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Chapter Text

The first time Isaiah Wentworth stumbles into Champagne Edenrose’s eyes, they’re bathed in the gold and pink flames of the Summer Ball’s fire.

Isaiah blinks as he looks away, performing the perfunctory dance steps expected of them quickly. Although nobody can see the redness that settles on his cheeks, the fire’s colours painting all the faces around him in its hues, Isaiah feels his cheeks warm. He knows Champagne’s caught it – the bastard wears a smug smile, as if he planned the whole thing.

There’s no way Champagne could’ve - the dances of the Summer Ball are communal by design - but the easy laugh as Isaiah hastily finds a new dance partner and passes it off as some coincidence nestles itself deep in his mind. He doesn’t fumble, not for a second, but Edenrose catches it all the same, not too dissimilar to the way Isaiah’s seen him catch weights in the Academy’s gym.

‘Keepers, he’s even sure he catches Champagne stealing glances throughout the rest of the dance.

He only feels the littlest bit at ease when he’s face-to-face with Elias; the rehearsed, choreographed steps being performed with pinpoint accuracy, allowing his mind to settle into the systematic nature of it all. His brother’s steps are light and nimble where Isaiah’s own have a definite weight to them, courtesy of being a Career trainee.

“Dancing with an Edenrose, huh?” One of his Academy friends, Mida, says with an elvish grin when the dance ends and the attendees file back to their friendship circles. “Didn’t clock you as the type, Wentworth.”

Isaiah flashes her the same confident, cocky grin that’s become a staple of his and shrugs. “He gunned for me during the crescendo, not the other way around.” He paused before winking. “Not that I blame him.”

Mida’s easy smile is a fine distraction as she pulls one of her friends in his view.

Though she’s nice - Seraphina, her name is - she’s decidedly not Champagne with his strong arms.

Not that Isaiah’s been looking at them throughout the night.

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The second time Isaiah locks eyes with Champagne Edenrose is at the finale of the Selection Tourney, the steel of his sabre warmed under the fires of competition.

This time, Isaiah stares back, his grip on the leather hilt tightening.

Around him, the applause and fanfare of the colosseum is as deafening as it is invigorating. The colourful flags of the trainees swing in the air, their loyalty to their Career plastered in brilliant displays of golds, pinks and other bright, celebratory colours. A statement that those who wave them are unabashed in their belief for their trainee.

(Isaiah’s seen his own fairly early on. Elias, flanked by Mida and Auvenay, don his favourite faded denim blue, the gold accents of his name a standout. Being in the finale, he knows the flag'll be waved with a ferocity befitting of one of One’s most capable trainees.)

(If things go to plan, which they should, it’ll be his flag replicated and hanging from the streetlamps of One’s boulevards.)

As he waits for the starting gong, he spots some of the flags of the trainees he’s defeated - Michelangelo’s red, Gold’s, well, gold, and Agalaion’s purple. All valiant opponents, yet none had ever come close to beating him.

Though his muscles ache after hours of the Selection Tourney, the prospect of his final opponent reinvigorates him, however predictable of an adversary he is.

(It’s always come down to him and Champagne; at the last Summer Mocks, Champagne had just barely managed to get the ambush on Isaiah’s squad, relegating him to third place, quickly slaying Auvenay to claim the titular spot for himself.

Isaiah’s sure, if things went well here, the Edenrose boy would be eager to add a Winter Mocks victory to his list of achievements.)

(It’s a shame that he’d never get the chance. Isaiah’s desire to succeed outweighs Champagne’s. He knows it.)

In time to the starting gong, Isaiah lets his face rest in the easy smirk that’s come to characterise him, leaping forward and ricocheting Champagne’s arrows as if they’re nothing.

He decides he likes the look of defeat on Champagne’s face almost as much as he likes that dumb grin.

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The final time Isaiah clings to the sight of Champagne’s eyes is in the Justice Building, the electricity of unsaid words dancing around the room.

(There’s a lot Isaiah wants to say – too much. Feelings left ignored that’ve kept him up for hours at night, moments the two shared that teetered far too close to something substantial to go unnoticed. The way Champagne can make Isaiah laugh heartily and snort when the jokes get too funny. The obvious fact that his district partner is Champagne’s twin…)

(Instead, Isaiah focuses on Champagne’s biceps. They’re always a good distraction.

They’re still big and stupid and a matter of defying what Isaiah knows about clothes, but they are a welcomed distraction. It’s all envy, Isaiah kids himself, he’s just figuring out how to replicate it.)

“I don’t think staring at my arms is the Academy recommended way to say goodbye,” Champagne quips sardonically after a few seconds – the same, familiar easy smile that Isaiah’s come to find comfort in resting on his face.

Isaiah shrugs.

“Hey, Hotshot –” The nickname the other boy had gave him never felt quite right, yet Isaiah feels himself wanting it whenever Champagne calls him anything else. “You’ll be fine, yeah?”

There’s an earnest element to Champagne’s voice, accompanied by him bracketing Isaiah in his arms.

“I mean, I know it’s you and Reggie going in there but…”

His voice trails off and Isaiah looks up in time to see Champagne shake his head gently, his golden curls flopping about his forehead.

(Stupid fucking curls.)

“I’m sure one of you’ll come back to me.”

Isaiah swallows. Hard. For as much as he’s gotten used to Regina Edenrose being his district partner, studying her spectacular display at the Selection Tourney with her own arrows, he’s still ever conscious of the tradeoff his victory demands.

(Champagne has to lose a twin to gain a…)

(Best friend? Boyfriend? Something in the middle that has the ghost of said twin hovering over them?)

He knows better than to ask Champagne who he prefers, knowing that whatever thing they’ve had going on for the past few months pales in comparison to the unshakeable bond the Edenrose twins share. Instead, he hums and lets out an airy laugh, not too dissimilar to the one he uses when in usual, perfunctory banter with the other trainees. “Yeah, you’re not lucky enough to get rid of both of us.”

Champagne’s hearty laugh of agreement makes Isaiah feel like everything’ll be okay.

Chapter Text

“I thought your aunt was gonna mentor you?” Isaiah asks Regina after he’s sure the two mentors have left them to their own devices. “Isn’t that the whole Edenrose shtick?”

Regina shrugs. “Usually.” She fiddles with her token, a small rose pendant that’s a dead match for the bracelet Champagne usually wears. Apparently it got tangled in their goodbye. “At the last family dinner she mentioned something about letting the ‘younger generation’ have a go. I know Shimmer’s been bugging to let her mentor since she won, basically. Guess she’s giving her a shot.”

She pauses, her lips curling into the same grin as her brother. “Want to know what I think?”

Isaiah raises an eyebrow, deigning her with a nod. He’s curious, if anything because the Victor dynasties of One tend to keep their inner workings private – something about working with the Capitol, he presumes.

“I think she’s getting lazy. I mean, I love her and all that – really appreciative of the life she’s set up for us, blah blah – but, really? As you said, it’s our thing. Aunt Aglaia, Mother of the Hunger Games, mentoring us. I think Chandelier really took it out of her. Didn’t seem like she tried too hard with him anyways.”

(Chandelier Edenrose, a cousin somewhere down the line to Champagne and Regina, had been in the One Hundred and Fourteenth Hunger Games, just two years ago. Notorious for being the furthest an Edenrose male had gotten, he was cut down as if he was nothing by various muttations of that year’s arena. The Capitol called it a tragedy – a shining light snuffed out too soon or a golden roses wilted by an unavoidable blight.

District One – and some of the Edenroses, Isaiah had found out from Champagne – wondered if Agalai could’ve done more.)

(Isaiah’s unsure, really, though he can’t deny seeing one of his first big inspirations in the Academy fall so easily is harrowing.)

He shrugs though, his glance going from the pendant to Regina. “Maybe. You trust Shimmet to do a better job?”

“It’s her first time mentoring,” Regina says with a nod. “She’s already told me not to expect any ‘sisterly love’ or whatever; she’s serious about this.”

Isaiah nods again, forcing a smile.

(He knew the Edenrose front would be a hard one to dismantle, far worse than what he and his own mentor, Sylvain, can handle but…)

He stops the thought before it gains root in his head. I am the best District One has to offer.

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The restaurant’s far fancier than anything Isaiah’s experienced.

He’s used to the high society of District One; the intricate social courtesies amongst her dynastic prides, the balls and dinners that tear him away from training at the Academy because he’s forced to attend them. ‘Keepers, he’s even used to people staring because that’s what they do when there’s a Wentworth at an event.

But the Capitol is on another level.

Opulence is woven neatly into every fine, intricate detail of the place; extravagance bleeding from the floor, to the upholstery – even to the napkins on the tables. It’s the type of display of wealth that reminds him that, even if District One is the biggest jewel, the Capitol’s still the crown. Even her people dress like things he’s only ever seen in fantasy books.

Isaiah can feel their eyes on him.

He might’ve found comfort in it at home, finding it in One’s Victor legacies like the Edenroses, Hamiltons or the Ellorys, or the business dynasties like his own – Beeflowers, Hyabeths and Lovelaces staring back at him. Instead, when he scans the faces of the Capitolites that peer at him, he doesn’t recognise anyone. They’re not his equals like it is back at One, not other families to play intricate matchmaking games with or befriending the right people at the right time – they’re superior.

(Isaiah realises, in that moment, that there’s little difference between tribute and scion of a dynasty legacy. Even with his parents doing what they could, there’s little agency and nothing that can control the status symbol he’s become. A commodity in both places; something to be used and enjoyed until it breaks. The only difference is how they break him.)

Regina feels it too – and Shimmer, for that matter; both Edenroses sit rigidly with a smile Isaiah recognises as perfunctory, shallow.

(Champagne would’ve despised this.)

Isaiah leans backwards in his chair, letting the easy confidence he’s perfected at this point take over him. Opposite, the pair from Seven in their emerald visages, seem much more uncomfortable in their surroundings. Though the girl, Ardennes, seems to be adjusting quickly, her eyes scanning the table and her surroundings quickly, her district partner isn’t so lucky. Hecaterus, one of the mentors called him, mulls over the soup in front of him, whispering to Ardennes every so often.

The other Careers line the oval table, tributes and mentors alike. Sat neatly between Sylvain and Shimmer, Isaiah can’t help but feel the District One team’s the proverbial head of the table. Maybe it's just luck and logistics that the first of Panem’s districts are seated near where the waiters come and serve them, near where some of the Capitol’s wealthiest crane at them, but it's fitting and a suitable reward for the Capitol’s most loyal district. He can tell from some of the looks and reactions of his future packmates that they’ve come to a similar conclusion.

It’s hard to ignore when someone’s staring.

The girl from Four looks away before their eyes can meet, though she’s in enough of a tizzy that she can’t hide it; the scowl she wears is no doubt born from the acknowledgement of One’s position. Isaiah shoots her an irreverent grin when she looks back, pretending she hadn’t been caught gawking at him.

“Sanaga’s thinking of trying to lead the pack,” her partner, Vespucci says, decidingly bringing all of the Carers into the conversation. “Thinks she’d be the best for it.”

He doesn’t cower under his district partner’s gaze and instead smiles toothily at the other Careers.

Two’s Palioxissa and Garrison share a glance, then one with Isaiah and Regina. The Sevens don’t seem too bothered, though he doesn’t miss the quirk of Ardennes’ eyebrow. The mentors, all eight of them, lean back in their chairs – a gesture, that this would be the first thing the pack needs to overcome.

“On what merit?” Palioxissa asks curtly.

“I ranked top at the Archipelago for years – best tribute they’ve seen in a while,” Sanaga says matter-of-factly.

“So… the same for all of us?” Isaiah can’t help back the snort that accompanies his words. He’s not rude, or harsh, but it’s the truth. He can’t even count how many times he’s heard trainers and other kids at the Academy alike parrot something similar to him.

Sanaga shoots him a glare. In response, he simply smiles still. “I wouldn’t mind leading the pack,” He eventually says and Regina’s quick to go to his side.

“Isaiah’d be good,” She supplies with an easy, dazzling smile. “He pretty much took his team to victory at both Mock Games – and he’s one of the best bladesmen in One. Stalwart, too.”

Isaiah resists the urge to flush under Regina’s praise. The other Careers seem to weigh it up.

Sensing the tide is shifting, even Vespucci begins to hum and mutter in agreement for Isaiah.

Sanaga goes to bark something, seethe and rage at how she’s more suited for it but, instead, she mellows as she stuffs an oyster into her mouth. “Base it on the scores,” she eventually says, arms crossed with an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Highest gets to be leader.”

Isaiah knows he doesn’t need to entertain it – the other six Careers want him as their leader – and yet, the challenge is too good to pass up, too fantastic of an opportunity to start the legacy of his victory to ignore.

“Deal.”

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Do my pecs need to be out? Isaiah wants to ask.

He knows the answer; knows that any attention is good attention and attention is the fine line between life and death in the arena. ‘Keepers, he’s perfected his body for this very moment because he knows he’s what people expect from District One. Isaiah’s painstakingly built this body specifically for the attention of the Capitolites.

(And the attention of boys back home, a voice in his head is quick to remind him.)

(Shut up.)

Still, he can’t help but think it’s out of place. His tits being out, he means. He can’t see the mirror – his stylist, Lycenia, had it covered with some scrap of velvet before he even came in – and the heavy headpiece he’s been forced to wear stops him from trying to look down at his garments. Isaiah can only pray that it fits whatever vision the woman who flutters around his body, adjusting and pulling at his clothes, had. It’s almost torture; when hands touch his body before, they’re snatching, grabbing, trying to play a cheap move to guarantee a victory. Here, though they can be just as vicious, shredding him of things he couldn’t even guess were trivial like bodyhair, there’s a reverence to them. They touch Isaiah almost as if they’re scared of breaking him, taking care to perfect him for the Capitol.

(Like an animal getting ready to be slaughtered)

He shoves the thought away, especially as the fabric’s pulled from the mirror and he gets to look at himself for the first time.

His pecs are out because, well, there’s little to cover them; his forearms are covered in some sort of fur, mink if he had to guess based on his limited knowledge, with something of a broad skirt that’s patterned with gold plaid. Where there’s no clothes on his front, there’s intricate patterns of gold veining – swirls and sharp lines that give him the look of something that’s invigorated by a higher power. They extend from his chest down to his arms and, if he squints, Isaiah thinks he sees them on his legs too.

The crowning moment of the outfit, however, is the headpiece. Fastened with a strap that matches his hair colour eerily perfectly, two great antlers bloom from the sides of his head. They extend far out, and Isaiah’s suddenly acutely aware of his balance. They’re gold, too, and where he might’ve been self-conscious before, he now sees himself as some sort of eldritch stag demigod; a higher power brought onto the world.

Sadly, he doesn’t possess the grace befitting of an eldritch stag demigod. Not entirely, at least.

He nearly takes out one of Sylvain’s eyes as he makes his way over to the chariot which earns bemused laughs from the District One team.

He’s relieved to see that Regina’s dressed somewhat similar, albeit more clothed than him. Instead of a stag, she resembles a peacock; gold feathers bloom from somewhere behind her head and her skirt is a cascade of feathers. Though more elegant, she still brings the warrior vibe, especially when they’re both handed fake spears as the chariot takes off.

Isaiah can’t stop himself from grinning as he sees his face on screens around them, knowing all eyes are on him.

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TRIBUTE DESIGNATION: District One Male

NAME: Isaiah WENTWORTH

ID: 116D1M

AGE: 18 years-old

STATISTICS: Six foot and one inches; 220 pounds.

PREFERRED WEAPON: Karabela sabre. (The District One Male, as per Career District standard, shows proclivity with other blade weapons and is knowledgeable of ranged weapons.)

DAY ONE ANALYSIS

The District One Male spent a large portion of his time on the first day with the swords and other bladed weapons. As expected, he gravitated towards the sabre we have placed specifically for him. He shows proficiency in both offensive and defensive maneuvers with the blade and bested Carpenthia, Misodoros and Junius; our three best melee weapon trainers. At around lunch time, he switched to trying everything. We believe it was a tactic to intimidate the other tributes.

He spent the day with various members of his alliance, namely his district partner and the District Seven Female, although he seems well insulated within the alliance. He gets on well with the District Two Male and shares a mutual distrust of the District Four Female with the District Two Female. Interactions with the males from Districts Four and Seven were few and far between, yet he seems to be on good terms with them as well.

DAY TWO ANALYSIS

The District One Male’s routine on the second day of training is nearly identical to that of the first. Instead of floating around the other weapons stations in the afternoon, at the suggestion of the District One Female, he participated in some survival stations. He bested Misodoros and Junius again, albeit he used a longsword this time. He is not as adept as with his sabre, but it did prove to the tributes from Districts Three, Five and Eleven that he has a wide range of weapons.

As per our notes from the Career Pack Dinner, the alliance seems to be fully backing the District One Male to lead them – much to the displeasure of the District Four Female. Although there have been no arguments yet, the District Two Female has told the District Four Female to “shut up” exactly twenty-nine times. They mentioned the wager made at the dinner and both agree to stand by it. (We know from later on in the afternoon, the District Two and District Seven tributes have no intention of honouring it; they assert they will follow the District One Male.). The District One Male was aware of the growing alliance between tributes from Districts Three, Five, Six, Eight, Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen, but downplayed it when the District Four Female mentioned it.

DAY THREE ANALYSIS

The District One Male was part of the standoff today between the Career pack and the aforementioned alliance, who have dubbed themselves ‘The Anti-Careers.’ Though no fighting took place – the District One Male forbade it – there were definite tensions within the room. The Careers actively scared the other tributes away from stations, forcing most others to the survival based stations and the gauntlet. Noticeably, the District One Male let the District Four Female show her ferocity and anger with the tridents; we believe it may be a ploy to undermine her later on in the arena.

The Career Pack remains stalwart in their support for the District One Male, citing things such as a levelhead, pragmatism and proficiency in fighting as reasons to follow him. The District Four Male has abandoned the cause of his district partner’s leadership and has aligned himself fully with the District One Male.

ALLIANCE PROSPECTS

The District One Male is firmly within the Career alliance and is positioned to be the head of it. Though he has a resting face that is assumingly unwelcoming, his warm, kind demeanour lifts people up just as much. The alliance seems secure in following him and they actively seek out his guidance. He listens to them and considers them, making the alliance feel much more like a team than in comparison to previous years. He has interacted with all tributes, marking a closer bond with the males of Districts Four and Seven than previously noted. The only member of the alliance the District One Male seems to have animosity towards is the District Four Female. We believe this is a rivalry we will be able to use to exacerbate the fracturing of the Career Pack in the arena. Iris will send messages to the relevant mentors expressing such a fact closer to the time, if it becomes a plausible strategy.

Though amiable with all of the alliance members, he is decidedly closest to the District One Female (Regina EDENROSE), the District Two Female (PALIOXISSA REYES) and the District Seven Female (ARDENNES SPENCER).

PRIVATE SESSION NOTES

The District One Male showed his proclivity with his sabre once again. He bested all of the trainers he asked for and showed a dazzling mix of ferocity and control in doing so, aligned with what we have come to expect from District One. He also exhibited his strength, utilising the weights we have and by showing he can even wield the greataxe the District Two Male favours.

CONCLUSION

Based on the analysis of the District One Male’s performance over three days of training, supplemented by his private session and the Career Dinner, we award him 12 out of 13. Although we did consider giving him a score lower than the District Four Female to expose tensions within the alliance early, we believe that the ‘Anti-Career’ alliance will provide sufficient troubles.

This means the District One Male has the highest score of this year’s tribute pool.

FINAL PREDICTED PLACEMENT: First.

Chapter Text

The first thing Isaiah notices about the launch room is how sterile it is.

He knows it would be – he’ll be the only tribute to use it, after all – but there’s something unsettling about how clean it is. The walls are bare apart from a grand clock and a frame that looks suspiciously big enough to house one of the souvenir tribute pictures he’s heard the Victors of District One joke about. Isaiah stops himself from imagining his picture from the training score announcements in its place, ready for Capitolite tours. The floors, neatly tiled, show no longevity; not like the paved streets of One’s boulevards and promenades. Isaiah swallows down the bubble of longing that forms in his throat, instead forcing himself to be in the present. There’s no comfort to be found in any of it, not when he compares it to home.

He wasn’t expecting to find any but the feeling is stark.

He also notices that his stylist, Lycenia, is a lot less fluttery as she hands him his arena clothes. Any excitement she had in the hovercraft has left her and, whilst not the most unkind Capitolite he’s experienced, Isaiah’s glad to not deal with her shrill voice as he needs to lock in. There’s not much for her to do now anyway; the simple lightweight jacket, breathable cargo pants and tee he recognises as the ones the Academy uses for the mock games tell him all he needs to know. He steps away after letting her fuss with hair for a few moments before assessing the damage in the mirror.

All Isaiah can see when he looks at his reflection is Elias staring back at him. He shakes the thought from his mind.

I won’t imagine Elias here. He’s not here. He’s safe at home.

It’s the only thought on his head until a voice over the intercom calls out — one minute to launch.

His feet are heavy as he steps onto the plate.

“All the best in there!” Lycenia tries to muster a cheery voice but there’s a sullenness that Isaiah understands as fear. He wants to ponder why his stylist, who had tributes before him and will have them after him, is scared but he forcibly pushes the thought of his head.

Instead, he deigns her with one of his confident smiles – one of the ones that the kids of the Academy attribute to his natural confidence – and folds his arms as the plate jerks under his feet.

When he’s encased in the earth, Isaiah balls his fists at his side. Memories of being second place rush back to him, swirling like an incessant fog in his skull. Moments of being bested, though few and far between, flash in his eyes – so much so he’s sure he can see them on the concrete tube lining.

He digs his fingernails into his palms. He will not be second place this time.

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As his platform crests into the arena, the first thing Isaiah notices is the light – or lack thereof.

His first thought is that they’re in some underground arena or in some sort of dome that encases them but from the way the Cornucopia still manages to gleam from the small scraps of sunlight that peak through the darkness, he realises that they are outside. He barely registers it as being similar to how the world is when the Academy forces its trainees to get to the facility at the crack of dawn. Though dark and atmospheric, there’s enough visibility to know where one’s going – if they’re used to it.

Isaiah can’t help the small smile that appears on his face as his eyes adjust, slipping back into a state of seeing things that he’s been familiar with for the past ten years. One scan of the arena – taking stock of where his allies are – he can see the other Careers realising the same thing.

The only thing that stops him from finding absolute glee in the whole thing is the hill the Cornucopia sits atop of. Though less steep than what the Academy have had him and his peers climb in the past, Isaiah knows it’ll be a bitch to scale even with the proper stretches. The clock being at fifty already tells him he’s wasted precious time as he slips into a familiar warm-up routine.

The next step (still stretching, to be efficient) is seeing what’s beyond the Cornucopia. Though he intends to utilise the hill for all its worth, hunting is inevitable and Isaiah wants to be another champion of District One’s glory in the Games. To his left is some abandoned cityscape that looks like it’s been ripped from footage of the Second Rebellion, just without the smoke from the bombs. Crumbling, and no doubt fragile, skyscrapers claw at the sky above and some even have vegetation growing from the concrete. Isaiah struggles to make sense of it – greenery growing from skyscrapers. He’s used to the grand buildings of One; not skyscrapers, but impressive marvels of architecture that live with the vines and plants that wrap around their columns and facades. Maybe it’s the norm in the mega cities of Three, Six and Thirteen because it certainly isn’t in the Capitol and, so far, that’s his biggest reference point for impossibly tall buildings.

Isaiah shakes his head. He can compare skyscrapers later after he wins.

Behind him is a forest that stretches far beyond what he can see and, though the hill blocks them, he’s sure he sees some long, grassy fields connect to a beach.

Thirty seconds.

Isaiah steels his breath, forces the cold grips of insecurity down.

He can’t be weak – not now. Being weak, letting all the criticisms the Academy’s trainers have had about his form and conduct need to be saved for after his wins; for those nights he’s heard the Victors talk about when the darkness is a little bit too much. He has no idea what it means but if his own experience with battling the thoughts of not being good enough and knowing he’s destined for more than being a second son are any indication, Isaiah’s sure he’s an expert in it.

Isaiah cracks his knuckles as he looks to the tributes next him. The twelvie from Three – Unity, he’s since remembered her name as being – flinches as their eyes meet and she looks away quickly. Something twinges in Isaiah’s heart, a feeling that he recognises as uncomfortable, but he forces himself to ignore it. If he wants any chance of going home, even twelvies like her are obstacles that need to be eliminated.

Thirteen’s Celia’s on his right and her face is a far cry from the crack it was when Warwick revealed their silly little plan of Anti-Careers. Though she ignores him, she bristles under his gaze.

He barely catches Regina’s small tilt of her head, eager smile as he looks back to the Cornucopia, kneeling.

The gong sounds and fire surges through Isaiah’s limbs as he tears towards the Cornucopia. His stretches clearly weren’t enough as he scales the small hill, the cubed meats he had for breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. Perhaps they would’ve, had he not been so well trained. He’s the second to the Cornucopia – only half a click behind Ardennes – and is thrown his signature sabre.

The cool metal of the hilt gives him some familiarity, grounding him as he scans where he’s just come from for his first victim. Unity’s barely moved off the pedestal and absolutely freezes when she sees Isaiah racing towards her. His limbs argue less as he races back down the hill. Isaiah can imagine how he looks – graceful, effortless. His sabre flashes against her chin with a cut so smooth and clean it looks like its missed; until the blood erupts from her neck a second later says otherwise.

She crumples to the floor, fingers still wrapped tightly around something; her token, maybe.

Isaiah grimaces as some of her blood marrs his tee. He’s used to blood from the knicks and boisterous fights at the Academy but they’re accompanied by cheers and squeals of admiration, not the screaming of Outer District kids dying at the hands of his allies. When he turns, he sees Ardennes decapitating a kid and Sanaga’s damn near pounced on Gingham from Eight. They run from him, his allies; Regina’s arrows, Hecaterus’ axes and Garrison’s mountainous form.

‘Keepers, even the Anti-Careers with all their bravado the night before stand unsure on what to do – some trying to scavenge from the Bloodbath’s edge than risk getting into fights.

He grits his teeth as he swings his weapon lazily in his hands. He knows with a kill under his belt there’s security with his allies. Insulation, for when the tributes whittle down and suspicions arise. He counts himself lucky, especially when he sees Vespucci barralling after the girl from Five.

There’s a thrill in the air that’s not dimmed, even when the girl from Six’s blood gets on his face when he slices at her with ease.

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The first thing the Careers do after consolidating the horn into their stronghold is take stock of the arena.

A mountain, eclipsed by the Cornucopia before to Isaiah, sits at the north. It looks like the ones near the popular hiking destinations back home but Isaiah takes note of Garrison’s quip that it could be a volcano in disguise. It’s snowcapped and, if Isaiah imagines hard enough, he’s back in One with Elias doing… whatever, really. He feels guilty for not thinking about Elias much in the Capitol, but he can’t – can’t let Eli become associated with the place.

To the east, the mountain gives way to a lake that glimmers in the now morning sun. Its beautiful, stunning, and he can already imagine all the tourists that will vacation there. “Unless they destroy the arena ‘cos our Games are a snooze fest,” Vespucci quips, when Regina echoes his thoughts.

Then Isaiah gets a better look at what he already saw. The plains transitions into the beach slowly and, as far as he can tell, the sea extends to the arena’s border. There’s some islands that sit amongst the waves but there’s no boats on the shoreline to even attempt the journey. The forest that was behind him, much like the sea, extends far beyond what any of them can see, even with the new vantage point. Great, tall sentinels stand guard, sure to eclipse both sun and moonlight under their canopy.

“That shit looks like the footage of Three from the rebellion,” Palioxissa says as they turn their attention to the sprawling urban mass. The buildings aren’t as tall when on the hill, but Isaiah doubts there’s working elevators in any of them and the stairs are sure to be a bitch on the legs. “Can’t imagine they’re structurally sound.”

“Enough protection though,” Regina murmurs. “Might be worth keeping an eye out for fires tonight.”

“I don’t think they’d be that stupid,” Garrison says brusquely, flicking bits of gore off his battle axe. “That’s like a big beacon to us, no?”

“I dunno.” Vespucci shrugs. “Outer kids always get desperate and really? Announcing your alliance at the Interviews? They’re not the smartest.”

“They might be smart tonight,” Hecaterus suggests, not caring one way or the other about the Anti-Career alliance. “Give it time, they’ll fuckin’ fold.”

“Speaking of them,” Isaiah says abruptly, throwing another one of the discarded backpacks into the horn of the Cornucopia. “How many? I got two.”

“Two here,” Regina says, already taking her place at Isaiah’s side. He smiles, taking comfort in knowing his most loyal ally’s already staking her claim as a force to be reckoned with.

“Same, injured the girl from Ten though,” Garrison supplies.

“Only one,” Palioxissa huffs when the eyes land on her, crossing her arms and looking away.

“Same here Pallie!” Vespucci grins, cuddling up to the Two girl until she lands a hard knock on his arm. “Just tryna make you feel better…”

“Well don’t,” She snarls, punctuating her words with another huff before looking at Sanaga. “And you? Princess of the Sea?”

Sanaga bristles only for a moment, raising her eyebrow. “Two. More than you, quarry fodder.”

“I’d rather be quarry fodder than some delusional bitch who thinks she’s –”

“Guys…” Isaiah’s tone isn’t placating but it’s without its usual warm edge. “Its day one, knock it off.”

Neither girl deigns a reply, though Palioxissa huffs as she moves to take stock of the weapons they have.

“We have three between us,” Ardennes says, swinging her sword lazily in her hand, tilting her head in her partner’s direction. “All Twelves, by the way. Hec got one of the girls, I got the other and one of the boys.”

“Was it the one that’s with them?” Garrison asks, hands stretched with fingers ready to count one of the ten ‘Anti-Careers’ off.

“No, Verne, the younger one.”

“‘Keepers dude…” Garrison bemoans, hands dropping to his side. “They’re gonna become a problem, aren’t they?”

Isaiah furrows his eyebrows. “Probably not. I mean, we’re trained, they’re not. Right? We just need to let them do whatever it is that Outer kids do before they kill each other and we’ll be golden.”

One look and Isaiah knows that some of the Careers aren’t convinced, even after the post-Bloodbath high. Some, like Garrison and Vespucci, try to hide their doubt and nod along and try to indulge in his words. Others, mainly Sanaga, scowl and roll their eyes.

It’s only when Regina agrees with him that they begin to come around.

“Isaiah’s right,” she says earnestly, tone a lot kinder than it should be. “They tried the Anti-Career shit last year and we all saw what happened. Let’s just… ride it out, yeah?”

Eventually, after they consolidate their supplies and discuss who’s going where, the Careers finally begin hunting.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The layout’s not confusing – a pretty orderly grid with the same number of buildings on each street – but their size is imposing back on the low ground. They tower above them, encircling around them and their mere presence feels like a threat lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. The roads and paths they walk on aren’t much better, littered with newspaper and other junk you’d expect to find in the crime riddled streets of Six. He’s picked up a few of them out of interest but the headlines reference Capitolite drama he barely understands. They’re a nice flash of colour in an otherwise grey jungle of concrete.

It makes Isaiah uncomfortable.

He’s used to the beautiful promenades of One where the buildings are spaced generously between one another, letting nature and person through amply. Any larger buildings are grand and elegant, not stalwart and imposing, with flowers blooming at every possibility. ‘Keepers, he even misses the dumb ballroom hall with its golden rose arch, elaborate columns and open floor plan. He supposes he should be grateful; the arena’s skyscrapers provide enough protection should they need it and he figures it's a good thing since a pit’s made its home in his stomach as he’s forced to acknowledge that five of the alliance he had been so quick to write off have survived.

Of course, if it gives them protection then it does the same for others.

Isaiah slows them from their jog to an easy walk. He scans their surroundings, acutely aware that the sunlight is beginning to wane as quickly as it had risen. So much for a long day of hunting.

“Must be on a different cycle for today,” Ardennes muses, not to him in particular though her tone begs for reassurance. “Dawn Bloodbath and all.”

Isaiah thinks about it before nodding. He’s tempted not to believe it but even he knows there’s no way the day could’ve gone that fast. “Must be.”

Though she suggested it, Ardennes is unperturbed. “Gonna look sick on the reruns, I bet.”

He shrugs, more focused on scanning the roads. Barely a few hours into the arena and he swears his mind’s playing tricks on him; seeing shadows moving down in the distance or rubble echoing in a place he just can’t discern.

Still, he smiles boyishly and agrees wholeheartedly before they go down a street he’s sure they’ve been down before.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

They’re about to give up when they see it and Isaiah can only thank the ‘Makers they’ve seen it.

From a hole in one of the buildings, smoke cascades out, unapologetic as it is stark.

The smoke’s dark enough to blend in with the twilight sky but the breeze blows it into view, the billows just cresting over what little remains of the sun. The building it comes from isn’t too big or arduous and, by now, both Careers are hungry for a kill.

“That’s not wood,” Ardennes says as they press themselves against the concrete walls of the building next door. “Smokes whiter. That's newspaper or something, surely.”

Isaiah doesn’t second guess it because, if there’s anyone who knows what wood burning looks like, it's someone from Seven.

The two share a look before bounding into the building.

The stairs protest under his footfalls; groaning, creaking and snapping as he ascends quickly.

Ten leads him to the highest floor they can go, a maze of empty rooms and corridors that seem endless. There’s nothing on the walls, just peeling paint or exposed concrete and Isaiah can’t think of a more drab place to die. Not that she’s making the task of killing her easy. She’s just lithe enough to evade him – sneaking through and doing her best to extend her life. He sees flashes of the dark ruby red of her district’s colour here and there, never close enough to snatch at but neither safe from the hunt.

Isaiah stops eventually, letting her loud footfalls permeate through the silence. They stop almost as soon as he does. She’s smart, Isaiah acknowledges with a scowl. Too smart.

Isaiah’s seen smart tributes before but has always been able to spot their mistakes, spot where they usually seal their deaths. He knows they can be just as powerful as someone who’s trained with a weapon but, unfortunately for them, he’s District One’s best. No matter how smart the girl from Ten – Maine, he’s sure – thinks she is, she’ll make a mistake.

He doesn’t need to wait too long, either.

“Shouldn’t you be huntin’ that big alliance?” She calls from one of the rooms. Isaiah slows his breathing, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. Left, maybe. Closer to the east side.

He’s silent for a click too long for the girl’s liking. “Huh? Not much of a talker now? You were mighty chatty at the interviews.”

Isaiah goes to make a move towards her but, instead, stops and lets a dazzling smile meant for the Capitol’s cameras rest on his face. If he needs to play with his food to get the attention, the sponsors, then who is he to deny them that? “You didn’t want to join them?” He asks, curiosity blooming amidst his sardonic tone.

“Death wish that,” Ten replies. She’s moved, her voice is a little quieter. “I might be fucked but I ain’t stupid. I saw the way y’all were starin’ at them during trainin’.”

Isaiah shrugs for the cameras. “Seems like they’ve got faith in themselves.” He takes a few steps in the direction he thinks the voice is coming in, quiet and smooth. “You and the other one are the only ones not in it, right?”

“Me and Zacharie are smart. We ain’t puttin’ ourselves in danger on purpose. Why do you’s care anyways?”

“Curious,” Isaiah says evenly. He’s getting closer. She’s louder now. “Figured you’d want the best shot at living.”

“Well they ain’t it.” Her voice is quicker now with a shake to it. She knows whatever time she has is running out just as much as she knows going back downstairs isn’t an option either, not when Ardennes is there. “We’re doin’ just fine on our own.”

“Fine enough to light a fire on night fucking one?”

Ten doesn’t give him a response. He hears her shuffling back.

“I don’t think those fuckers are gonna live any more than you do but they.” Isaiah finally steps into the room the girl’s in, noticing she’s a lot less imposing without all of the bull imagery of the chariots and interviews. “Didn’t light a fire just begging for us to come.”

When their eyes meet, she flinches under his gaze. Whatever words and quips she may have vanish, leaving her only in silence. Isaiah wants to give the eyes that watch him from the camera a show, the thing they expect of him, but when he hears Ardennes curse loudly and the Ten boy shout something he can’t quite decipher, he takes the Ten girl out.

Her cannon fires not long after he pushes her out of the window.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The sponsors are everything Isaiah hoped they’d be, providing him with a hearty breakfast of various finer sandwiches and some juices from fruits he doesn’t recognise – a fantastic way to start the second day in the arena. He shares them with his allies, knowing that keeping them on their good sides insulates him for longer, whilst giving him credit as the pack leader.

Regina, naturally, gets the best of what he doesn’t take.

They spend the morning going through all of the packs; in the excitement from yesterday’s Bloodbath and the hunting parties afterwards, delving into what supplies they have for the foreseeable future was relegated to the next morning. Whatever rations found are divided amongst them with a sizable store at the back of the horn. “Hunting provisions,” Isaiah had called them. “Since who knows how long we’ll need to hunt these fuckers down.”

Nothing else really stands out; no clues as to the plans the Gamemakers plan to play, not anything spectacular or noteworthy. Part of Isaiah wishes they’d bring back the Cornucopia supplies of old – the glory stuff that made the Games exciting; the night-vision glasses of the Seventy-Fourth, the vials of poison of the Ninety-Eighth. ‘Keepers, even the blowdarts of the One-Hundred and Second would be fun. Instead, all they have are tarps and blankets.

Not that Isaiah’s complaining. He knows better than to bite the hand that’s feeding him but he can’t help but itch for the glory. He can’t envision it involving the tarps.

Sylvain’s latest sponsor gift, however, makes it more interesting.

In the early days of the Games, where camaraderie between the Careers is high, there’s an excitement when one of them gets a sponsor gift; Isaiah’s seen it enough on screen, before sponsor gifts mean a mentor trying to secure their kid as Victor or when tensions run high as the number of tributes dwindle. Seeing it is one thing but living it gives Isaiah the attention he so desperately craves.

Even if it's a mutual excitement, for just a little bit, he’s the source of any good fortune that comes their way.

I’ll have to thank Montpellier when I get out, he muses to himself as he grabs the parachute before it can even land.

“Montpellier’s generous this year,” Regina remarks with a grin. “I heard his last tribute, Chantilly of the One-Hundred and Fourth, barely got shit from him.”

“He knows greatness,” Isaiah replies earnestly, ignoring Sanaga’s scowl and groan, instead indulging in the hearty laughs of the Twos and Sevens.

“Hey, I ain’t complaining!” Garrison says through a mouthful of bacon. “Whaddya get?”

From the parachute, Isaiah pulls out a sleek horn, just like the ones the Academy uses to simulate the Bloodbath countdown during the Mock Games. He searches around for a note and doesn’t find one, instead a packet of jerky nestled underneath.

“A… horn?” he says, willing himself to sound a lot more grateful than he actually is. “Uh… Thanks, Sylvain?”

“Gotta say, not as good as the bacon sandwiches,” Vespucci supplies, eyeing the horn with doubt. “But I’m sure the jerky’s fine.”

Isaiah tosses the jerky to the Four boy without sparing a second glance, instead analysing the horn. He wonders, if he hopes hard enough, it’ll magically turn into something more... exciting.

“Must be a reason he’s sent it,” he says to nobody in particular, though Palioxissa and Regina hum in agreement. “Maybe he wants us to use the horn system?”

“Horn system?” Ardennes asks, looking up from her pastry.

“Back home, during the Mock – I mean, practices. One horn is we see someone, two horns mean we’re in trouble. Works a treat.”

“Very safe system,” Regina supplies with a nod.

Palixoissa shrugs. “I don’t see any harm. Do you?” She nudges her district partner.

Garrison shakes his head, trying to savour as much of his bacon sandwich as he can. “Not necessarily – who knows when it might come in handy?”

“The lumberjacks use something similar in the forests,” Ardennes says. “One whistle for any trees coming down, two if you see what you think is a widow maker. Besides, your mentor must’ve sent it for a reason. He must think we can use it.”

“We don’t need a fucking horn system,” Sanaga argues near instantly, arms crossed. “If a couple of us can’t fend off an attack from untrained Outer District kids then they’re not good enough to be with us.”

“We’re having one.” The tone that comes out of Isaiah’s mouth is one even he doesn’t expect, laced with commanding presence. “Ardennes is right. If Sylvain sent this then there's a reason. He sees it all, remember?”

Sanaga buckles under the outweigh of the alliance, grumbling even until they split up to go hunting.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

There's something unnerving enough about the forest that makes Isaiah glad he's got the only other ranged Career in his group.

The trees that certainly aren't native to One tower above him, not too dissimilar to the way the skyscrapers had but they're way more imposing. The bark is an eery shade of red that makes the hair on his arm (or whatever's grown back since the stylist's tirade on his body) stand on end. The leaves, though they sway gently in the wind and look almost peaceful, still snatch whatever light they can, leaving very little for the forest floor below. As they trudge through, he remembers an old saying, something about trees having eyes, and he shudders. Probably not the best thing to mull over as you're walking through a forest in an arena. He tries, unconvincingly, to remind himself that they're the hunters, the ones that have been trained and bred to kill.

Regina and Vespucci feel it too - they're uncharacteristically quiet.

In fact, the only sound in the entire forest are the leaves crunching under their steady steps.

Now, Isaiah's not one of the hunting types - they're rare in District One as is - but even he knows that if the forest is silent, then there's danger about. It's a cardinal rule they're taught about in the Academy purely for times like this.

What little light the trees decide to let through their blockades of leaves is scarce and Isaiah lets one hand hover over his pocket, ready to pull out the flashlight should he need to. He can't help but think it's reckless and a dead giveaway to their position, but he'd take being ambushed by tributes over walking into 'makers knows what's lair.

"Do we really think they'd be in here? I mean, shit, don't they know more about creepy shit out here?" Vespucci eventually asks, gripping his trident the tightest Isaiah's seen. "Eleven's still alive, right? Ain't his home known for creepy stories?"

"No more than Seven is." Regina's tone betrays how unsettled she is, if the way she constantly looks around them doesn't give it away first. She inhales quickly and tries to steady her voice. "They didn't seem too concerned about the forest, did they? Nothing to worry about... right?"

"They also didn't jump at the chance," Isaiah points out grimly, kicking himself for not asking Ardennes what she thought could lurk here. "And it's the Hunger Games - I'm sure they'd be fine with some... beast killing us."

"And miss out on your guys' sponsor gifts?" Vespucci scoffs nervously. "They'd be fucking idiots."

"There's been more idiot things to have ha-"

SNAP.

Isaiah's words lose themselves in his throat as they all turn to the sound of the noise. Up ahead, where the path they're in forks into two, sits something. From where they are it's hard to make out the form or even place the size of it, shadows and what looks like fur blending together. What is noticeable, clear as day, are the eyes. Big, glowing things that have seen them. Isaiah knows they've seen them because, with another snap, they get closer.

"What is that thing?" Regina hisses, hand hovering over her quiver of arrows. She shoots Isaiah a look, seeking his approval. When he gives her a nod, she notches one into her bow.

"Don't you guys have forests in the north of your district?" Vespucci whispers. "Shouldn't you know?"

"If I could see better maybe!" The archer retorts, readying herself in a stance Isaiah recognises as defensive. "Not a lot to see when it's so dark."

"Do you think we should use the flashlight?" Four continues, words speeding up as the creature seems to take its time getting closer and closer.

Toying with us like I did with Ten...

"Are you kidding?" Regina can't hide her disbelief. "Do you want to die?"

"No, I just wanna know what we're dealing with! 'Keepers I should've paid more attention at the fucking survival station."

"Guys," Isaiah's words are strangled. He can feel fear cooling his blood but he refuses to die like this. "Maybe we just bail? I don't think that alliance is that stupid enough to stay here."

He briefly wonders what Sylvain thinks, watching him from the control room. Is he cursing him? Yelling at the screen telling him to run? Or is there some faith that he and his allies can take whatever this thing is down? Isaiah decides, resolutely, that he can ponder that later.

The beast lets out a noise that's harrowing. Placed somewhere between a howl and someone getting choked, it reverberates off of the trees and echoes throughout the area. If there were any other noises before, now they're silenced for sure.

"Guys on three we run, okay?" Isaiah knows it's not the valiant Career way to do things, not something he'll hopefully look back on as District One's latest Victor with much enthusiasm, but at that moment he also knows that he needs to get his allies out of there.

"One."

He and his allies clutch their weapons, just in case the beast outruns them.

"Two."

They begin to step back cautiously, not daring to take their eyes off the creature even for a second.

"Three."

The horn of the Cornucopia blares before they can make their move.

None of the Careers can help themselves as their heads snap in its direction. They wait for a second. Only one, they're fine.

"The thing's gone..."

Isaiah and Regina look back to where the paths fork, following Vespucci's finger. Sure enough, whatever was blocking the path and had been advancing on them has vanished. Isaiah protests the want to look around in his head, arguing with the logic that the thing could follow them back to camp and becoming a bigger problem than it needs to be than if they just kill it there and then, three on one.

The second horn, quicker and more desperate, pulls him from his thoughts.

"Two horns? Shit."

The three of them tear through the forest quicker than they had entered, throwing caution to the wind as they race back to the Cornucopia.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"That fucking ass from Thirteen did this!"

Isaiah has to avert his eyes when he finally crests the hill. Palioxissa sits against some of the crates they had used as makeshift seating that morning, jacket in tatters as her tee has become entirely bloodstained. The cause, a nasty cut across her side, is enough to make anyone heave. The only one who looks, Garrison, busies himself with cleaning the wound out, much to the howls and curses from his district partner.

"And how did he get so close to you?" Sanaga asks before Isaiah can cut her off, unsatisfied with the answer being given. "Damn, guess he really did deserve the same score as you."

"Fuck off," Palioxissa manages, hissing as the alcohol's applied ot her wound.

"What happened?" Isaiah asks, hoping that his voice is a new change in pace. Even though he'd rather avoid looking at the pretty brutal maul on her body, he knows cringing will do nothing. Instead, he helps peel back some of the fabric for Garrison. "Who did this?"

He looks over at Hecaterus, hoping to find an answer.

"That alliance." The boy from Seven fiddles with his own bandages that are reddened already from his blood. "They got the jump on us. 'Keepers, we couldn't even tell what was happening because they were all around us."

"How many of them were there?" Isaiah inquires patiently.

"All of them that we didn't kill yesterday," Hecaterus confirms. "The girl from Eight and the guys from Three and Eleven distracted us whilst Five and Thirteen made their way up the hill."

"And you couldn't handle them?" Sanaga's tone is accusatory and unrelenting.

"We tried our best, okay?" Hecaterus snaps. "They're armed. Capitol-stuff. Different from what we've got; must be sponsors. I told Palioxissa to go and chase Five and Thirteen away whilst I dealt with Three, Eight and Eleven -"

"That still doesn't tell us how you both got fucked over by a bunch of cannon fodder."

"We were outnumbered! 'Keepers, Sanaga, is that so damn hard to understand?"

"No, but you're trained. There's no excuses for you guys failing to -"

After the rest of the Careers shoot Isaiah worrying looks as Hecaterus and Sanaga inch forwards towards each other, hands hovering over their weapons and eyes analysing in a way that's only ever seen at Selection Tournies, Isaiah stands and leaves Garrison to his charge.

"Enough." Isaiah crosses his arms as both of the Careers stare at him. Sanaga sneers as Hecaterus' face placidates. "The important thing is neither of you died, yeah?" He looks at Palioxissa. "Did they get anything?"

"A pack of food," she grunts, hanging her head back in pain. "Maybe a weapon or two - fucker from Thirteen slashed at me before I could stop them. Knicked him on the way out with my spear though. Upper thigh."

"Artery?" Isaiah asks, hopeful.

"If I didn't, it's sure to slow him the fuck down."

Isaiah inhales sharply and nods. "Good work, Pal."

The Two girl musters a smile, grateful that someone's not on her ass about the whole thing.

"I think we need lunch," Regina says, slinging the backpack from across her back. "Gives us time to fill you all in on the forest."

Over lunch, the other Careers are filled in with what happened in the forest and though hopeful eyes look to the Sevens for any enlightenment on the situation, they're just met with shrugs. "Maybe a wolf of some kind?" Ardennes had offered, though she sounded just as unsure as the doubtful looks she was given by Vespucci and Regina. It turns out that the other hunting party, the one tasked with the beach, found little of anything of worth.

"So much for a productive second day in the arena," Garrison grumbles, and the feeling is shared amongst the pack.

Eventually, Isaiah stands and claps his hands.

"I think we need to go hunting again." When some of the others begin to protest, arguing that they should be there to protect Palioxissa, he holds his hands up and shakes his head. "No arguments, okay guys?"

He nods towards Garrison. "Garrison and I'll stay here with Palioxissa and Sanaga." Isaiah forces himself to smile the most genuine smile he can because he knows keeping the Four girl on side is in the best interest of everyone. "Think you can lead the rest out to the city? Ardennes and I thought we saw some sort of amusement park out the back - caught the Tens before we could check it out."

Sanaga smirks easily. It's a venomous smirk that Isaiah's all too familiar with from the try-hards at the Academy. "And I'm in charge of the hunting party?"

Isaiah shrugs, glad she's led easily. "Go for it, I trust you'll get it done. Ardennes, you remember it, right?"

The Seven girl gives a mock salute, her own smile easy and relaxed. "You got it, boss."

It's not long before the rest of the Careers clear out.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Despite her attempts at reassuring them she's fine, Palioxissa undeniably gets worse.

Isaiah and Garrison change her dressing once; twice, before the bleeding stops being so aggressive. Isaiah can't even question the effectiveness of Garrison's make-do stitches because the wound's too big to stitch effectively and he knows the Two boy did whatever he could. Though she stops bleeding eventually, Isaiah can't help but wince as it almost rusts through the gauze. Usually, as in when he's seen similar injuries before, it's taken days for the blood to run dark. Whatever the boy from Thirteen did, it hit Palioxissa hard.

Dumb luck. Isaiah reassures himself. It's dumb luck that he was able to do that. Palioxissa must've let her guard down because there's no way he could've done that had she been paying attention.

He finds it easier to chastise his ally in his head than admit that it seems the 'Anti-Career' alliance is going to be harder to take down than he thought. It's only the second day, he desperately reminds himself. They'll kill each other off before we have to.

Not much happens for the afternoon and Isaiah forces himself to keep busy by looking at the forest. His mind wanders to whatever the thing was that they came across but he decides to find some reassurance in Ardennes' suggestion. A muttation is scary; a wolf, something he vaguely recognises, is much more manageable to wrap his head around.

He also thinks about what his family would make of his time in the arena so far. Are they proud of how well he's doing? (He hopes so). Are they screaming at him for missing some basic detail that's a missing link in the puzzle that's the arena? Or, more likely, are they enjoying easy drinks with the other legacy families over lunch?

"You're doing pretty fine, Hotshot. Could always do better, though."

Isaiah can hear Champagne in his head and curses the Edenrose for being so fucking annoying, though he can't help the smile as he imagines his words and he's grateful he's got his back turned from the Twos. He decides to take some reassurance in the words his mind gives, choosing to see it as some sort of dumb psychological reassurance that he guesses his brain's decided he needs.

He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't see Palioxissa squinting towards the forest line.

"We're being watched," she says.

Isaiah's hand finds his sabre and his grip naturally tightens immediately. "What?"

"We're being watched," Palioxissa repeats, nodding in the direction of the forest.

He half-expects to see the same eyes of the beast from earlier today and is ready to curse at himself for not doing the gallant thing and killing it when they had the chance but, to his surprise, he instead sees the boys from Three and Five. They watch for a few more seconds before jumping into action.

Faster than Isaiah had seen them move during training, the two sprint across the field towards the Cornucopia. In each of their hands, swords that he recognises as being ones they had flung to the back of the horn are raised; one still stained with the blood of Palioxissa.

"Get her into the horn," Isaiah says quickly, standing and readying his own sabre. He's never been a fan of two-on-one-fights but he thanks his Academy self for always being hungry for the attention of others, grateful for the experience.

Neither boy speaks as they raise their swords at him, slashing wildly in a way that Isaiah recognises as amateur. He parries them away easily enough; though, annoyingly, it isn't without its challenges. Every time he manages to use his momentum to push one away momentarily, the other swings back with just as much force; unrelenting, desperate. Where Five is less calculated, swinging his sword in ways Isaiah's seen the eight-year-olds at the Academy do when they're given swords for the first time, Three is more vapid. He makes an effort to dodge Isaiah's parries and, when he puts his full weight when he strikes back, it's enough to make Isaiah stumble once or twice.

He grits his teeth, gripping his sabre with so much force it's turning his knuckles white, as he swings powerfully. The electric teem of metal on metal sparks and takes Isaiah back to the Academy; its training gyms and mats for sparring. He even thinks of the Selection Tourney again, remembering delivering the winning blow against Champagne to get the Volunteer spot.

It's this thought that invigorates him, forcing his regimented training to take over his limbs and let the action do the talking.

They only begin to show signs of uncertainty when Garrison returns, battle axe raised as he swings at Three, finally alleviating the nuisance for Isaiah.

It's only when Palioxissa blows the horn twice quickly that the two tributes relent their attack, retreating back to where they've come.

Isaiah breathes heavily, the physical exhaustion breaking through as adrenaline subsides. He shares a glance with Garrison and knows that this is a lot more than he bargained for.

The killless fight leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Their mentors punish their blunder with no sponsor gifts during the night.

They don't go hungry, it's too early in the Games for that, but there's a stark reminder that success is rewarded; failure is ignored at best. Day Three and we're pissing off our mentors, can't be ideal. Isaiah had thought embitterily as he took the first watch of the night. The energy's so down that when he wakes up to a cannon, Isaiah half expects it to be an ally killed at the hands of another.

When he rushes out of his tent to see that everyone else wears a similar confused expression (and counting all his allies in his head quickly), he lets himself relax for a bit.

Before the question that entertains if the other alliance has begun to take each other out can be asked, a howl reverberates across the arena. His blood chills as he imagines the beast from yesterday, the same strangled noise coming from it. In the corner of his eye, he can see Regina and Vespucci pale as they recognise it too.

"Not the alliance then?" Hecaterus says with a wince, glancing to look at every Career. "Unless one of them's developed the talent to do... that?"

Isaiah shakes his head. "That's whatever we saw in the forest." He looks at his companions who witnessed it with him. "Right?"

Both Regina and Vespucci nod, though neither of them particularly vocally agree; their hands instead trying to find weapons.

"'Keepers above, calm down." Sanaga, as soon as she's realised it's nothing to worry about, goes about eating some of the food from her pack. "Sounded like it was over by the mountain."

A few of the other Careers grumble and roll their eyes at Sanaga, not that she takes much notice - instead continuing to eat away at her breakfast.

Isaiah has half a mind to say something, to tell her that the beast is a lot more dangerous than whatever she's imagining it to be, but Garrison stops him.

"Uh, guys? It's Palioxissa."

At least Sanaga has the decency to stop eating breakfast and look over.

Isaiah doesn't know what he expected to see as he enters the Two girl's tent but the sight before him certainly wasn't it. Though her bandage remains intact, it's become soaked with blood again, as well as the sleeping bag and mat underneath. A smell clings to the air like a stuffy perfume and Isaiah vaguely recognises it as one of death - if her pale, almost curdled skin didn't give it away first.

The girl barely manages a weak smile. "District Two having the first out? Hasn't happened in - shit - years."

Some of the other Careers try to crack a smile at her quip but others simply avert their eyes.

"Only one kill too - 'Keepers this is pathetic."

It's not, Isaiah wants to say to reassure her, making her feel like her very limited contribution to the pack was worthwhile. He wants to tell her that she did her best and that he's sure, if things were different, she'd be a bigger player in the Games. He knows it's the right thing to do, the thing that will make him seem noble in his allies' eyes, but he can't bring himself to do it. Not when he recognises it as an easy death for an otherwise competent, dangerous tribute.

"You did amazing, Pal."

Thankfully, Garrison takes the reins on it.

"Seriously," he continues, deciding to take the hand on her good side in his. There's a level of vulnerability that Isaiah didn't expect from the Twos. The Sevens, maybe, but not the Twos. "We'll get that fucker back and do it ten times worse."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Palioxissa lets out a laugh, almost as if the thought of the boy from Thirteen dying a more painful death than her makes it all worthwhile. Perhaps it does; Isaiah's sure, in that moment, the promise of a worse death for his killer would make him feel better if he'd been reduced to a wounded animal.

If he plans to die, that is. Which, conveniently, he doesn't.

Palioxissa's cannon sounds out not soon after and the Careers vacate her tent. Though Sanaga protests, they cut the top of the material, electing that it'd be easier to let the hovercraft lift her from where she slept rather than hauling her out.

Their breakfast isn't as good as it was yesterday.

In an act of kindness, the mentors send some various foods and Palioxissa's mentor sends the best. Isaiah remembers learning about the tradition; where the mentor of the first Career eliminated sends the rest a feast or medical supplies or whatever because the Capitol changed the rule that remaining funds are transferred to their district partner. At worst it's food and supplies that they wouldn't have otherwise; at best, Isaiah recognises it as a way to see just how far the Capitol thought Palioxissa would go.

Judging from the joint of ham that her mentor's managed to get, he figures they thought she had a pretty good shot.

Maybe that's why it tastes sweeter as he eats, knowing so many bet on the wrong Career.

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They're more careful about how they split up on the fourth day.

Four of them - Garrison, Sanaga, Vespucci and Hecaterus - stay at the Cornucopia with strict instructions to kill the Anti-Careers on sight. Isaiah takes Regina and Ardennes back to the urban city, deciding the concrete maze is the best place to hunt for them after seeing some commotion at the amusement park area and a following cannon. At Ardennes' insistence, they create some sort of formation; Regina on the left, Ardennes on the right and Isaiah in the middle. The girls look down the streets when they pass them and it's his job to look ahead.

They trek in relative silence; the only words being exchanged are short, quick callouts whenever something looks interesting down one of the streets. It's not uncomfortable or awkward, rather focused. Where Regina and Ardennes alternate looking at the floor and looking up into the buildings, Isaiah keeps looking ahead, finding himself utterly bored.

It allows his head to wander, and he's not necessarily sure that's the best thing.

He thinks about what would be happening in One; the Academy with its Bloodbath screening and the first day ball the dynasties insist on holding year after year. He's grateful he's not attending this year - glad he's not being forced into some stuffy suit that acts as much as a walking advertisement for his 'hand' as it does contrast with his usual style. Isaiah wonders, briefly, how many people from One will take inspiration from his chariot and interview looks. It amuses him, thinking of people bumping into each other with wildly inconvenient antlers; maybe some would even come up and ask him how he managed to survive being on the chariot with his own headpiece and if he could give them pointers.

That's if I survive.

Isaiah focuses on his feet, not wanting to indulge in the miserable thought. He's thought about it more than he'd like to admit in the arena. He knows it's not productive and, by all accounts, he should have no trouble winning this damn thing because he's the best District One has to offer but he can't help but think about the what if's.

And when he thinks about the what ifs, he thinks about Elias and Champagne. He wonders if his brother'll ever recover from losing his better half; if he'll ever find someone that'll scorn the balls alongside him and be each other's confidant when the life paths they're on just get a little too rough. He also wonders if Champagne'll forget him as just another tirade. Something more memorable because he's his twin sister's district partner, but will his face just merge into all the other failed District One tributes?

He hopes this imposter syndrome dies down soon – it's getting exhausting.

Isaiah can't stop the shudder that washes over him. Regina raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, though she flashes a small smile.

I hope I'm not the one to kill her.

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"I don't think they're here," Ardennes says definitively as they come to the same crossroads a third time. "Surely we would've seen something by now?"

Almost on cue, a trashcan down the road to their left is knocked over, the clanging side echoing in the otherwise too quiet faux downtown. Isaiah jumps, skittering into Regina with a soft bump; he'd be flushing, blabbering something about being a clutz, if it weren't for the chilling howls that follow soon after.

Isaiah has to wince as he looks, certain he's going to be face to face with the thing from the forest. He's oddly surprised - relieved - to see it's a few stray dogs instead. He knows the thought is insane; he recognises that these dogs are likely mutts and altered in some vile way to make their kills painful, but he can't help but feel relief at just how much smaller they are from whatever was in the forest. The pack is small but sturdy; Isaiah looks past the unassuming appearance of poodles, instead choosing to focus on the stained blood around their jaws, the teeth that seem sharper than the standard.

Maybe I should ask Loveabelle, her family breeds poodles.

His thought is sardonic, replaced immediately by locking into a familiar defensive stance as the pack of poodles catches their scents and begin to barrel towards them. Their barks are deep and guttural and Isaiah curses at just how loud they are.

"We gotta kill them," He says to Regina and Ardennes, ignoring the obviousness of the statement. "Too loud - those fuckers might ambush us if we're not careful."

Regina and Ardennes nod in agreement and slide into similar stances.

Regina's barrage of arrows takes out one of the dogs before it can reach them, piercing straight through the eye. The other two begin to outmaneuver her shots, criss-crossing until they reach the trio, circling them and snapping every so often.

The three of them shift to a formation that's only ever called 'last stand' at the Academy, back-to-back and doing their own shuffling. It's a strange dance, one that they're taught about from the perspective of Outer District kids and how to break it. Isaiah wishes they would've taught them how to utilise it too - or maybe they did, and the thought is slipping from him.

Ardennes parries one of the dogs away, nearly losing her footing as she tries to jab at it. "Did not think this was how my day was gonna go."

Isaiah barks a half-laugh, his own sabre careening off of one of the poodles' razor teeth. "I think that's a bit of a theme here." At Regina's scoff, he adds, "What? You were expecting rabid poodles?"

"Just as much as I expected one of them to be dumb enough to try the rollercoaster." Regina kicks one of the poodles in the face with their sturdy arena boots. It disorients it enough for her to pull her dagger from her waistband and sink it into the mutt's skull. The other one, sensing its partner's downfall, whimpers which gives Isaiah an opening to decapitate it clean with his sabre.

The Careers are silent for a moment, their heavy, laboured breaths in tandem with one another. Wordlessly, they move away, leaving the bodies of the mutts as a warning. Isaiah'd like to say the warning's for the Anti-Careers, to show them exactly what they're capable of (because who'd be heartless enough to behead a dog?) but a voice in the back of his head argues it's as menacing of a warning as asking them nicely not to kill them would be.

He decides to ignore the voice, already deciding he's become quite sick of it.

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By the fifth day, Isaiah begins to wonder how quickly someone can go insane.

Something keeps shifting in the corner of Isaiah's eye. Whenever he turns his head, though, there's nothing.

But whenever he focuses back on the road ahead or worries that leaving only two Careers at the Cornucopia is a bad idea - there it is again, a creeping shadow, a faceless foe.

He decides to ignore it, noting that not one of the other Careers in the small hunting party seem particularly bothered by it, relegating it to arena psychosis or some other term he's sure his brain is digging up from some Academy class.

Eventually, the hunting party ends up near the beach,where the dense forest gives way to sparser trees with an easy breeze. It's almost peaceful, if Isaiah forgets where he is. They haven't explored the beach zone much - Sanaga had firmly declared that there'd be little point going there without boats to access the islands, refuting any arguments and forcing Vespucci to agree with her - but an overrule of five to two nixed any chances of them not at least checking it out.

Annoyingly, Sanaga's right. The beach looks untouched, save for the tracks of mutts (birds and canines alike), and the islands look even more unattainable from the shore.

"Fucking told you all," Sanaga huffs. "Wish you'd listen to District Four when it comes to beaches, just like you all listen to District Seven with that dumb forest."

Isaiah ignores her. He understands what her jibe is - bait, to start an argument. After Palioxissa's death, the camaraderie of the pack's dropped fast and Sanaga's trying to exacerbate it at any chance she has. He wants to curse her strategy; digging deep into the rapidly opening wounds of their alliance relentlessly to weaken it, likely hoping for a splinter so she can lead one half. But, talent recognises talent and Isaiah knows, if he were in a position to do the same, he would've without hesitation.

"Fine," He says after they stare out to the islands for a little bit, trying to guess if there could be someone on there. He turns to Sanaga and Vespucci and raises an eyebrow. "You want us to trust District Four? Tell us how to make the most of this."

Sanaga and Vespucci share a glance. "What do you mean?" The Four boy asks before his partner can quip something. Isaiah doesn't know who she glares at more; him for calling her bluff or Vespucci for rising to it.

"All of this." Isaiah gestures broadly at the shoreline. "Sanaga said to trust you so where's the food? The supplies? Anything useful?"

"We're on a fucking artificial beach, you're dumb if you think there'll -"

"Y'all know how to find buried treasure?" Hecaterus cuts Sanaga off and barks a laugh at his own joke. Though Ardennes has the decency to shove his shoulder and flash an apologetic smile in the Fours' direction, she can't stifle the spluttering as she turns away. Isaiah himself lets a small grin show, though it's replaced with an indifferent frown when he sees Vespucci's worried expression.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Say that again Seven, I fucking dare you."

"It's the Hunger Games, Sanaga," Vespucci pleads. The desperation in his tone catches Isaiah off guard; it's resolutely caring for someone who had such a go-with-the-flow attitude. "Who knows? Maybe there is treasure..."

"I swear to the 'Makers above, Rivers, if you don't shut the fuck up -"

"There's seaweed! And some rocks - I'm sure we could fashion some into arrowheads for Regina and -"

"Rivers." Sanaga's tone is dangerously cold, her hand snakes down to her machete's handle.

Vespucci, blindly unaware, continues to blabber on. "And, hey! Sand's always good to throw in people's eyes, right? Maybe the other kids will ha-"

Sanaga's quick with her machete but Isaiah's quicker. His sabre blocks her blade before it can come even close to Vespucci.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing Angelez?"

"Don't act like you care, Isaiah, we both know that question is bullshit." Sanaga pushes on his blade ever so slightly. It's a subtle challenge, one that's designed so their companions can't see it fully, but a challenge nonetheless. "We're fucking expendable to you so why do you care if I take out a walking liability?"

Isaiah refuses to rise to it. "You made a big deal about Four knowing the beach. I just asked what we asked Hecaterus and Ardennes in the forest." He shrugs. "Didn't think you'd be so useless on the beach."

His brain clutches to the way Sanaga calls her partner a liability. I could never call Regina that…

He shifts on his footing to stand in front of Vespucci, giving the Four boy time to insulate himself between the Sevens. Sanaga spares him a quick glare before she barks a laugh. She moves her machete back, though Isaiah doesn't trust her enough to sheath his sabre. "Fine, fucking keep him around! When we all get killed because he's an accident waiting to happen, maybe you'll wish we got rid of him here and now!"

"Leave him alone," Ardennes says, eyebrows nixed.

"You want to tell them, Rivers? Or should I?"

"Tell us what?" Isaiah asks cautiously, neither face of the District Four tributes giving anything away.

"About why the Archipelago now has rules on who can be trusted to learn the trident. Or, even, why we had to have that awful fucking cult bullshit all because he had to follow Halloran."

Isaiah ignores his brain supplying the context that the guy from Four last year was supposed to have some sort of cultish following surrounding him and instead focuses on defending Vespucci.

"Can't be that bad if he's here." The unspoken implication of the Selection Tourney in his words. "Just drop it."

"We don't do Selection Tournaments in Four, pretty boy. We do endurance games - stamina tests – built for the real thing. The Trials are much more fun but still, annoyingly, let losers through sometimes."

"Hey!"

Isaiah ignores Vespucci's protest. "I said drop it."

Sanaga's challenging smirk stays on her face for a few seconds, weighing up her options. When she raises her hands in mock defeat, they barrel through.

The four Anti-Careers charge through the shrubbery that brackets the beach's dunes, weapons raised and completely running on the high of an ambush. Annoyingly, even with most of their weapons raised, the Careers stumble into defensive positions.

"Fucking 'Keepers above," Isaiah mutters as he parries the boy from Three's shortsword away. Much like the showdown at the Cornucopia a couple of days ago, the Anti-Careers fight wildly, using the element of surprise to supplement whatever poor skills they have with the weapons.

Isaiah hates being defensive but can't lie and say the pack doesn't work well; they move in tandem with one another, letting regimented training take over their senses and fight exactly how they've been taught. It's gruelling, exhausting, but he knows they've got the stamina. The ragtag collection of tributes who annoyingly haven't turned on each other yet, have nothing on their skills.

They know that too; fear flashes in the boy from Five's eyes as he missteps against Vespucci, narrowly missing the boy's trident to his chest and the boy from Thirteen looks like he's about to shit himself when he gives Sanaga a nick on her forearm.

The worst one is the girl from Eight, Brillaintine, who manages to sink her spear deep into Hecaterus chest. He writhes on the tip of her spear, choking on his blood - a dead giveaway a lung's been punctured. She pulls it out and drives it through his head, barely giving the Careers the grace to realise what's happened until his cannon sounds and he's limp on the floor. Eight doesn't even bother to grab the spear as she crumbles under Ardennes' gaze; the Seven girl advancing on her far too quick for any worthwhile reaction. Her two companions move to defend her and, in a move that Isaiah knows he'd get hyped about if he were watching the Games from the safety of the Academy, they continue to press on.

"Now, Dysc!"

Isaiah barely has time to register that one of the Anti-Careers had been missing before arrows begin to rain from the dunes. As he knocks away one of them with his sabre (a little too similar to how he did to Champagne during the Selection Tourney), he catches sight of the boy from Three who replenishes his bow like a machine, trying to provide more of a distraction.

It almost works, provided if he had any aim at all.

When he thinks they have the upper hand, Isaiah's ready to tell the Careers to charge on them when Three - Dysc - has one more surprise up his sleeve. He fires one final arrow.

There's a bang. Then there's a ringing sensation in his ears that's so loud - so fucking loud - and he just remembers running.

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Isaiah doesn't stop running until he reaches the lake. He's sure he's not been followed but he still moves to the mountainous side just in case. He finds a cove, shallow and cold, to sit beside to let himself understand what the fuck just happened.

Though he doesn't particularly trust the water, Isaiah indulges in a swim in hopes to clear his mind. He takes his shirt off and does what Sylvain's told him to do, the things that'll get him sponsors; chest pumps and flexing - anything to show off the body he's made. 'Keepers, he even makes it a point to just stand and look around after submerging from the cool waters, letting whatever perverse eyes from the cameras get all the eyeful they want. If he weren't so desperate for supplies, he might've found it humiliating.

I bet Champagne's enjoying this.

The pesky thought is thrown out of his head as his show is rewarded with a parachute landing next to his shirt on a rock. Immediately he opens it, caring less about putting his shirt on and thinking wishfully that maybe gratitude towards the gift will give him some more. Sylvain doesn't provide a note again but supplies with him some hearty nutrition cubes, a Hunger Games staple that Isaiah's seen on screen as far back as he can remember. The imitation ones they have at the Academy are gross but, predictably, are filling, so he knows he'll be in good hands for the foreseeable future.

Less exciting however, are a pair of binoculars. Isaiah stares at them for a bit and tries to imagine Sylvain telling him why he's sent them to him. He still doesn't know even after another dip in the pool, a failed attempt at flexing for more sponsor gifts, and putting his shirt back on and trekking towards the mountains.

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Though he recognises that the mountains are a grey area - a place they've not explored much, by virtue of the Anti-Careers seeming uninterested in the place - he prefers their rocky outcrops to the vulnerability of the rolling plains that separate the beach from the lake. He's optimistic that his scattered allies would think the same thing, choosing to try and migrate around rather than go back to where they had been ambushed. After all, after the explosion (which he's still not sure how it happened, only that it came at one of Three's arrows), they all ran in different directions. Most of them, he thinks, went towards the forest. He's not heard any cannons since, so wherever they went, they weren't followed just like he wasn't.

Eventually he comes to a small ledge near the centre of the mountain range. It's steep, though not enough to make his legs burn, and is more like a comfortable hike than anything. It brings him, momentarily, back to the Mock Games of the Academy and how he and his friends would try and simulate what the arena would be like. He cracks his knuckles to stop himself from shuddering; although the pack's been split up, he's still by large the leader and he can't have the Capitol seeing him as weak.

The waning sun gives away that it's closer to night time than he had previously thought, so he sits and digs into the nutrition blocks. Small things, no bigger than diced carrots, aren't as disgusting as District One's imitation. They're not exactly pleasant either, but they're not supposed to be. Isaiah washes them down with some water, grateful that he feels satiated relatively quickly afterwards.

He decides, to pass the time, to pull out the binoculars and see if there's anything interesting from this side of the arena. It's the more boring type of scouting he personally loathes, if only because it's not always yielding results. He's a curious and inquisitive person, sure, but even he can get bored staring at forests and wondering if there's people hiding amongst the tall sentinels. From his outcropping, Isaiah can see the remnants of whatever rollercoaster ride the boy from Eleven, Rasper, died from. He's surprised they were able to pull his body from the wreckage, iron railings and rotting wooden planks unceremoniously make up a pile that looks far too treacherous to try and retrieve anything from. He takes solace in that, knowing the boy's death inconvenienced his stupid alliance.

Isaiah looks towards the urban setting, hoping to see if he can see anyone hiding in the upper floors of the buildings. Since the encounter with the Tens, however, it doesn't seem anyone wants to take the risk of the upper floors just collapsing at any given moment. He ponders on how the Anti-Careers could've known and wonders if they were watching them, but he decides it's initiative. Nobody would willingly hole up in a place where there's buildings crumbling all around them. Not when there's other, safer options at least.

When his binoculars eventually land on the Cornucopia, Isaiah bites his cheek hard enough to draw blood, the iron taste blooming in his mouth. There, in a defensive stance that's irritatingly all too familiar, are Regina and Garrison, holed up against the Anti-Career alliance. Isaiah's pissed to see that the ones that ambushed them seem relatively unscathed by whatever trick they pulled and, if the ledge wasn't so high he'd really fucking hurt himself making his way down without thinking, he wants to charge over there.

Instead he watches.

It confuses him at first on what the Anti-Careers are doing; they circle around the two Careers but make no move to slash at them wildly, not like they had at the beach and at the Cornucopia before. Instead, they circle around. It's only when he barely sees something along the forest's edge try and maneuver around and see the boys from Three and Five go off and investigate that he makes a harrowing realisation.

They're playing with us, just like Careers always do to them.

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He almost misses the bursts of flashlight in the darkness of the night.

Isaiah resigned himself to sleeping in the mountains early on, cursing himself for not bringing something warmer in his pack before reminding himself that, hey, he didn't exactly plan for this to happen. It's when he's gazing at the stars waiting for the anthem to play that he sees it.

Or at least, he thinks he does.

Only when the anthem begins blaring to the bursts begin again; one from the beach and two from the forest, one on either side of it. It's only when he sees some lights flickering from the Cornucopia that he paws in his bag for the binoculars. He sees Sanaga at the beach front with Ardennes and Vespucci in the forest. Tentatively, he grabs his own flashlight and blinks lights back.

Alternating through flashlight blinks and looking through his binoculars, Isaiah discovers that Vespucci and Ardennes are able to connect together whilst Sanaga makes a stake at the beach front. They stop when the anthem ends and the Anti-Careers extend some of their patrols close to the forest. He frowns when he doesn’t see Regina and Garrison, wondering where they are.

They must be inside the horn, he thinks to himself, Probably insulating themselves. Smart move.

Isaiah doesn't dare leave the safety of the mountains and forces himself further back into the small nook he's found. He decides, resolutely, he needs to group back up with the others and retake the Cornucopia.

Chapter Text

The reverberance of a cannon jolts Isaiah awake.

His first thought in the haze of waking up is that he's been found and it's his own cannon he's hearing. A pat down of his body, checking the main arteries, reveals he's perfectly fine and that it's another of the tributes who've met their ends. In the sunlight, he sees just how far away the beach and forest are to his location and takes a second to marvel at the Capitol technology, making a mental note to try and procure some of the flashlights for the Academy when he gets back out.

The thought of the pack's antics with the flashlights last night make him grab the binoculars to scout out if there's any clues as to who the cannon belonged to. He's unashamed to hope it belongs to one of the Anti-Careers, certain that Regina and Garrison got the upper hand on them or, though he'd hate to give her the vindication, Sanaga besting one of them.

When he sees all four Anti-Careers sitting around a makeshift fire with one of their weapons bloodied, he feels angry. He recognises the pack between two of them as Vespucci's and wonders how they got the jump on him; how they evaded Ardennes in their wake. What concerns him more is how easily the four Outer District kids eat around the fire, a sponsor gift landing neatly at the girl from Eight's feet. Isaiah wonders if Regina and Garrison made a break for it in the night; the District Two boy seemed more than vicious enough during training and the arena so far, and Isaiah knows Regina wouldn't let opportunities pass her by and yet...

He packs up his bags and decides to head back to the beach. He knows Sanaga's there and imagines Ardennes has a similar plan. He makes a detour at the cove again, wondering if another swim show will get him rewards and, thankfully, it does. It's only some water purification tablets - not the good kind, either - but Isaiah thanks the sponsor all the same with another flex of his arms and a swig of his newly purified water.

The walk back to the beach is more treacherous than he remembers, with more pitfalls and unstable footing. Twice he nearly loses his balance and curses himself for having heavy footfalls, wishing he could be more lithe like Elias; the build for dancing District One's balls would be far more beneficial than the larger, heavier trainee build. The thought of his brother brings Isaiah some comfort and a driving force to ensure he makes it through it. He decides to make a game of it - imagining Elias narrating him as he makes his way down the mountain. When he sees a few snakes that slither away before he can get close, he hears Elias' voice crack a joke at some new snake-themed lingerie for the family business. When he nearly trips for the third time, he swears he can almost feel Elias' hands clapping him on the pack, poking fun at how much of a clutz he can be.

"You take seeing the backstage version of me far too lightly," Isaiah even says aloud, only flushing when he realises just how stupid the thought is.

Maybe he's smiling back at me.

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If Vespucci's stolen pack wasn't enough confirmation, the amount of bandages on Ardennes' arm gives away what happened.

"They fucking snuck up on us," The Seven girl huffs, stretching her other arm (thankfully her dominant one). "Killed Vespucci before he could even move. Bitch from Eight tried to cut me down too but I stopped her. Nearly got her as well."

Isaiah half-expects Sanaga to make a comment asking why Ardennes didn't but, instead, the Four girl hums thoughtfully. After a minute, she only shrugs. "I told you he'd be a liability."

Isaiah doesn't deign her words with a response. "Five on four still isn't the worst odds out there." Ardennes flashes him a grateful smile as he gives her some of the nutritional cubes. "Don't know where Regina and Garrison are."

At the girls' confused look, he elaborates.

"I got some binoculars from Sylvain - decided to check out the Corn. Saw the fuckers having breakfast around a fire. Looks like the Eight girl even got a sponsor. Couldn't see Reggie or Garrison, though, and they were flashing their flashlights last night."

Sanaga exhales sharply out of her nose, fingers rubbing into her temples. "That doesn't seem like them. I swear Garrison talks more about killing them the most."

"Exactly."

"You think they're okay?" Ardennes supplies, glancing behind her periodically. Isaiah wants to tell her to stop but he can tell just how on edge she is.

"Did you hear any cannons?" Sanaga asks blithely. "Bar Rivers', of course." When Ardennes doesn't reply, instead grumbling over some nutrition cubes, she simply smirks. "Didn't think so."

"They're alive," Isaiah says, putting back on that leader tone he's had to utilise far more than he thought he would. "But where? I thought maybe they'd be holed up in the horn but..."

"But?" Sanaga crosses her arms.

"But I don't think those four would leave them alive, y'know? They're playing with their food, sure, but why would they leave two Careers alone in a closed space when there's more of them? It's bad battle strategy."

"I don't think Three, Five, Eight and Thirteen are particularly known for their strategy. Matter of fact, Eight got their shit wrecked in the last rebellion."

"She's got a point," Ardennes supplies, though she shrugs defensively when Isaiah shoots her a glare. "She does, though!"

"Maybe." That's as close as he'll get to admitting Sanaga's right. "But still. Surely their mentors are screaming at them to just take them out, right? They gotta be holding out."

"What, you think they're waiting for us?"

Sanaga's suggestion's not too far off what Isaiah assumes. When he puts himself in the Anti-Career's disgusting shoes, he figures he'd want to try and use injured Careers as bait to try and crush all of them in one go. It's a suicide plan but, when the Hunger Games is already a death sentence because your District's so lame and nobody wants to sponsor it, its exactly the type of strategy that's put into motion.

"Yeah," He says, matter-of-factly. "I think they want us to go there so they can get us fucked up over Reggie and Garrison. Maybe argue or something - just anything to get us out of sync."

"Okay, I'll bite. What do you want us to do?"

Isaiah glances around the beach and finds a new appreciation for the rocky wall that stops the bordering brush from getting soaked from the tide.

"They want to play like us? We play like them - we draw them out."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

If he wasn’t waiting for the right time to strike down an alliance of incessant Outer District kids, Isaiah might’ve appreciated the lights that dance in the sky.

The right time doesn't come and, soon, the smoke from the three bonfires on the beach begin to cover the luminescence that glows from above. As the fires sleepily grow to their full size, the three of them move to the forest’s edge, positioned well enough to see the Cornucopia’s hill. It’s a decent walk – five, ten minutes – and by the time they get there, the fires are blazing in all of their glory.

Sharing nutritional cubes and dried meat, the three of them sit back and wait for an opening.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The fires don't do as much as they thought.

The Anti-Careers murmured about it, from what Isaiah and the girls could tell from the treeline, but ultimately decided to leave it be.

It's not until the morning that the Careers make their move. The perfect opportunity presents itself when one of the four - Thirteen, Warwick, Isaiah thinks - decides to venture into the urban part of the arena. The Careers talk about it for a second, quelling nerves they didn't even realise they had.

Isaiah thinks it's ridiculous that there's suspense hanging closely in the air but there's just so much that could go wrong. If anything, the arena's proven that nothing has gone right.

They scout the area out for a bit - the trees that sway gently in the wind and the sound of grass rustling conceal their movements, allowing them to strike the Anti-Careers before they have time to react.

Ardennes pounces onto the girl from Eight, whilst Sanaga morphs instantly into an easy spar with the boys from Three and Five, refusing any help, leaving Isaiah to go into the horn.

What he sees is shocking - incomprehensible. There, tied up in the back, are Regina and Garrison. Their feet and hands are bound with what Isaiah recognises to be part of their arena jackets, their mouths gagged with fabric from the sponsor parachutes. Their eyes, weathered and slightly dazed, tell Isaiah everything he needs to know. He races forward with the dagger he's learnt to keep in a sheath around his belt, cutting away at the bindings. Angry red marks on their wrists and ankles show both how tightly they were entrapped but also how desperately the two had tried to break free.

When she can, Regina instantly brings him into a hug.

"We thought you forgot about us," She croaks. "Fucking bastards tied us up in the night."

"We saw your flashlights though, how did they -"

Garrison cuts Isaiah off. "After that. Must've gotten something good from their mentors 'cause they charged in with little fear."

"The Thirteen boy's strong, Izzy," Regina says quickly. "Stronger than Garrison."

The Two boy looks away, red marring his cheeks.

"Is he still..?"

Isaiah shakes his head. "Left. That's why we're here."

"We're?" Garrison looks up hopefully.

As if on cue, a cannon shakes the arena, followed by screeching.

"Let's go Brill!" The voice, a boy's, yells. "Psycho's got Bruno! We need to go!"

Isaiah, Regina and Garrison rush out of the horn in time to see the two surviving members of the alliance run in the same direction that Thirteen did, barely remembering to take their packs. Their weapons, two fine swords, are left abandoned.

Before he can protest, Sanaga races after them, letting out an excited cackle.

Isaiah hopes she runs into the boy from Thirteen.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Five Careers, three dumb fuckin’ Anti-Careers. Bet this is fun viewing for the Capitol.”

Sanaga’s scathing voice breaks whatever quiet clockwork routine the Careers have going on. For once, Isaiah agrees with her. It’s been three days since the last kill and he knows it's only a matter of time before they demand blood again. Whilst the Capitol might’ve been okay with the slow pace of the Games so far, with so many of them left on the tenth day, there’s bound to be a culling due.

The other Careers agree when he vocalises it, which is why none of them are surprised at the announcement of the Feast on the same day.

“Must’ve done interviews yesterday when they realised we’re not in the position to kill each other,” Ardennes says thoughtfully. “Wonder what they said.”

"Probably nothing good, Garrison huffs. "My Dad was furious I went into the Aca- uh, training and not the Peackeeping Corps."

"Huh, really? I thought Two was all about volunteering for the Games," Ardennes asks, taking a swig of her water.

"We are, it's just... my Dad served and my older brothers have." Garrison shrugs. "I guess he just wanted me to join the family business."

"Hey, I'd rather peacekeeping be the family business than the Games," Regina supplies with an easy laugh, eliciting laughs around. "It was me or my brother this year - my aunt said so."

"Your aunt? Like, the Aglaia Edenrose?" Garrison doesn't bother to hide his shocked expression.

Regina nods. "They all thought it'd be my brother until this one." She tilts her head in Isaiah's direction. "Beat him."

"And they just gave you the spot because he didn't get it?" Ardennes raises an eyebrow, leaning back on her palms. There's an incredulous element to her tone that Isaiah doesn't miss; maybe disbelief that nepotism could run in One's Academy.

"Oh, fuck no. I beat the other girls. Seraphina Lovelace was so fucking close but she fucked up bad."

"What about you, Isaiah?" Ardennes asks after sharing a laugh with Regina, an easy smile now stretching her cheeks. It's almost easy to forget they're not just some ragtag group of friends at the Academy, easy enough to ignore the impending Feast.

"They'll probably get my parents and brother. He's probably chatting up a storm to the interviewer if my parents let him." Isaiah can't hide the way his eyebrows furrow slightly as the pang of the thought of his brother cuts deep in his heart.

He misses Elias; misses his jokes, their incessant chatter they have together. 'Keepers, he even misses the big bear hugs his brother gives. He decides to smile at the thought instead of brood.

Ardennes exhales air from her nose fondly. "Older or younger?"

"Ol-"

"Older," Regina answers before he can. "Elias Wentworth is like, the biggest bachelor in the District One scene - heir to one of the biggest business dynasties going."

"Oooooh, so you're rich rich, Isaiah?" There's no malice in Ardennes' voice, only curiosity, as if she's never even had the luxury to think of money like that.

"I guess? Kinda not - I board at... training all year round so I’m not getting much. Still need to go to the dumb balls though." Isaiah doesn't bother to hide his eyeroll. He enjoys them - or, at least, he enjoys the attention he gets from them. "What about you? Are you not...?"

"Rich? No." Ardennes laughs, shrugging. "Sponsorship kid, me. Ma and Pa run a book store but there's barely anything left over for us." She answers the second part of his question before he can ask it. "They'll be proud. My older brother, Vincennes, he got so close but just missed out."

"Sanaga?"

The Four girl barely looks up when Garrison says her name. Her expression's stormier than usual and her eyebrows are furrowed in an annoyed twist. "What?" She eventually relents when she feels all of the Careers looking at her.

"Who'd they get to interview you?"

Sanaga's expression darkens.

"Nobody. Not anyone worthwhile, at least."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ardennes goes to place a reassuring hand on Sanaga's arm, but the Four girl yanks it away before she can.

"No."

When some stares still linger on her, she throws her hands up. "I'm not talking about it, okay? Can we just... Can we just think about how we're gonna attack the Feast?"

Guilty eyes land expectedly onto Isaiah who nods, taking the reigns.

"Right, so here's what I'm thinking..."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Whatever Isaiah was thinking, this is definitely not it.

Just like they had thought, the Anti-Careers show up to the Feast, weapons brandished in a way not too dissimilar to how they ambushed them on the beach. Without the element of surprise, however, they stay close to the edge of the forest and scorn the Careers who wait for the table to be lifted.

It's only when Garrison tries to pocket the pouch meant for Three, that he receives an arrow to the head from Three himself. If Isaiah wasn't thinking about how to replay the debt, he'd consider it oddly good poetry.

A fight breaks out afterwards and, despite being outnumbered, the Anti-Careers still put up a good fight. Thirteen manages to best both Isaiah and Regina who, despite how many times the Academy made them fight together to perfect a duelling style, cannot break his defence. It's a weak one, one of the first they teach at the Academy, but Thirteen's perfected it. His feet stay firmly planted on the ground and he parries away, moving only when he needs to.

It reminds Isaiah of a saying he's heard some of the trainers say - something about stubbornness and bulls. Isaiah decides, however, that he's not a bull and instead mimics what he's seen stags do in the wild when they brandish their antlers at one another. He charges, sword raised, and uses all of his weight to try and force him to lose his balance. Isaiah's decidedly thankful he does have the abs and the weight and muscle behind him to pull such a thing off - ignoring an internal shudder as he thinks about if the world had been so cruel as to grant his wish of being less toned and lither like Elias.

Thirteen does topple over but retreats far quicker than Regina and Isaiah can pursue him.

Not that they need to.

BOOM!

A second cannon bursts in the arena as the girl from Eight, Brilliantine, loses her head. Isaiah nearly loses his breakfast at the sight but sheer refusal to look weak in front of the Anti-Careers, the disgusting little Outer District alliance, stops him.

They scatter not long after that, Three and Thirteen, retreating back to wherever they came. They leave their packs, not that there's anything worthwhile in them, the Careers later learn. Unlike Garrison's pack, which has a vial of poison and a note to try and get on water purification duty.

"Maybe it's a good thing he died," Ardennes says with a shrug after they pocket the other spoils and settle back at the Cornucopia.

"Yeah, not shit." Isaiah'd be lying if he said he's happy Sanaga's back to her normal self.

Chapter Text

It's getting down to the wire. Isaiah can feel it. Nearly two weeks on and the Capitol demands a Victor.

They're pushing for the Career pack to disband too, mentor and sponsor alike, through gifts of increasing value; each trying to one up each other and spread jealousy through the now shaky alliance. Four Careers in the final six doesn't make for good viewing, not when they can so easily be pit against one another and give showdowns worthy of the history textbooks. It doesn't work - not on all of them, at least. He and Regina stay resolute, sharing what they get and being a bastion of District One camaraderie. Ardennes joins in, spurred by getting some of the good stuff for herself, smiling at them when they share with her. Sanaga ignores them and Isaiah's sure she's only with them now for convenience.

Because the Anti-Careers have proven they can take down a Career and being alone isn't on the cards right now.

Despite that, they all take it upon themselves to leave the small building they've called a base and explore. Sanaga's suggestion, but Isaiah jumps to it. He hasn't had a chance to stretch his legs, to fight properly in a few days. He can feel himself getting antsy in ways that only a Career could. They all stay clear of the forest, knowing that's where the boys from Three and Thirteen fled to after the feast. Isaiah considers looping around there, just to prove that he can take them both on - he knows he can. He restrains himself, though, and promises to give the Capitol the show they deserve.

A cannon brings them all back together before he can change his mind again.

He's relieved when he sees Regina and less so when Sanaga jogs around the corner, unaware just how much he'd be hoping it was her cannon. They all shake their heads at the question of if they’ve seen anything and the absence of Ardennes becomes stark.

"You don't think it was her cannon?" Regina asks slowly.

Isaiah shakes his head. Ardennes is too smart to get caught up being killed by some Anti-Career, some fraud. She's proved she's not Palioxissa, or Hecaterus or Vespucci - weak Careers, now that Isaiah looks back at them.

Part of him feels guilty for thinking that but he cuts that off quickly. Guilt isn't going to win him the Hunger Games - seeing his allies as what they are, enemies, will.

"It could be," Sanaga argues, likely just because she can. "She's not immune to dying to those -"

Her words are cut off by a shiver of the ground. Though it wasn't strong, Isaiah finds himself still trying to grab onto something to steady himself. A heartbeat later, it shivers again, more intensely. There's a crack somewhere in the distance - not a crumble, thankfully, so none of the buildings are at risk of coming down on their heads - but a definite crack that makes Isaiah's stomach drop.

Not long after, there's a second cannon.

The air amongst the three Careers immediately gets tense.

"Divide up the supplies, I want out." Sanaga barely looks up from rummaging through her own pack.

"Why?" Regina asks.

"Because it's fair we all have the same?"

"No, why do you want out? What if Ardennes comes back?"

Sanaga rolls her eyes. "Whether one of those cannons belongs Ardennes or not, there's four of us left in the arena. I don't trust either of you not to stab in the pack, no offence."

"We'd be stronger three on one, if it's one of those dumb Anti-Careers left," Isaiah points out, hoping the memory of just how unpredictable they are resonates with her. "And if Ardennes comes back, we can fully separate."

Her face shifts for only a second before it hardens, eyes darkening. "I want out, you can't stop me."

Isaiah holds up his hands in defence. "I'm not gonna. I just think -"

"I am not being at the mercy of District One of all fucking districts," Sanaga growls. "I'd rather die to Three or Thirteen. Divide the shit up, now."

There's loads of ways Isaiah thought of how the pack would disband. Truthfully, a lot of them involved backstabbing and covert operations based on a smaller inner alliance. He never expected it to be in silence, their spoils of the arena so far being divided neatly between the three. Sanaga makes him and Regina promise they won't follow her, not until the evening, and for some dumb reason they both honour it.

Instead, they stand around for a few seconds, idling.

"Allies?" Regina asks eventually, looking at Isaiah hopefully. "We can leave if you want, I just think - like you said - it'd be safer in numbers and -"

"Allies," Isaiah agrees, cutting her off with a smirk. "District One till the end, right?"

Isaiah ignores the easy smirk that rests on Regina's face, eerily similar to a hunter working out their prey. It shifts just as fast as it came, into the one of warmth he’s used to from her.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Their loyalty to one another is given rewards.

Sylvain gives them some sweet cherries imported from home and Shimmer provides croissants and other baked goods. They share the two, making some bastardisation of a jam out of the cherries and spread them on the croissants. They’re warm, and Isaiah can taste a luxury that only the Capitol can provide.

(One he’s so close to getting.)

Dysc’s face lights up the sky first after the anthem plays. Isaiah feels guilty that he doesn’t remember much about the boy, nothing beyond the seven he got or how he butchered Garrison down in the Feast. As far as glory in the Hunger Games goes, that’s something to be remembered by, he supposes.

Inevitably, Ardennes’ face smiles down on them next, accompanied by a silence that breaks the Ones’ easy conversation.

“So, final four.”

It feels like an eternity before Regina decides to speak up. She holds her croissant delicately, examining it as if it’s the last time she’ll ever get the chance to. Knowing how unpredictable the Games are, Isaiah hates just how likely that is. It feels suffocating. “I can just feel how legendary the finale’s gonna be.”

“Did you know.” Isaiah’s unable to help himself, the fact spilling from his brain. “Statistically we’re the longest District One duo in twenty years?”

Regina raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How d’ya work that out?” She asks amusedly.

“I heard Sylvain talk about it - said if we pulled it off, we’d be the first ones since the Ninety-Sixth.”

“Interesting,” Regina laughs without a hint of malice. “Let’s hope we do better than them. Who won that year? Eight?”

Isaiah nods. “First Victor since the rebellion.”

“Right, let’s say we do better. You and me until the end?”

Regina holds out an outstretched palm, the promise ready to be sealed.

Isaiah doesn’t hesitate to take it.

“Until the end.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

There's little warning when Isaiah wakes.

Another second spent sleeping would've been his last. Fingers curl around his throat, pushing, pressing, with all of their might. He splutters, gasping for the air that's being denied to him. He reaches out a hand to try and force the assailant away but his vision's getting blurry, so blurry.

He braces himself for what's to come next, half-expecting in the haze that's fogging his mind for a blade to come crashing onto him at any moment.

Instead, the pressure releases.

Isaiah coughs and chokes as he gulps in as much air as he can, hands cupping his throat. He ignores the burning sensation of his raw skin, still struggling to find the air in his lungs.

His first thought is that Regina's done it to him. She tried to kill him and gave up because she can't do it, she values their promise too much.

Then he hears the grunt.

He does his best to move over and watch the scene as it unfolds before him.

Regina pins Sanaga down, screaming curses at her, calling her every name under the sun and then some more. It's manic and Champagne's voice chides in his head that he'd pity anyone who did hand-to-hand combat against Regina. Seeing his partner now, unleashing flurry of punches on the Four girl, he sees why.

Sanaga refuses to go down without a fight, though. She punches back; kicks and claws wherever she can and, when that doesn't work, she brandishes a blade.

It happens quicker than Isaiah can react - faster than he can move in the haze he's found himself in.

He coughs, chokes, as he tries to make his way over to them, to stop the blade that slashes at Regina's abdomen. He tries to stop her from retaliating because even though she's able to grab his sabre that he left near his sleeping bag and she's able to flick the blade at Sanaga, the damage is done.

Sanaga slashes once more with her dagger - a quick arch at Regina's neck - before she shoves the girl off and disappears just as fast as she came.

When he does get to Regina, Isaiah lays out his arms for her. He's barely able to get his breath but 'Keepers, Regina? It's bad.

Regina’s lighter than she was at the Volunteer Ball. Smaller, too.

“Don’t go,” Regina barely manages, eyes firmly staying tracked on his. Her voice is a grovel, the undercurrented by pain.

Isaiah shuffles around in their tent, maneuvering her so she can lie on his chest because if she’s going to die then he’s going to do his utmost to make sure she’s comfortable. Her blood spills onto his bare arms and it’s disgustingly warm but he doesn’t care – he can’t care. Not now, not when Regina looks at him with eyes that desperately try to anchor herself to the world.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Reggie,” Isaiah says and he means it. He knows he doesn’t want to leave her just as much as he knows, if he wins, the image he’s worked for years to curate is shattered. The chill, broody golden boy who’s the blueprint who everyone thought could win the Games as easy as anything, crumbling because his district partner’s dying.

Let them think what they want, Isaiah decides when he briefly wonders what the people at the Academy think, seeing their non-committal and easy-going golden boy who rarely has a care in the world suddenly caring very much.

“I’ll be here.”

Regina smiles and it's obvious from the way her face contorts that it hurts, all of it. “Th-thanks Izzy. Maybe Champagne was right about you.”

He wants to ask her what she means by that, to pick her brains about the boy he’s always said he doesn’t like in that way. He wants to distract her, to take away the pain, but she closes her eyes and winces. It’s not a good time. Never will be. Instead, he’s there for her, just like she wants.

When her cannon goes off, Isaiah decides firmly that Sanaga Angelez has to die no matter what.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

His body protests him moving. His joints click when they're forced into a steady pace, his muscles burning with an ache he's not felt for so long. Isaiah ignores it.

The earth shakes again.

He and Regina had found out that there was a flooding on the mountain side of the arena; the ledge and cove where he once found some respite long lost under the water that the Gamemakers must've stored in the mountain itself.

He mourns the moment as he thinks of it, missing the dumb innocence he had that flexing and bouncing his chest would get him success. Regina's necklace that now hangs from his neck brings him back to the present.

Isaiah becomes aware of the eyes of the owner of the necklace's matching band. He has no doubt that Champagne's watching him from the Academy back home. Maybe he's with the other members of the Edenrose family and they're all looking to him to take what is deserved, to pay back what is owed. Isaiah's sure he will - he promised himself as much as Regina died in his arms - but he also wants to live. He wants to save himself, go back home to his parents and brother and embrace a life he's dreamt about for so long.

If he fails to uphold his unspoken promise in order to make that happen, he'll live with the consequences. Just like he always has done, he'll do anything in the pursuit of victory.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Sanaga doesn't even have the gall to try and conceal herself.

Isaiah finds her on the beachfront and bites back a snark about how it's fitting for her. Her face is no less welcoming than it's been throughout their time in the Capitol, yet it looks nastier, meaner. Gone are the fake pretences of trying to work together for a greater good. She, as much as he does, can smell victory and they both know they're each other's biggest obstacle for getting back home.

The waves are choppier than they have been - darker, too.

Even if his opponent had given him an easy fight, it seems the Capitol does not. They want blood and who is Isaiah to deny them of that?

"I'd say it's good to see you," He says. "But that's a lie. There's nobody I'd rather see least."

"Don't flatter me One," she spits, though Isaiah can hear the undercurrent of uncertainty.

Though they're both fucked from their time in the arena, Isaiah's got the upperhand thanks to salvaging whatever he could from Regina before the hovercraft took her away. It shows too - he's more ready to bounce on the balls of his feet than she is.

"Unless you're here to thank me."

"Why would I thank you?" Isaiah can't help the snarl that escapes from his lips, the incredulous thought of him being in debt to Sanaga Angelez for anything is enough to make his blood boil.

Sanaga begins to pace. "Because I took out an Edenrose. Saves you the job."

He frowns.

Isaiah hates that, in some ways, she’s right and they both know it. He hates that her words bloom into the doubt that he's nursed in his head since the Selection Tourney; the question, if push came to shove, who would the District One team save? Him, the spare to an economic dynasty or another who could join the illustrious line of Edenrose Victors? He wants to believe Sylvain would argue for the first but he's not so sure.

"Not that it matters," Sanaga continues with a shrug. "I'll take both of you, if you're handing yourself to me so nicely."

Isaiah doesn't bother to stifle the growl he lets out, instead barrelling towards her with his sabre readied. Usually he fights in a flashy way - dazzling and the envy of many, claps always given to his victory. Now, when he sees red and feels a rage that he wasn't sure he was ever capable of feeling, he just wants her gone.

She parries it fairly easily with her sword, but the momentum from his swing forces her to wobble on her feet. He sees the weakness and tries to swing again and she blocks it.

A click too late, but she blocks it.

Sanaga uses her weight to push against him, breaking the stalemate of their blades against one another. She swings in a wide arch, forcing him to take some steps back.

He rolls his neck, loosens his muscles. He pounces again.

Though Sanaga can't stop the flick of his sabre, she's able to spin on her foot and elbow his side enough to disorient him. Isaiah has to damn near roll on the sand, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation that comes with it, just to dodge a brutal down swing from her.

He skitters some distance away, breathing heavy.

“Was tryna get to you first,” Sanaga manages, “Heh, but she fucking threw herself at me the moment I tried. Last mistake she ever made was allying with you, huh?.”

He lets himself breathe and regain his composure. He knows fighting on a blurred head is bad, idiotic and the reason why he's been able to beat so many back at the Academy. And yet, the way she talks about him and Regina...

There's a guttural sound that Isaiah can't recognise as himself making before he charges again. He swings down again, adjusting for Sanaga's slight pirouette and catching her arm.

She lets out a strangled noise before she swings blindly. It's all Isaiah can do to scrunch his face up as he sees the light reflect in the blade that's aimed straight for his face. He tilts his head back as far as it can go, ignoring his neck’s protests.

When the tip of Sanaga's sword slashes against his forehead and cheek, Isaiah immediately clamps his free hand to where it struck as he staggers backwards. He feels blood and feels it gushing. His fingers are slick but he refuses to relent. His expression contorts into something monstrous .

He unleashes a fury of parries, the song of metal on metal teeming off of the sand.

Ignore the pain. Win first.

Sanaga refuses to give-up; she blocks and nudges his strokes away. She even manages to get the one-up on him a few times, forcing him to change his stance. But, when she gives him an opening, he kicks her in the stomach. Hard.

The sand swishes to accommodate her as she’s knocked to the ground, a dull thud giving away just how hard he kicked her. She gasps for air, the wind taken out of her, as she tries to find some grip in the sand around her. It reddens quickly as he brings his sabre down once, then twice. A third, just to be safe. Isaiah only stops when he hears her cannon resound out.

One left.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Sylvain sends him a proper eyepatch. Or, at least, that’s what Isaiah calls it. Nothing more than a glorified bandage with enough gauze to put the infirmary back home to shame, it’s hardly the victorious thing Isaiah imagines victors wearing as they win.

So he calls it an eyepatch.

Though he can see out of his eye fine he knows it’s better like this, even if it's disorienting. The cut Sanaga did on his face, though not deep, bleeds and aches and he knows it’d be best to sew it up. If he had the supplies, he’d do it himself. Maybe he does and he should, but there’s something more on his mind. There’s only him and one other tribute left; the Thirteen boy, if he remembers correctly.

The eyepatch isn’t without a note.

His mentor’s been pretty stingy with them so Isaiah takes the time to read it. Bring it home, it says. Handwritten, too.

Isaiah wants to laugh – the doubt he intends to do anything less is interesting to him.

As if I’d lose to a kid from Thirteen.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Just me and the Golden Boy, huh?"

Isaiah doesn't deign the taunt with a reply.

The Thirteen boy looks worse for wear. Whatever steady stream of supplies the Anti-Careers had been getting must've stopped as the numbers dwindled and they got picked off by the Careers.

Or, perhaps, he's always looked this awful and Isaiah never noticed, blinded by the inner workings of his own alliance.

In any case, it's commendable that he's made it so far. It's a slap in the face for Isaiah, who was so sure he'd be facing another Career for the victory.

Sanaga, maybe.

Perhaps the Gamemakers went out of their way to make sure he'd be going against one of the tributes he so direly underestimated at every possible time.

"Not the talkative one? Whatever, I can do this. I can kill you."

"No," Isaiah says, finally giving the Thirteen boy his attention. "Wannabe Careers don't win."

Thirteen snorts. "No? I bet that's what your allies thought." He still stands a fair distance back, showing no signs of stepping closer despite how tightly he holds the sword. Regina's warning of him being the strongest Anti-Career flashes in his head. "Two told me that as well and she died because of me, right?"

When Isaiah refuses to reply, he carries on. "And we killed Seven - Four and Two as well. Face it, we fucking decimated you this year. Showed all of Panem you don’t need to be a shitty Career to do well."

His joints ache as he charges at the Thirteen boy.

If the boy wasn't an Outer District kid, he might've expected the way Isaiah starts with a large arch of his sabre, meant to disstabilise him and his stance. If he were a Career, he might know that Isaiah's parries that seem laboured as a roux, a little game to give the Capitol and Panem the finale they show desperately desire. If he had been trained in any capacity better than the shit show they offer in the Training Center, he'd know to try and run or use his fists as he's disarmed.

Instead, the boy from Thirteen - Warwick, Isaiah remembers again - doesn't know any of it. He stumbles backwards as Isaiah's sabre splits open his ribcage, hands going to clutch whatever falls out.

His last words hang dryly in the air, wasted on a taunt that means nothing.

He glares at Isaiah as the sabre flicks across his neck, the blood that spews being far dirtier than the cut could ever be. His stare, his angry brown eyes, stay in Isaiah's mind, even as their real life counterparts turn glossy and -

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I present to you, the Victor of the One Hundred and Sixteenth Hunger Games, Isaiah Wentworth of District One!"

Chapter Text

Isaiah has one of the fastest recovery rates, apparently, and he supposes that’s a good thing. A doctor’s told him that his eye was able to be saved and he won’t have to walk around wearing an eyepatch. Oddly enough, he mourns the idea of a golden eyepatch and curses Sanaga again from the grave.

How long do I need to be here for?

The thought dances around his head whenever he's awake, which is most of the time. "You're the first Victor in a few years who's not been completely out of it when they've won," another doctor tells him but that doesn't make him feel any less exhausted. Sleep comes and goes and Isaiah finds it nice to just close his eyes and not worry if someone's about to strangle him to death.

Eventually, he asks someone when he's awake. Slightly delirious from the drips and medicine they're pumping through his body to stabilize him and return him to something that resembles how he looked before, but awake nonetheless.

The person's the Victor of the previous Games, his predecessor.

"Until they decide." Their tone isn't unkind nor does it belittle him in a way that he knows any of the District One Victors would. It's truthful, though, and deflates him a little.

"Is it bad?" Isaiah decides to ask instead. "My... face."

An easy smile appears on the Victor's lips as they shake their head. "No, not really." They lean in, inspecting it before letting out a gentle chuckle. "It looks kinda cool, actually. Think you'll be a Capitol heartthrob now - if you weren't one before."

Isaiah can't tell if the idea amuses or horrifies him. The attention he's gotten from the Capitol, whilst it's revered him in ways being the head of a District One dynasty couldn't do, it hurts. There's a price to pay and the Capitol will collect what it's owed no matter the cost.

"According to the latest Jabber polls, you've dethroned Lancaster Tyrell as One's biggest heartthrob."

Maybe he does like the Capitol's attention, if it keeps at a distance and through a screen.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

When they do release him into Sylvain's care, cameramen and journalists hang close to the hospital. Isaiah manages to flash a warm, winning smile that they eat up yet, in Sylvain's presence, he feels almost juvenile. It's like he's transported back to the Academy and he's smiling to the twelvies who follow his every movement.

Sylvain doesn't seem to care; he celebrates Isaiah as the latest of District One's Victors, parading him with a smile that's decidedly proud.

When they get back to the apartments, the bear hug Isaiah's pulled into is suffocating as it is reassuring, warm. "What a show, Isaiah."

A smaller smile tugs at Isaiah's cheeks. One of his genuine ones - the ones that are scraggly, slightly crooked with the dimple on his right cheek showing, shy and small. Not the canine-led, perfect smile he puts on for the cameras.

Sylvain releases him, only to lead him with an arm around the shoulder to the plush sofa. Drinks and an array of the snacks Isaiah likes are already laid out. He takes one of the biscuits and nibbles on it, scared it might vanish in an instance.

His mentor's smile is so proud, it's blinding. "You did it, kiddo, spectacular. You really showed those Anti-Careers how we do it, huh?"

Isaiah nods, almost shyly. "Yessir."

"And that Four girl - absolute cinema."

Guilt pangs at his heart when Sanaga's mentioned and Isaiah realises just how empty the sofa is without Regina at his side.

He tries to ignore it, though, and gives Sylvain a smile to match his own.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

All of One's Victors come and see him in the days following.

The ones he's more familiar with seek him out - the others congratulate him in passing, all with the same, proud smile on their faces. The Edenrose VIctors all commend him on killing Sanaga and avenging Regina. It makes him feel better, in a way. Vindicated, too.

Shimmer Edenrose is the last of the Victors to see him.

Isaiah's shocked to see her when there's a rasp at his door on the day of his crowning, half-expecting Sylvain with some last minute tips. Instead, it's Shimmer with her eyes missing some of the sparkle they had before the arena. He invites her in and she perches on the edge of his bed, eyes trained on the floor.

They sit in silence, until -

"Congratulations on winning, you've done One proud."

There's a genuine smile on Shimmer's face when he looks at her , proud and endearing. It reminds him so much of Regina it hurts.

"I -" Words fail him. His heart, head, fail him too because he doesn't know what to say. He didn't before, as in before Regina was killed because of him, but he always imagined it'd be them in the final showdown and there'd be nothing to explain.

And yet, here and now, he's searching for words that can't describe how he feels.

"Thank-you." He eventually decides. Simple is good. A lot less dangerous, too.

Shimmer hums. It's distant, cold. Not at him but at the hole in both of their lives.

"I thought she could do it. I really thought she could. Thought I'd see her in the laurels," she says wistfully, eyes trained somewhere in the distance, overlooking a reality that'll never be. "No offence."

"None taken."

Isaiah can't blame her, not really. He can't blame her because he knows he'd be the same; if there was some world where Elias was in the Games and he was a mentor, he'd do anything to see his brother home safely.

He thinks he'd be good at that, successful too; but how sure was Shimmer?

Shimmer cracks her knuckles, stretches her fingers and picks at the hem of her shirt.

Isaiah doesn't mind the silence. It's a nice break from the deafening applause that seems to linger just outside the Tribute Tower at all times; a nice break from people swarming him and congratulating him. The silence, with Shimmer, is welcomed. Here, Regina is with them again; acknowledged as part and parcel with Isaiah as One's latest starlets.

Isaiah shudders at the finality of being the only of the arena to escape.

Sanaga said it was meant to be me.

The thought's burned in the back of his head since the night in the arena. A dull, low flame that's stubborn and persistent and illuminates his darkest fears in the nights. He's managed to ignore it so far, focusing on the next step of the process, the next part of being a Victor, but with Shimmer...

He can't stop himself.

"San... Sanaga said it was supposed to be me," he rushes. His hands start to shake as all of the choices he could've made differently, all the different paths things could've gone down to see Regina still alive, hit him at once. "Bu... But it wasn't. It, it was Regina and, and she didn't need to save me but she did and she's dead because of it but she didn't need to and -"

Shimmer takes his hands in hers and clutches them tight. Her eyes have a ferocity to them that Isaiah recognises from watching her Games. Instead of malice there's understanding. Sadness too, but understanding.

"She didn't need to do that. Heck, I wouldn't've." Isaiah appreciates the honesty, even if it does harrow him at how lucky he was to get Regina. "But she did. I'm just glad you showed that bitch what happens when you fuck with One."

Isaiah lets himself smile - even more so when Shimmer pulls him into a hug.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

His family alternates between smothering him with attention and giving him space.

His parents are better at the latter, though his father still keeps the door to his office open, just in case Isaiah needs to be enveloped in a hug again, just like when he was younger. Elias, though, follows him around like a lost puppy.

Isaiah doesn't mind it one bit.

Elias is with him when he finally makes the move to the Victor's Village a week or so after he gets back in One. He helps Isaiah back - or, more accurately, packs for him - and takes the reins of the boring logistical side of things.

"Consider it training," Elias says when Isaiah tries to protest, tries to say that he's a /Victor/ and he's more than capable of doing the little things. "For when I have to coordinate shipments to the Capitol."

There's something oddly cathartic about the way Elias speaks about being the heir to their family's fortune now he's won the Hunger Games. Before, Isaiah's searched for an answer about what happens when, inevitably, Elias takes over? What happens to him, the younger brother? The spare? There's other questions that float around it, mostly concerned with volunteering, but it's always just been this one big mess he couldn't ever seem to navigate.

Now, a Victor, he sees the path. There's one, just for him, and it's only his. It's selfish, the way he enjoys not having to live in Elias' shadow (not that Elias has ever once made him feel that way), but it's for the best. The jealousy he's harboured for so long - the life he's always envied from afar - doesn't need to be his because he's found the glory he's craved. Now they can both thrive in the environments they've trained to excel in.

It doesn't take long to unpack all of his things from the family home and the volunteer suites at the Academy. There's barely enough to fill most of the rooms and, for the most part, he keeps things as they are with all the Capitol-issued furniture. Isaiah remembers, as the put the finishing touches in the kitchen, that his escort mentioned something about a catalogue he could see on his new cellular and, when he broaches the idea with Elias, his brother's already creating moodboards out of the dust from the move.

When they're finished and take a step back, Isaiah doesn't expect the bear hug he's pulled into.

It's tight and suffocates him but not uncomfortably. Where it perhaps should, it fails to resemble the sensation of being strangled and, instead, feels like a promise being fulfilled. Isaiah hugs back, only tapping out when he decides that he does need to breathe.

"Sorry," Elias says, lips curling into a bashful smile. "I just... I missed you, Isaiah."

Isaiah blinks, then furrows his eyebrows. "I was just gone to the bathroom - was I that long?"

His brother snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. A playful shove to his shoulder comes not too long after. "No, dumbass. I meant, I missed you during the Games. You were gone too long."

"I missed you too," Isaiah says. He doesn't need to think about it because he means it. "I kept thinking about you in the arena."

"Yeah? Imagining me taking down some Anti-Careers?"

"No." Isaiah doesn't want to entertain that scenario, even if he knows he'd never let anyone harm Elias. "Just, the little things. Like when I nearly tripped down the mountain..."

"Oh yeah, that was funny. Dad nearly choked on his drink because he laughed so much."

Isaiah shoots him an incredulous look. "Dad did? Really? Mom as well?" Isaiah cringes at how quickly Elias nods his head. He pauses, eyes narrowing, already knowing the answer. "Did you laugh?"

Elias' mirthful smile is enough for Isaiah to tackle him to the ground, under the guise of play fighting, just like they used to do when they were kids.

He doesn't mind one bit that it becomes another bear hug.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

It's not until two weeks later that Isaiah sees Champagne.

Well, he's seen him at the various Victor events because, as an Edenrose, Champagne's there too, but they don't properly see each other until Isaiah's comfortably settled back home.

As comfortable as he'll ever be, he supposes.

Champagne strolls into the small gym the Academy's kept private just for the Victors. It's nicer with weapons imported straight from the Capitol and the dummies the Victors use when teaching about which arteries to cut and what non-lethal cuts can yield the most blood. Isaiah's not sure how much he prefers it, but it's a sanctuary away from the prying eyes of the entire Academy, all who crane their necks for a chance to steal a glance at him.

"I thought this was Victors only?" He says as the Edenrose stands squarely opposite him. His hair's tussled in the same way it usually is and, judging from the glistening of his bare arms, he's just done some workout or another.

Not that Isaiah's staring at his arms, of course.

"Perks of being a brother to a Victor," Champagne shrugs, the easy smile that's become ingrained in Isaiah's mind playing on his lips.

He didn't notice it from afar but, up close, Isaiah notices that Champagne's also lost some of the sparkle in his eyes; the mischievous glint is dulled and the presence of a third person joins them in Isaiah's head.

Isaiah's so far in his head, he doesn't notice Champagne closing the gap, though he registers that he's taken the sabre and laid it gently on the floor.

"Damn, the scar looks cooler in person." There's mirth in Champagne's tone, amusement too and, if Isaiah doesn't know any better, some sort of flirting he's heard the other guys use when they try and shoot their shot with the archery girls.

"It does?" Isaiah feels like his brain's short-circuiting. "It's not..."

"Ugly? Hideous? Monstrous?"

"I was just gonna say bad, yikes..."

Champagne laughs. "I'm kidding, Hotshot. It's fine - cool, like I said. Kind of adds to the boyish charm you got going on, I can't lie. It suits you."

Regina's words hit him like a train. I see why Champagne likes you so much.

When Champagne notices a dip in the energy, he adjusts. His hands hover close to Isaiah's, seeking approval to hold them. Isaiah lets him. "Thinking about Reg?" Champagne asks quietly.

"How did yo-" Isaiah starts before seeing the other boy's knowing look. "Yes."

"You've got that far off look in your eye. Shim gets it sometimes too."

Isaiah hums and nods. Then, "Did you wish it was her and not me? To make it out, I mean?"

The question takes Champagne by surprise, both eyebrows raised as he stifles a nervous laugh. "That's a loaded question, Isaiah." If it weren't for another laugh after, Isaiah might've mistaken the words as rude. He also just really, really doesn’t like it when Champagne doesn’t call him Hotshot.

"Sorry, I just..." Isaiah averts his eyes. "Just plays on my head a lot, y'know? Being with her and now with your family..."

"I get it." Champagne stops and thinks for a second. He inhales deeply and his face looks more saged than Isaiah ever thinks he's seen. Looks eerily like the stern face Augustus Braun, the Head Trainer of the Academy, pulls out.

"I'm sad she's not here," he eventually says. "Wish we could share a joke again but... wish she was here? As a Victor?" He shakes his head. "Regina wasn't cut out for it. Always told everyone else she was but she thought she had no choice, not really."

"But she was so hyped about beating Seraphina - and in the interviews, she called it her destiny and -"

"She wanted the experience, I think." Champagne shrugs again, sadness etched into his tone. "Didn't want to live a life on the sidelines, I guess. She said something to be about dying in a blaze of glory or becoming a star in her own right. I guess Four made the choice for her."

"I'm sorry," Isaiah says before he can stop himself.

Champagne shakes his head and then smiles. "Stop. Didn't Shimmer tell you that she made her choice?"

Isaiah nods, guilty.

"Then she made her choice. Besides, she told me not to expect her coming home. I didn’t believe her at first but…" Champagne sighs after a moment. "I dunno what to think, really, but I don't think you being the Victor is a bad thing, if that's what you're asking."

It's not, but Isaiah likes the answer all the same.

When he can help the smile that comes to his face, he’s shocked to feel Champagne’s thumb at the side of his cheek.

“Since when did you have a dimple?” He asks, not accusatory but mostly bemused, intrigued with that dumb sparkle in his eyes that Isaiah’s learnt he gets when he’s interested.

“Always?” Isaiah replies dumbly, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to figure out the suave way to hide the fact he’s hidden the dimple and his crooked, natural smile because it’s not part of One’s beauty. “Guess you’re just not observant.”

Champagne shakes his head. “No, no, I’m plenty observant. You been holding this out on me? Dude, we literally spent all year together!”

Isaiah bites his lip. In the past he’d be confused about this – deny the rapport they have going on but the arena’s changed him. He still doesn’t know what it means and what that makes him, but Isaiah decides he wants to figure it out. He’s a Victor now anyway, he has the time. "Maybe... Maybe there's just more you need to observe."

Champagne's grin is something he's used to; the cheeky, infectious smile that was there before the arena and seems to be holding strong now. "Oh trust me, Hotshot, I'll be taking notes."

Isaiah smiles and, for once, doesn't question his cheeks heating up.

"Trust me Edenrose, there's a lot to learn."

And, honestly, Isaiah's excited to learn too.