every heartbeat was a scream / throne room dais / day 5

The wyvern plops down on the ground, and I relax and lie down on him as blood continues leaking from my body. Nothing really matters at the moment, but I give him a pet and let him relax. "What did you name your dragon - sorry wyvern?" I look over at Georgie as she speaks, and I smile softly. "I named him Shadowspine." I give him another pat on the head. "That's a scary name. My one is called Strawberry....because she's red." I pat Shadowspine again letting him know it's okay. "Scary name, but he wouldn't hurt a fly. I hope. Yours has a much better name than mine. Named him in the middle of the storm that split us up."

"I guess the names contrast what they really are. Strawberry is a killer and that makes me a killer." I feel sad when I see her, and when I hear what she says, and for a moment, I don't know what to really do. I hang my head. "If I fought with Shadowspine, none of this would've happened. All I can say is I'm sorry and hope to be the shield going forward." I pat Shadowspine on the head again not knowing what to expect really. "It's okay, we didn't know that we fall into their trap." I look at her. "You're not a shield, you're a knight in shining armor. You should forget about the stone knight and just become a knight yourself!" I smile at her unable to say anything.

I lean against Shadowspine as I stare into the distance. So many cannons echoed throughout the arena today, and I know it's truly the beginning. We're figuring out where the others are, and hiding is becoming incredibly impossible. I'm not thrilled about a lot of things at the moment, so to relax my mind, I climb into shadowpine and start flying through the arena. I lead him to the other wyverns because I want to blend in better. Never thought it would be so difficult to live this. Everyone talks about how much honor and glory it has, but this is awful, but at least I'm not alone. I smile as I lie down on Shadowpine and we fly over the arena together.

I look towards the bay and the wilds wondering if there's any sort of way to escape from this place. It has to be simple, and maybe it's the worst possible thing to think of, but maybe we can just fly the distance together and break free and go home. I don't think I'd be welcomed though especially if I fled. And then I think about Georgie and Umber - I can't think of them though. This is a dog eat dog world, and I have to focus on only myself at the end of the day. I take a deep breath and bring Shadowpine back to the ground near my allies, and I rest against him where I manage to fall asleep until the anthem plays, and I see the nine tribute who have died. Just under two thirds to go. I curl back up and fall back to sleep.

When I wake up in the morning, my arm is hard to move, and I don't know what to do. Not only does my head hurt, but when I stand up, I see that my arm is covered in stone. It doesn't make sense to me. I don't understand, and I look at my allies and see what's happened to them. But I climb into Shadowspine once they're awake, and I fly through the arena until he decides to land. I give him a pat knowing he needs a break, but then I take a deep breath and try holding my weapon in my other hand. I see people coming, and I'm not sure what I can do, but I have to do something. I have to try. I'm not a shield, but a knight in shining armor.

They're in a building.

Strange, because Tick very distinctly remembers falling asleep this time. He can recall being on the water, that stupid dinghy, and then on the beach, then in the cave. There was the damp chill they couldn't get away from. The drip of water that echoed from behind them. There was the taste of the stale bread, and the way the crust crumbled around the edges, the centre of it so hard that it made a solid sound when he knocked.

Even before they slept, how many times did he insist that no, really, he wasn't the one that killed Skiplaurel. Lu did that. It was very predictable of him. There were probably bets made. He might've just made someone rich.

How many times did he tell Lu to knock it off, stop bringing it up, even though Tick was the one circling back to it. How many times did Lu agree before he gave up and turned away instead.

When they did fall asleep, Tick's sure that he put the cloak over both of them. They didn't fall asleep in the boat, so why does he remember being rocked. The water. The blood pooling in the cracks of the hull.

And Tick's shinguards are still on. The armour's still buckled on over his boots. Strange He usually takes them off before they hunker down, because the buckle is right at the back of the knee and if he's not standing up, then it's digging in. Makes it twinge when he walks. No twinge now. Just a heavy feeling. Numb, like it's fallen asleep. He probably slept on it funny, and the armour helped cut off circulation.

When he tries to get up, very gingerly, his knee must be locked too because it doesn't budge. He just has to limp on it for a while. Weather through it for a while. He's been lying on the ground for four nights. It makes sense he'd be a little stiff.

But, the building part.

Why are they in a building.

Where did the beach go.

He turns to Lu. The light from the window turns his face shades of blue and yellow and red. He's still blinking awake too, looking between the tapestries, side of his cheek turning sickly green. "What did you do."

Except there's a fire. Warmth finally. Familiar.

Except there's a throne. And as Tick finally looks around the room, at the people tucked into the shadows, and the coins scattered on the ground, the food on the tables, he sees that the statue is, of course, back.

It really is following them.

Or something worse.

“This is my home!” Georgie Cham cries.

Tick’s pretty sure he’s not the only one who looks at her blankly.

Okay. So she’s still a freaky little twerp. Impossible to miss in the training centre, and now impossible to miss again. The speech continues, and Tick grabs Lu so they can sidle along closer to the wall, away from the careers already starting to gather by the hearth. He tries to communicate using only facial movements, needs Lu to try and be very unassuming, then maybe they can just slip through the crowd and then slip back out. There has to be something good at the end. Why else would they all be here.

Georgie's projectile veers very close to Lu. Tick freezes with his foot on the first step of the dias.

Nine faces light up the sky as the Anthem plays. After three nights of silence, it was jarring at first to hear the notes blasting though the Arena, dichotomous of its surrounding. Maybe the Gamemakers had decided that we lived in the fantasy for long enough; and that we needed a reminder of just exactly where we are. The fact that we killed nine in one day though is a good indication that we know exactly where we are though. Cynder’s face is third and I can help but wonder why I a not more heartbroken about it. She reminded me so much of my younger sisters; and in the moment when she fell, it felt like losing one of them. Yet seeing her face up in the sky was a reminder that she wasn’t my sister, none of them are. While I can choose to have relationships with the other tributes, I’m ultimately fighting for myself.

I wake up from another dream not my own, and a righteous muted fury spreads through me. I’m sick and tired of having the Gamemakers mess with my head. My dreams, even my nightmares are to be my own, but instead the Capitol found a way to claim it as their own as well. I do t give a shit about some Evenlee, or some stupid chalice. What I need to focus on is finds me a way down the tower. I spent the night in the upper recesses of tower, a decision I regret in the morning as I make my way down the tower. I forgot how hard it was to get up here to begin with, and with the 5 days of fighting starting to take its toll, I’m already exhausted by the time I get down. I told myself that I would head north today, but I found myself moving back towards the center of the Arena. Back to the throne room where it all began.

What took my by surprise was how new the castle looked. The windows are completely fixed whole, and the tapestries are fresh and new. The scenes painting a map of the Arena, and remembering the note the Baby gave me yesterday, clues about the supposed cure. I still don’t believe that we are supposedly cursed, but it might explain why the cold smudge of clay in the back of my hand won’t go away. It doesn’t matter in this moment though, because I’m more worried about the fact that I’m not alone, or that there are new piles of items strewn about the room.

It’s the Feast.

When was the last time the Games had a proper Feast? And for so many tributes to? The Capitol must not have been satisfied with the Nine deaths from last night, having taken four days to get there. Have the brought us all together to shed more blood? Do they want the bloodbath they never got?

Voices interrupt my train of thought, and I look to see where a group of people are in front of the dais. And that same stone knight sitting in the freshly cleaned throne. Even though the knights face is not visible, the aura of smug condemnation radiates off of him as Georgie screams out about this being her home. I can’t help but think she’s officially lost it, realizing that she is not going to have the same lucky fate as her father. She’s not going to be resurrected and sent back home, and I think it’s safe to say that the reality broke her. I always wondered if her Reaping was rigged, given the recent events of Six, but that thought is cut short by the sword of a jester swinging towards Baby.

“Baby look out!” I called to her, forgetting that I wasn’t noticed, not a target yet.

“Careful!” One of the boys I don’t recognize calls out. “It looks like they have a knight of their own!”

It takes me a moment to process who he’s talking about before I notice the steel of his blade coming for me. I manage to jump back in time, sustaining on a scratch on my face, but why is talking about me?

“Wrong knight you dipshit.” I respond pointing at the stone knight clearly assessing the scene. “If you want to attack the right knight, go after the stone one instead.” The annoyance and condescension dripping from my voice. I step farther away from the group, aiming one of my knives against the court jester, the other boy who attacked me is of little consequence at the moment.

“Hey jester!” I call out as I ready my stance. “No one puts Baby in a corner.” And I loose the knife against him.

_[DARS]

He surfaces, only for a moment.

The stone knight stares down the expanse of the throne room. He has been here many times since the fall of his kingdom and he has beared witness to the slow decay of it. At the beginning, he tried to repair the stones loosened by the encroaching forest and when a window broke, he'd painstakingly collect the shards of stained glass to repair it. But no matter how much he toiled, or what he did, the stones would continue to loosen and the glass would shatter in his hands.

His home fell as his people did, methodically, piece by bloody piece.

The knight does not know if this be a dream or the echo of a memory, for the fire roars merrily in the great stone fireplace. Light shines in through the windows, paned with glass and painting the smooth stonework of the floor in a variety of colours. The large doors at the top end of the hall are propped open in welcome and the tables, the long tables where Zena, Galen and they all used to site, they're overladen with offerings of food and drink.

But there is a disturbance.

The invaders, whom he'd just spent the last week hunting down.

No.

They had all come to him.

They'd made it to the throne room.

No.

He'd let this happen. He'd shown them mercy when he should not have done so. The dream disintegrates into a nightmare as they turn his kingdom's seat of power into a battleground, as their weapons fly across the room, embedding themselves into the wall.

The knight rises from the throne.

He cannot allow this, he cannot just sit and watch the destruction of his home a second time.

Then he boy, the merchant's son, raises his spear and pushes it through the eye of the girl whose leg the knight took. Her body jerks at the end of the spear, spasming as her soul leaves her body unbound.

He does not understand why they attack each other as if they cannot tell ally from foe. They invade his land, his home, then scratch and bite at each other like caged dogs.

Yet somehow, he is the monster.

He rises, movements fluid, almost too fast, as if the very act of being in the throne room has given him a boost in power.

The knight unsheathes his sword and steps off of the dais.

How can this be home, if life is so fragile within these walls?

It sounds exactly like home. Exactly like District Six. Exactly like the land of Chwech. Life so fragile and on the brink, only the scrambling healers’ hands can save them. A whole realm filled with citizens whose only purpose is to save one and other. Work together and defend. Not against the usual antagonists of a fantasy story, like a knight made of stone or a fire breathing dragon. But silent killer curses and invisible hexes.

Half a century of battling invasive evils, there was always going to be a time when the cures flipped a side and infected the creators. A revolt. Crumbling walls. Mutiny and ammunition. Blame on their king. A lost princess.

Rebels coming through the double doors of the stronghold. Blood spilled on the dais of the throne.

Even while there is a feast laid out for a truce.

There’s still time for the princess to make peace. No king sits on the throne but she is the heir after all.

Before the bloody brawl can erupt by the fireplace, the princess raises her sling shot in the air. ”Enough!” She raises her voice above the clashes of swords and twangs of bow strings. ”The king has put on a feast, do not let his generosity go to waste!”

The knight made of stone, with their sword raised steps off the dais. The princess steps in their path. ”You too. knight of stone. You deserve a feast, A-.”

Before the princess can officially call a toast, a hand wraps around her wrist and drags her towards the double doors. The stubborn princess doesn’t face defeat do easily as her free hand plucks every treasure it can reach from the table before she surrenders to the mage.

dars.

Seeing Baby hit the ground now, Umber could only think of the last time it'd almost happened. She'd been climbing one of the shelves in the library, misplaced a foot, fallen. Only last time, he made it to her in time, caught her in his arms like he was some gallant knight from the fairytales instead of his awkward, lanky, morbid, overly-curious self. The difference between now and then hurt. There she was, balled up on the floor with the spear of Lucius jutting out of her at a lethal angle. And here Umber was, watching from across the room this time instead of making it there to help her. There were so many lines being drawn in the sand that Umber didn't know which side he was even standing on, but he knew Baby was at least one number on his team, and her fight had ended just as soon as it started. And it was over, he decided. He demanded it so.

To his right, he saw something move that hadn't been before. Umber had written it off as wall-decorum, an old dusty set of armor too worn for use at this point. Then he recognized its uneven gait from the sword Umber had wedged into its knee several days ago. The knight made of stone. Had he been watching the entire time?

Umber hoped he liked the show; it was already over if he had anything to say about it.

Grabbing up as much as he could for his bag, Umber didn't waste time sticking around. He could still see Tick standing there, a silhouette of darkness haloed by the scarce light from above. He wore the same wizard's cloak, only he was tall enough so that it did not need to drag on the ground. Seeing the knight again, seeing it keep his distance, Umber became more convinced than ever that his magic must've been real. Only one way to test it.

"Banishment," he whispered the curse through teary eyes locked onto his district partner. He hoped the next place they turned up looked more like hell than this place felt. He didn't care too much, though, so long as it was far away from here.

He tugged at Georgie, nodded at Noah's words. They needed to leave before one death became two, or three, or more. And if Noah knew it was better to run than to stay, Umber agreed. There were worse things to overcome than pride. With his jaw set, he flourished his cape and disappeared into the darkness of the room, up through the collapsed ruin of a room he and Georgie had slept in together on that first night.

As he shimmied his way up through the hole in the floor he felt the urge to cry, and then quickly grew annoyed by the notion. He'd cried too much in this stupid arena! The annoyance quickly grew to outweigh his grief in that moment, so it was with a set jaw and a determined expression rather than teary eyes and a shaky grasp that he finally found the open forest above him once again.

[umber flees!]

receives the following:
- scrap from a wizard's journal (lore)
- purified shrine water in glass jar (drink x1)
- ancient stone chalice (water vessel)
- sky flower (whole, no effects)
- sausage links (food x1)

- translucent shimmering stone

The girl wavers on her feet, suspended in air, but then gets very heavy against the pike.

Lu twists, wrenches it out with a spurt of blood.

And she lands half on the dais, facedown, skull thudding against the floor with a crack. The pool spreads outwards from underneath the gold of her hair, wetting it dark red. A waterfall drips down the steps.

Must've been instant. Deep enough to have split through the brain. Nothing like yesterday, with the arm, with the screaming, cornered in the boat. With how awfully long it took. The gore runs down the pike. Cruelty is inefficient. It can span seventeen years. It can span an entire lifetime.

He exhales and lets his arm drop, pike clanging, lets his whole body loosen for a moment before he's being jostled by Tick, dragged away from the dais as the tributes scatter across the hall. The pike scrapes against the floor. There's a squealing of metal against metal, metal against stone. He's getting pushed underneath the table.

“It was me,” he repeats.

Lu is still hungry. He's hungrier. Pit in his stomach. There's still blood on his hands as he tears into the roll of bread on the floor. This is how a person could eat away his soul. Eat towards perdition. He could understand it now. It feels nearly like the same thing.

He reaches upwards towards the table top. Fists a scrap of paper. His fingertips stain across the ink.

Tick picks it up before it drifts to the ground.