Colourway . ffg vs bb

Blood still lingers along his knuckles, where it stained him. Water didn't seem to wash away the wounds as perfectly as he thought. Red; like the scrapes he used to get as a kid when the world wasn't so bright, but he had the freedom to still believe it could be. It's a whisper along his lips; the taste of an early morning where the dew fills his senses. Memories of surviving the worst to still experience even the smallest of things that others would overlook day to day. Blood still lingers on his hands and all he can do is wipe them back into the pond, getting back up, leaning against the hilt of his sword, until the sun begins to go down.

Meredith Strauss's eyes still haunt his mind; bright with the pain of someone who's suffered something like him. Bright fire licking up their bodies, hiding the scars of broken kids who dream of somewhere better. Tears hidden behind walls of exhaustion and strength; building and building until their legs no longer worked. Purple bruises and empty thoughts left behind in a scavenger hunt for no one else to find, but he knew it. He knew what pain lingers in eyes and visions where all someone can see is the fear and the feeling of wanting to curl up and disappear.

The sun reminds him that even the light has its own darkness to it.

Meredith approaches with a careful step as if the world was going to crumble underneath her. Eyes avoiding his own; clearly meant to hide the painful flashes of memories and broken pieces. Neither of them will ever be complete thanks to the pain they've breathed through time and time again. "Hey, thanks for early today," Silence fills him as he tries to read the hidden parts of Meredith Strauss. A nod from his own head breaking through the silence, eyes trained on to her sewn ear and back again.

"No problem. It was nothing."

Nothing, except his broken leg, but Cyro Krane's been through worse. Lips part as he goes to ask the question; the single question he wanted an answer to, but the breeze makes a chill run through his body and Meredith looks more closed off than before. For a second, he almost dares to, but he closes his mouth, stuck in his own thoughts. Silence fills between them as he lets her get comfortable with his presence. Soon enough, she speaks; the words flood over him with a crash of a tidal wave of emotions.

"It’s my adoptive parents," Adoptive parents. Eyes trying to read and soak in every ounce of information she gives him. "In the house I live in, you train, you fight, you bleed, and if you aren’t good enough you get killed." For a moment, he can feel the pain in those words. Train. Fight. Bleed. Killed. A chill runs down his spine as he feels his stomach churn with a fire. The ashes of his own pain were different, but similar in theory. Career families built to win over all else. The idea makes him feel sick, almost tipping over the sword's hilt to let the feeling out, but he swallows it.

Meredith lifts her arms to show him the scars; the wounds of her suffering. "He did this because I cried after getting punched in the face," She avoids looking at him, staring off somewhere else; stuck in the memory if he had to guess. "he said ‘I’ll give you a real reason to cry’ and then he held me down and by the end, I learned not to cry when I was in pain." Pain. Reason not to cry. Biting on the meat of his cheek, he tastes iron and his fists clenched tightly around his sides as he glances back to her.

Cyro Krane didn't notice the tears until on drops to his hands, coating the red of dried blood once more. His heart was beating for Meredith's pain; the tears were meant for her suffering and he could feel the way his hands ached to just take away whatever he can for her. A breath of a pause where he can feel the tears pricking at the edges of his eyelids; the world is silent as it watches on for a moment. No one deserved to suffer any of the pain either of them have been through, so he does the only thing he can think of.

Arms wrap around her in the same security he used to give to Xander. The same hug he had received from his Nana on the days when he'd enter her home with tear streaked cheeks and purple eyes. Fingers splayed through Meredith Strauss' hair soothing in the only way he knew how. A gentle touch of his fingers along the edges and pulling her as close to his own body as he can. Ignoring the pain of his leg, he could care less about the fire reaching up to him. Meredith Strauss needed him. She needed him to be the comfort he only had once. Tears prick more around his eyes as they flow gently down. Words slipping from his lips, muffled by his arms tightening at much as he can around her.

"I can't believe..." His heart feels empty in a way that's draining. A piece of himself knowing that he shouldn't be doing this. Part of him knowing that they were supposed to end up fighting one another in the end and she would die like the rest of them for his son's new life. A chill runs down his spine as he continues with his heart breaking in the background. "I can't believe someone would do that, but..." Letting go of the hug, he moves his cloak down over his shoulder to reveal his shoulder and part of his upper chest. A spot where a large gahs, which had whitened into a scar had once been. A sharp countertop corner and his alcoholic father's favorite game of making a young Cyro Krane beg for forgiveness and never give it. Only blood had been the answer, just like the red covering his hands.

"My dad... He would drink a lot since the day I was born. Alcohol was his way of dealing with the world. Used to yell and scream at me when I was just four years old and blame me for his life. Told me I ruined it all for him. He didn't hit me until I got tired of crying."

Until he finally broke and tears felt useless to give to a monster like him. Levi would never come home to save him like he dreamed. Katelyn Persimmon's smiling face could only do so much for a young boy. Wilson didn't even know him until later on in life. Cyro Krane had been alone to deal with the tears. All by himself, he would stand up with bruised skin and split lips; trying to understand what he had done. Except, the answer had been everything. Existence was pain for his father and Cyro Krane will never understand what put his father into that state.

"I was only seven the first day I came to school with a black eye and a pain no one could fix. My mother would just let him do it. Let him beat me up, until I cried and begged for forgiveness."

The pain sits on the edge of his stomach as he can remember the feeling of being so small. Curled up on the field by his school; trying to hide the bright purple mark over his eye. Instead, he had learned to cover it with the Amira's makeup; pretend like he was fine until it was a numb feeling. Let the feeling spill over when he felt everything at once. The words his father used to tell him when he would drunkenly come home and rip into him. Respect was not given, but earned. Except, Cyro Krane could never earn it. The words slip out once more.

"Respect. He would say; as if I had never learned what respect was."

The only respect his father had earned was the dish of karma. No longer able to speak the cruel words he had spoken to Cyro night after night. He should feel guilty for taking his father's life and giving him something worse than death, but deep down, that fire burns as brightly as before. The decision hadn't been his to make, but he's glad he ended up being the cause of it. Tears dripping slowly from his eyes as he wraps his arms tightly around her; knowing the hardship of speaking what's happened.

Cyro Krane knew that pain.

He would hold her as long as she needed him to.

"It's okay to hurt. He's not here. He doesn't get to control you anymore."

The world would still spin. People like Meredith Strauss' adoptive parents and his own parents would still live without fear, on their own power trip, but here and now, they were taking their voices back. Speaking up their truth and holding it out on a platter for Panem to see. Eyes closed as he just holds her through the tears; her fingers clinging to his shirt. Her tears leaving wet marks in the fabric, but he didn't mind. He would never mind. Meredith Strauss needed this just like he had needed it years ago.

They stay there for as long as she needs.

Cyro Krane would always be there for them to let some of the pain fade away.

Always.

---

Morning comes with a yawn and exhaustion in his veins, a smaller ache than the day before in his leg. Arabella seemed ready to go immediately and he gives Lysander and Meredith a friendly morning smile as they prepare to head out. Arabella is the one leading when he's confused by the sound of rushing wind disappearing and a field of gems coming back into his vision again. Part of him wants to say something about how they needed to be careful in a place where no one can hide. The ghosts in the distance still there with eerily similar voices and faces of their own.

A sound pierces through the air; almost deafeningly loud, but nothing more than fear bubbles at his chest at the thought. They had been turned around by the gamemakers. He's sure of it, the moment they reach this field of gems. Eyes glance around hoping these aren't going to be sharp like the one Meredith had cut herself on. The memory of Meredith Strauss resetting his nose into place. A chill runs down his spine as he glances around the field, noticing that he's taken the lead once more.

Arabella is the first one to notice movement as she springs into action. A knife thrown in the direction of Hellemine from Seven. A chill runs down his spine as the adrenaline begins to pump once more. He can now see the entire group now. Will Johnwayne. Hellemine Cauchemar. JJ Wolfram. Terra Markov. Pulling his sword up now, he can feel his breath on his chest; the ache from the last day still fresh in his flesh. Meredith Strauss had told him about her family. Arabella Shirley had told him about her dreams. Lysander Mae had shown her strength. They couldn't die here.

"Will!" Meredith's district partner is in front of them. "you’re alive!" Part of him is confused one why she's so excited, but he understood somewhat of why. Arabella and him were close and he would have reacted the same way with her if they were separated and reunited once again. Fingers clench on the hilt of his sword as he can remember the way his father told him to man up and gain the respect he would never get. It's in that moment that he can hear Will Johnwayne.

"Cyro Krane," He hates the way his name hangs on the boy's lips. "Father extraordinaire."

The knife cuts where the venom had been. Red blood comes forth once more, reminding him of the pain he's suffered from the day before. Mind turning over the words of Will Johnwayne as he can hear Meredith throw her own knife forward. It's the mixture of the fresh wound and the words that hang in the air from Will Johnwayne that makes Cyro bite down on the inside of his cheek, stare for a moment at Meredith's district partner before he speaks with the same fire he had used with Katelyn Persimmon.

No one would understand him.

A single rumor would cause him more pain than anything else.

"Let me guess Johnwayne, you got some daddy issues?"

Eyes glancing around as he can see a splatter of navy blue paint in the area, hitting no one. He wants to scream at the stupid word, but instead he bites down the thought as he focuses back on Johnwayne; who had a clear vendetta against him, but even the smallest of things would make someone try to kill another when it came to the Hunger Games. Fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword as he glances back to Johnwayne.

"Don't believe every rumor you hear. You don't know anything about my situation."

Instead of striking the boy from Two, he swings around to look at Hellemine who he didn't know much about other than she was interesting. No one would stand in the way of him getting back to his son. Not even a witch from Seven. Eyes glance to Johnwayne as he glares; fingers tightening around his sword as he speaks with the fire of his struggles.

"Trust me, you don't want to stand in my way."

Silver swings forward at the witch; he's dealt with enough curses over his time.

His father had been one of them.

Cyro Krane had broken free from that.

He wasn't going to die here.

He couldn't die here.

Respect couldn't be given.

Cyro had to earn it.

The sky had rained with fire; whispering burns along the body of Hellemine of Seven. Red like the blood coming down in drops of fire; burning in a different flame, almost the same as the one in his own skin where a knife still sits; deep in his flesh as he pulls back from the girl; pulling the knife from his chest letting the burn reside over his skin. Red with the life of a father who gave his all for Xander Krane. No one would understand where his heart had been that day; left alone with his back to the wall and too young to reach out for help when no one would reach back. It's almost painful to look up when he can feel another weapon coming crashing down behind him; cutting red into his head; where it burns hot with the same ache of anger burning at the tips of his fingertips.

Swinging himself around; pushing his sword out now, he's met with JJ Wolfram. Hellemine's District Partner who was easy to look at; the weapon in his hands matching the one in his bag, but he doesn't dare speak of the other items he carries. Cyro Krane was a man of his own secrets and tributes didn't need to mark him down as one of the ones setting traps for wandering feet. It's a breath of air that bursts through his teeth with the fire of the pain; teeth bared for them all to see. Pain present in his veins as he lets himself soak in the adrenaline of his still broken leg that he's managing to stand on. Words slipping from his lips in the same fire he had shared with Katelyn Persimmon and many others who dared to question his motives without knowing him.

"Nice to meet you too, Pretty Boy."

For a moment, he dares a smile with all teeth. The flame at the bottom of his feet filling him up, tearing him apart as he can feel red dripping down his back. A flurry of his own cloak as he holds his sword out in a tense stance, waiting for someone else to make a move on him, but instead he catches the sight of Terra and Lysander both striking. Terra's words hanging in the air with a venomous strike. He's vibrating with the sound of a hell breaking open in the distance; navy blue memories bleeding onto the ground coating gems with paint. Arabella's call for his name before ringing in his ears; almost a tune that reminds him of Amira's soothing words. Instead, he can hear her words barely managing to get out into the open air and filling his chest with a fire he's not really ready for.

"Cyro... Cyro, are you okay?"

Instinctively, he nods quick and curt as if the question hurt to reply to. Part of him was okay, but he's feeling the worry bubble at the edges of his vision; almost a reminder that he's failing in protecting himself from others' blades. Hellemine is the one to catch him off guard as her words fill the air. Almost hauntingly, he can see the way she's burnt and cut open by his own sword. Red is all he can see when he looks; bubbling like a fire across her wound. Words hanging in the air as if it were always to be the truth for them. Hellemine from Seven was strange, but he's always been around the strange.

"No, no, no," A knife reaches up as it's lunged forward cutting into Meredith's leg. A grimace almost breaks across his face, but instead his ears catch the words heavy in the air. "You don't want to be cursed. Trust me."

Cursed. The single word bounces across his mind for a second as he can remember bruises and fear of being alone in the world. The memories of losing Amira and finding himself alone with Xander and himself. Memories of Eleven's tributes dying over and over again. An execution being held every games after Katelyn, Harbinger, and Kirito had won back to back; as if Eleven were some sort of pest to the capitol. It bleeds red with the blood of Izar, Rhodes, and Miristiomas and he can't help thinking about the truth when Kassandra had made it out. Rumors spreading across Panem about a gamemaker dying after the games. Part of him knew what it meant. He had felt it long ago, but as soon as he stepped in the arena, he knew what the feeling was.

"We're from Eleven." There's a bite to his words meant to release the tension in his body. Blood dripping from his chest and head; red mixing with navy blue. A reminder of what stands above them as he can't even remember all the countless Izars whose bodies fill the ground they stand on. Just more casualties in this war the capitol has made. An underground tactic to break Eleven apart, but that's where they've always miscalculated. Eleven was cursed, but that's what made them stronger. They break curses and destroy boundaries; bring the fight back to the capitol. Instead of saying this, he says the only words in his mind. A small bitterness filling his mouth as it comes out. "We're already cursed."

A laugh breaks over him; harsh and filled with a heaviness that makes his heart ache. "But I know your boy's situation better'n anyone. In another fifteen years or so he'll be here, throwing curses and knives at whatever other deadbeat dad thought glory or wealth were a substitute for parenting." Will Johnwayne speaks from the anger in his heart. Xander Krane would never be like him. At least, that's what Cyro hopes for. He prays for his son to never be so bitter if Cyro is to die. His heart in the letter he gave to Marsha; Cyro loved his son. More than anyone else could ever fathom. A deadbeat dad who thought glory and wealth substitute for parenting was not who he was. Hell, he doubted Will Johnwayne's father had been the same. There's a difference in their stories; built from years of teaching in the districts.

Cyro was from Eleven. Will was from Two. Their lives were built from different experiences and stories. A heavy breath on the tip of his tongue as he almost dares to speak, bt Will wasn't done. "Fuck you, Cyro Krane. I'm a monster, but there ain't a bigger piece of shit in this whole damn arena than you." Levi had thought himself a monster too, but Cyro knew the truth. Some punk ass kid was trying to get to him. Pulling at the strings people thought were there, but he's accepted the pain others would feel from his own experience. Cyro Krane wasn't wrong. If giving Xander a better life was wrong, then he didn't want to be right. Biting at the inside of his cheek; he keeps himself calm remembering their stories had to be different. Lives of different teachings and expectations.

Eleven built unity.

Two built destruction.

Different outcomes to the lives of Panem citizens.

WIll Johnwayne was wrong. He would always be wrong. Cyro cared about his son; he was willing to give up his life for his son's better life. The question at the center of this was bubbling to the surface. Would Xander think the same if he were to not make it home? Would Xander grow bitter like Will? Would he throw away his life like Cyro had done for him? A bone crushing chill echoes down his spine curling around the edges of his own fire; pulling away the determination to build up to what he needed to do. It comes crashing down when the memory of the knife in his chest comes forth in a red blossom of pain. Red blood burning against steel as the image of his Xander in the future screaming profanities at Katelyn Persimmon.

Will was wrong.

He had to be.

Hesitation lingers in Arabella's stance; fingers around a blade as if it were the most normal thing for someone like Arabella to do. An unreadable expression fills her face as he watches for a moment, fingers gripping his own sword for a moment. Words almost slip from his lips, but he doesn't dare to break that moment. A feeling in his chest flutters as if he can see change building up in Arabella Shirley's mind; burning white hot and he can't look away as she throws the knife. Blood is the first thing he notices when it strikes true; red and dripping to the navy blue. He can't look away from the scene as Hellemine falls; leaving behind the memory of a curse for the elevens.

"Get outta here, Mer," The knife bleeds red in his neck; leaving another deep wound from Will Johnwayne. "I ain't gonna kill you today. Can't say the same for them." His mind is filling with the words of Will Johnwayne. Deadbeat dad. Biggest piece of shit in the arena. Will Johnwayne carried pain on his shoulder with the weight of the past building over and over. There's an anger burning with a hot white flame, a bigger pain than most carry. It's almost too bright to watch; blinding those who first notice it, but Cyro's been through enough pain to understand in a small way. Fingertips tightening around the hilt of his sword, ready to swing, but Meredith's shout reaches him.

"Let’s go, these two need us, we have to get out of here alive."

For a second, he almost dares to run without saying anything to Will. A moment of hesitation filling him as he takes a step, but stops, for a second, he knows what he wants to say. Part of him wants to scream about how Will was just making another kid like him and tear apart a family just like every District Two did when they were a career and only trying to win. A silence fills him as he softly flips open his token, reaching for a page, ripping it harshly from the page before he tucks the sketchbook back into the pouch inside his outfit. Fingers brush the squiggly markings of Xander Krane, remembering the day fondly. Bright eyed and full of life as the boy colored an image. Cyro's smile plastered on his face as Xander spoke quietly, giving the picture to him.

Daddy, it's us! I drew us going to the park and feeding the birds like Nana!

A bright smile on his son's face disappearing for a moment as a silence burned through the room. The happy image of a child and a father childishly drawn together with geese and ducks swimming across the pond. It's silent for a moment as Xander speaks once more. Eyes filled with the innocence he still carried, not really understanding the world. Fingers wrapped tightly around his jeans' pocket; leaving a heaviness to the air as he speaks.

You're not going to give me away like granny says daddy?

The answer had been quick back then. Smooth and filled with the truth he still carries to this day. Eyes glancing back to Will Johnwayne; burning with that same fire he always carried around since Xander Krane was given to him forever. An angel to bless him with a peace he didn't know existed for so long. Pain that resided in almost a soft way which left him crying happy tears alone in bed most nights; never really knowing why he deserved to have him. THe words are heavy as he says them with as much heart as he has.

"I love him."

The words burn heavy on his tongue, fingers pulling steel from his neck, more blood dripping down almost like red tears, bubbling in response to his words.

"You don't know anything about me. You don't know what I've given up for him. You don't know what it's like to be stuck in a position where your son is going to die if you don't throw your life to a game where the odds are always against you. You don't know what it's like to be me."

It burns on his tongue as he lets the words sit in the air.

"I don't know you. I don't know your father. I don't know your life. I don't know what you've been through, Will."

He's shaking slightly from the pain, the feeling like he might collapse and die. The fact that he's Will's way of projecting his own father onto him. Cyro Krane wasn't a tool for some fifteen year old punk to get over his issues with his dead father. His voice escapes in a heavy tone, the memory of his father screaming the word respect at him. The bruises that dared to linger on his skin, but he's hoping Xander never ends up as broken as Will Johnwayne.

"You don't get to decide who or what I am. You don't get to project your father onto me. I am not your father and I will never be your father, but if I was your father, you should know that he must have loved you. Loved you more than anything in the world. Called you something stupid like his angel or his baby. Told himself that he wasn't going to end up like his father and actually give you a life that you deserved."

Tears almost prick at his eyes at the thought of Will Johnwayne wishing to have his father. Xander would think the same if he dies here. He can't die here. He can't leave his son behind to always wonder if he truly loved him. Cyro Krane would always love his son. His son was the angel brought to him in the hardest part of his life. It burns heavy in his heart that Xander could one day think of him this way.

"I don't know your father or your life, but I'm sure I know one thing about him if you believe we're the same."

Heartbeat in his throat as he sticks the knife into the sketch of Xander and him, drawn by a child, stabbing it down into the ground for Will to see.

"He loved you more than you'll ever know."

Assumptions makes the world burn, but Cyro Krane felt like someone like Will Johnwayne needed a little bit more love in his life. Something like fire builds in his stomach as he steps back, knowing he's going to have to run if he doesn't want to have Xander become an orphan. A silence fills him as he steps away, slowly at first. Words heavy on his lips as he glares back to the boy from Two, who had decided what kind of father he was.

Cyro had promised himself he would never be a bad father.

Nothing like his own father.

"My son will never end up like you."

Fingers tightened around his sword.

"I'm going to make it home."

Feet stepping faster as he moves swiftly away from the rest, following the direction Meredith had went. The blood dripping down from his wounds burning with red as if he were crying for a broken boy from Two. It's heavy on his heart, the story of Will Johnwayne, but he still needed to think of Xander Krane. His son needed him. Will Johnwayne would have to be another body beneath his feet. Exposed teeth and a glare in his eyes as he shouts the last few words before escaping from almost dying to hurt son.

"Whether you like it or not, I'm not going to let my son grow up alone."

Red and navy blue mix;

as if the earth itself was crying for them both.