Chapter Text
Everyone thinks winning feels like freedom, a war finally won. The scars gained and friends lost would pay off for the victorious joy found in the weight of the crown on the Winners head.
All Grian feels is the blood on his hands. The sun burns into his back and his shoulders fall under the weight of guilt. This is what winning really feels like, he realises, loneliness.
Only one gets to win they whispered and Grian had gone along with it. A bitter taste climbed his throat as his hand gripped the loose sand surrounding His limp body.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Weak knees carried him away from the sight he couldnt bear, passing the cacti splattered in thick crimson and towards the steep cliff.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
He turned once more, towards their castle hidden in the sand, now in ruins. Wilted poppies and lilacs in hand, he fell back into open air. Wings opened but their clipped feathers failed to catch him. Suddenly, the weight wasnt as crushing. Suddenly, Grian could breathe. Winning wasn't freeing, but Falling was.
I'm so sorry Scar.
--
Wilted flowers and wilted friendships fell around him. Everyone wanted him dead and He. Liked. It.
Even on his first life he was itching for blood and oh how quickly his wishes were granted. "He's Their favorite," people would whisper "it's in his favor." Some special treatment he got, Scar scoffed, every alliance he made crumbled under his clumsy fingers. They didnt understand how cold it was at night with no one around. No matter, He would win despite them. Whatever it takes.
He fought, he bled, he manipulated, he lied, he scammed, and He. Made. It. It was down to three, and Scar carefully crafted another short term allience, Pearl on his side. They swiftly took down their opponent, together, before turning on each other. Nothing good lasts forever, Scar knew that now. Bloodthirst was thrumming through his veins, enough so he didnt realise how Pearl was pulling her punches. Didnt realise the concern in her face at her warning to watch out. Didnt see how she still had his back, still was on his team. He didnt even catch the flash of lightning as she fell.
He still was searching for her, bloodthirst not satisfied yet. It wasnt until he heard a whisper in his ear, different from the others. "Its over scar, you won."
His breath tumbled out of his lungs, how did the guy with no friends win?
...
Why didnt it feel as gratifying as he thought it would?
He found himself back at the secret keeper, deep skies swirled around him. Excited whispers made their way back to his ears, but they werent saying anything at all. He puffed out a chest and put on a sly smile. They were watching, and he had to play his part as a Winner. Approaching the pillar as he had done so many times before, he pulled out his book, spine wrecked and caked in blood and dirt. One last time he pressed the button. The whispers grew louder, heavier than before as he felt his skin stitch itself together.
But nothing happened.
Frantically, he flipped through the pages. Through the tasks, the failures and the victories. The final page was unmarked, a newly assigned task. But scar had seen those words before. And they made his blood run cold.
win secret life.