moving by some strange instinct. Sometimes he reacted better than Luminita.
They reached his building soon enough, and he stopped on the stairs. "You don't have to walk me home."
"But I want to." Luminita hurried after him. "I want to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"What happened at the hospital–"
"Malfunctions in their systems."
"Things malfunction a lot about you." Luminita stopped at his door. "You know, you and Celeste once warned me… And I didn't listen, and Sorcha died."
"That happened a lot. Celeste wasn't very good with people."
"You're not very good with people, these days."
"If this is about the blindfold, I need it."
"It's not about the blindfold– Well, okay, it's kinda about the blindfold. But it's also not."
God, why was she doing so badly at this? She was sure she should have been better. But then Sorcha always did the people stuff, and Luminita faded nicely into the background to make her art. That was the way it worked. But now she had to be Luminita and Sorcha both, and she was floundering.
"I'm worried about you, Zephyr. I don't understand you, but you act like you've got the world on your shoulders, you keep saying creepy things, and it's like– None of the rest of the world is listening."
That had been her once. The ignored one. Maybe that was why she saw what no one else did.
Zephyr unlocked his door. "You should come in."
His parents were home, watching what must be the start of the punishment Games, a number of bedraggled teenagers struggling in a tank of water.
"Where have you been?" asked his mom.
"With my friends," replied Zephyr.
"Well, come sit down, the both of you! You're missing it."
"No thanks," said Zephyr, leading Luminita across to his room. There was more paper scattered across his desk than the last time she'd been here, but looked otherwise untouched.
"The world isn't listening," he said.
"What?"
"Celeste knew. She never told me, not until the end, but she knew. About me, and about the coming storm."
"You keep talking about that. Is that how we all die?"
Zephyr Almon, 13
"You don't really want to know," he said.
"I do."
"You don't. The others didn't either. They were just angry. And you're sad."
"I'm not–" Luminita said, her voice trembling.
"You're sad, and you can't be everything that everyone wants you to be. You just want to be you, but you can't even do that because of me."
Not all of it was stuff he knew. Some came from speaking to her and listening when he visited her house. But it might be enough to make her stop.
"So what then? I drown in my own grief and sorrow? Is that what you're telling me?"
"You can decide that."
"You keep talking about this storm," she said.
"It's building, out on the horizon. Humans kill each other and nature kills everything unnatural. It's the way of life. The coyotes know that."
"What is this storm then? Some kind of divine retribution?"
"Something like that."
"Alright. So how do we stop it?"
"There is no stopping it now. The storm will come, and it will wipe the slate clean."