the future is yet in my power // zane, day seven

Maybe it's luck, as I'd believed for six days. Maybe my sword had just hit the right places at the right moments, after nimbly weaving and dodging for the better part of several minutes, playful barbs and serious admissions, pure luck allowing the winds of the storm to send the bolts sent my way cutting past me instead of through me. Pure luck that I possessed the strength and struck at the right angle to cut directly through the girl from Twelve's leg.

Or maybe Cedric's words have merit. Maybe I simply am better than everyone left in the arena.

It's a dangerous thought to have, overconfidence. I've always bordered on cocky, even nearly invincible, both within the arena and without. My belief for the longest time, after all, was that the worst that could happen to me was death, and if that was the worst that could possibly happen - well, heh, then I might as well be invincible.

And maybe the boy from Twelve knew me better than I knew myself because here I am, still standing, not even bleeding all that heavily, while his district partner lays dead at my feet. The one solid shot she got in was due to my own negligence, a mistake I will not repeat a second time, and other than that? I guess I never was in real danger of dying.

But there was probably a reason for that. Twelve was a soft girl, from a sheltered life - that much I could tell just from exchanging words and weapons with her for a few minutes. The fact that she had gotten this far was either due to an unexpected ruthlessness or the same thing that brought me here - pure, unaltered luck. And when an unstoppable luck train meets an immovable luck object, well, one of them's gotta give eventually, other factors be damned.

And it was me that ended up on top. Death by a thousand cuts has nothing compared to death by a couple of severed legs, and try her best, her crossbow bolts of destiny couldn't beat both the howling winds and my uncanny talent for wiggling out of otherwise impossible situations. Even the one bolt that had found a home in my body hadn't struck anything vital, and was quickly removed with only a jolt of pain.

It's sunset before the storm ebbs, and as I lay back to watch the anthem, I can't help but realize one very important thing.

Twenty dead. Three left between me and the dawn of a new life. A couple more lives on my shoulders, a couple more sins added to my soul, and then I'm free to live a life on my own terms for the first time ever.

Iden Averill's selfless spirit. Bastian Fray's well-oiled charisma. Whatever this girl's name was's unerring belief in her dream. All shattered so I might live.

And maybe I'm selfish, but fuck it, if those are the costs I must reap in order to sow a future, then so be it.

Because the future?

Heh, well, the future is yet in my damn power.