Chapter Text
Stirring from slumber, the first thing that could be felt before the dawn even broke was the deep, unsettling coldness that paired exceptionally well with the crushing emptiness. The emptiness was common, the coldness not so much. Though the chill had nothing to do with Inazuma’s climate and everything to do with the day. December 31st. Reaping Day.
Kunikuzushi sat up from his futon, the permanent ache from working at the forge rising with him. He rubbed his eyes and glanced briefly at the shuttered windows. Light couldn’t creep in much on a bright day, but the lack of even a dull haze told him that he was up well before dawn. Great. Exactly what he needed on Reaping Day, to be nervous and tired, not even for the day itself but for the work he had to do beforehand. He would try to sneak off with Niwa, hoping they could catch even a small break before the event itself. Assuming the place wouldn’t be crawling with Fatui agents, which it would be. President Pantalone would have not a single uproar to douse the festive fire of his precious Reaping Day; for the president, the Gamemakers, and the citizens of the Capital all loved the Games. They would love it a lot less if they were active participants like the rest of them.
He got up and stretched, the unpleasant string of thoughts followed by an even more unpleasant popping of his back. Walking to the kitchen, he checked the container where he typically kept the rice and frowned to see that it was nearly empty. He had forgotten to purchase more and he chose to blame it on the stress of work.
His mother was a victor. So, while most others in his district had to struggle to stay alive, it guaranteed that they would be set for life, though he didn’t know if that had an expiration date in his case. That said, however, his mother’s status as a victor didn’t exempt him from being selected for the Games. On previous Reaping Days, he would have been incredibly anxious to march with the other youths and fresh adults in District 12. This one was quite different. Kunikuzushi was 20 years old, his birthday just on the horizon. After this Reaping Day, he would be done, officially aging out. His name would be removed from the lottery and he would finally be free of the Hunger Games and the headache that came with it.
As he began to prepare his breakfast, his mind began to wander. Water and rice burbled in a pot and he distantly wondered what his mother was doing. He imagined she was in the Capital, soaking up the praise and attention with that pink haired vixen at her side. She certainly was not writing or calling him, her only child. A son she dearly loved before the Games consumed her in more ways than just one. Or, at least, that’s what he had been told.
Ei was District 12’s first victor in years. She was 19 when she gave birth to him, the event being followed by being selected for the Games at 20. His earliest memory, being just barely one year old, was of her warm eyes and gentle smile. He had been entrusted to a family who had a son older than him, but only by a couple of years, while his mother went off to fight for her life in the Capital's favorite game. He often cried for her, spending many sleepless nights in the arms of a woman that smelled of smoke and despair. When his mother was crowned the victor, he remembered feeling an overwhelming sense of joy. He was basically just a baby, but even then he understood that his mother was coming home. All he cared about was getting to see her again.
Except she hadn’t come home. Kunikuzushi hadn’t realized it until he grew up, but she practically lived in the Capital after winning the Games. Her interviews at the Capital hit the hardest when he watched them, and he did watch all of them. She would be herself, the version of her he was told about, excluding the haunted look in her eyes. When he came up in conversation, she would dodge the question, beat around the bush, or simply not answer at all. Oh yes, his mother was living it up in the Capital, a vixen at her side, her son completely forgotten.
Just like his breakfast.
He hissed in pain as the boiling water splashed on his hand, snapping it back immediately. He turned down the stove and wiped his hand off with a nearby towel. He didn’t have time to dwell on his mother or even the Games. Before anything else, he had a job to do and a mouth to feed. So, in this house as empty as his mother’s heart, he waited. For his breakfast to be done, for his day to start. For the ability for time to go just a bit faster so he could put his final Reaping Day behind him for good.
~~~
Teyvat’s District 12, Inazuma, was the poorest district of the supercontinent despite the role it played in the president’s favorite game. The forge almost never stopped, producing weapons specifically used in the Games. Swords of all varieties, throwing knives, maces, spears, javelins, and the like. The hours were poor and they required boys as young as 12 and men as old as 60 to work there. There was no amount of mercy shown for Inazuma’s citizens. If you were lucky, they would let you stop working there if you had lost a hand, or if your eyesight was failing, or some other stunting disability. That in itself was a stretch. This world had no mercy for them. Even the son of a victor wasn’t necessarily exempt from work, especially when his mother wasn’t there to say anything. Kunikuzushi had a feeling that, should she stand up and say she didn’t want her son working at the forge, they would bend to her demands and make it so. However, parading the victors around like trophies was a practice so common that he couldn’t blame his mother for never being around, not completely. The victors, despite having just won a game of incredible brutality, needed to be shown off and kept complicit. That was the crux of it all, really. They won the game, yet the only thing they truly won was their lives, money, and the right to be a traveling act for the Capital’s entertainment.
At least, that’s what Kunikuzushi had thought when he turned 12. But they didn’t come knocking on his door. They didn’t demand it. Working in the forge was a choice for him. A choice he made in regards to his second family.
Fortunately for everyone, December was the only good time to work in the forge. Sure, it was incredibly warm inside, but Inazuma’s winters were quite cool, and they even got the occasional snow flurry in January or February. No one wanted to be outside in December, not with the anxiety of the Fatui agents hanging over them all like a cloud, but the forge workers certainly didn’t want to be inside during their allotted break time, so they ignored the Fatui agents for a moment of chilled bliss.
The sound of hammers slamming against red-hot metal rang out from sunrise to sunset, so much so that it turned into something of an anthem in District 12. An anthem of pain, sacrifice, and oppression. An anthem of overwork and underappreciation. Kunikuzhi had no doubt that the president would forget about them entirely if they didn’t make the weapons for his games. They already got the short end of the stick anyway, being the poorest district. Everyone in District 12 could drop dead right now and no one would notice until next November, when the shipments of weapons would be taken by Fatui agents into the Capital.
“Did you read the Teyvat Times this morning?” Kunikuzushi’s only friend, Niwa, asked as he dipped a freshly hammered broadsword (highly impractical) into the tub of water beside the workstation, the contact making a loud hiss.
“Of course not,” he replied, rolling his eyes as he slammed his hammer down on what would be a long, thin sword.
“Get this,” Niwa murmured, pressing his lips to Kunikuzushi’s ear, “apparently, the president is in a scandalous romance with the head Gamemaker.”
He jerked his head away, but let out a scoffing laugh at Niwa’s ridiculous eyebrow wiggle. Teyvat Times was a gossip magazine personally approved by President Pantalone. Most of the articles were about him, but there were a few about some Capital bigshots, and only one that contained actual news. He personally thought the whole thing was stupid, but their beloved president thought it was amazing, and so it became a permanent fixture in the lives of everyone in Teyvat that was willing to shell out the Mora to buy one.
Niwa began hammering a new, smaller piece of metal before continuing, “You know that woman that’s always taking the head Gamemaker’s place when he’s out or whatever? Rhinedottir, I think. Rumor has it that she died of some kind of illness and her son is gonna take her place.”
“Who’s her son?” Kunikuzushi asked, despite not actually caring. He had a special hatred for people who willingly worked for the Capital.
“Didn’t say.” Niwa dipped the small, now blade-like piece of metal into the tub. “Apparently, they’re keeping his identity a secret.”
He scoffed but that was as far as his acknowledgement to the subject went. As he hammered away at the metal before him, he thought of how truly doubtful it was that she had died of an illness. Maybe if it was someone here, then it would make sense. Rhinedottir lived in the Capital, where all of the best medical treatment was. Kunikuzushi imagined they had cures for nearly everything there. He suspected that her death wasn’t because of any illness, but rather because she said something the president didn’t like. He had seen Fatui agents kill people here in District 12 for saying even one negative word against President Pantalone and, in fear of meeting that fate himself, he kept his speculations about Rhinedottir to himself.
Hours of work granted them a single 15 minute break at 1:15. They sat outside of the forge, letting the cool wind soothe their aching, sweat-covered selves. Despite having been covered in leather gloves, Kunikuzushi’s hands burned as he ate his small serving of leftover soba. Niwa had brought it from his home, which happened to be Kunikuzushi’s childhood home. Despite the fact that his mother technically owned the largest house in Inazuma, he rarely stayed there. That wasn’t his home. He had only stayed there last night because he desperately needed space before Reaping Day. Like most young adults in District 12, Niwa still lived in his childhood home, given that not only were houses rare here, but they were also unreasonably priced.
Niwa’s family was the closest thing he had to one. His mother had entrusted him to them before she went into the Games. They were his family, more than she ever was. They refused to take money from him, despite the fact that he had more of it than he knew what to do with since his mother’s win. It was because of that he footed their grocery bills himself as soon as he got to the age where he knew how so they never went hungry. Niwa’s mother always did her best when taking care of him, just like a mother would. She never passed up an opportunity to fuss over his small appetite though. Despite it all, she always made sure his portions weren’t too big, decreasing them even more on Reaping Day.
“After the Reaping tonight, Mom wants you to come by for dinner,” Niwa said, slurping his noodles. “I know you like your alone time after the Reaping and everything but this’ll be your last one before you age out. She wants to celebrate that.”
Kunikuzushi thought about it for a moment. It was true, he ran off to the farthest end of the district he could after a Reaping. He often had panic attacks in that private time, far away from any prying eyes and listening ears. His greatest fear was that he would be selected, and then he would become a puppet for the Capital, just as his mother had.
The feather pendant felt heavy around his neck at that moment. His mother had left it to him and, as much as he hated her now, he couldn’t force himself to take it off.
“I’ll be there.”
~~~
The 6:00 p.m. bell rang out at the church people rarely visited anymore. People emerged from their homes in the best clothes they could afford, mostly consisting of once vibrantly colored kimono and yukata. Kunikuzushi’s own outfit was simple: simple geta sandals, hakama, and a haori jacket all bathed in the same white and light purple. He didn’t think it suited him at all. Maybe it would have when he was younger, though. People who were no longer able to be reaped and simply wanted to act as moral support for their family members or friends were dressed significantly more casually.
The air was suffocating and tense as the crowd walked to the town hall, Fatui agents at the front and rear of the crowd. Kunkuzushi and Niwa shared none of their typical banter as they walked side by side. Very soon, they would be separated, Niwa standing off to the side in the moral support crowd while Kunikuzushi stood among those in his age group. The check-in entered his line of sight and he felt his stomach drop. It never got any easier, going through this routine. His legs threatened to lock up, though Niwa’s reassuring, albeit forced, smile kept him going.
“I’ll see you later, okay, Kuni?” Niwa said quietly. “Don’t flake on us now, we have a lot to celebrate.”
“As if I’d do something like that,” Kunikuzushi said with a small huff of laughter. “Now get out of here.”
Niwa branched off as Kunikuzushi got in line for the check-in. It used to scare him when he was a kid, even if it was nothing more than a simple prick of the finger. He didn’t like the sharp feeling. Now, however, he was used to it, with several little dotted scars on his index finger.
“Next,” the Fatui agent sitting at the table said, her Snezhnayan accent thick. She repeated herself when he didn’t immediately move, her tone sharpening. He offered his finger to her, she stuck it a little more forcefully than necessary, and then stamped it down on that little catalog of theirs. “Go ahead.”
Kunikuzushi walked forward, into the group of people around his age, most of them he recognized from the forge. They fidgeted, kept their eyes down, and didn’t utter a word. Aside from the sound of footsteps and Fatui agents calling for the next person, it was silent. It was crushing. They all knew what was coming. Two of them would be shipped off to the Capital, likely to meet Death much earlier than they deserved.
Once everyone was ushered in, a frivolous woman stepped onto the platform, her blue heels clicking on the rickety wood. Her hair was short, pale blue with streaks of ocean blue in there in a seemingly random pattern. Her eyelashes, styled oddly, were the same color as her hair and expressed much delight as she smiled upon the sheep before her. Kunikuzushi knew that’s all they were to the Capital and its people: lambs to the slaughter, every single one of them. The rest of her was just as blue and just as extravagant. Her outfit was a cross between Fontaine’s dignified elegance and the Capital’s need to be as flashy as possible.
She tapped the microphone thrice in rapid succession before speaking in a jovial voice, “Welcome, District 12, to the Reaping Day of the 49th annual Hunger Games! Now, before we get to the exciting part, we at the Capital have prepared a lovely presentation for you!”
All eyes cut to a large projector screen. Kunikuzushi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They played the same stupid program every single year.
President Panatalone’s father narrated a rather brutal part of Teyvat’s history, though Kunikuzushi was confident it was only a matter of time before their current president narrated this damn thing himself. A monotone voice relayed the events as if speaking from a piece of paper set before him. Some time ago, the districts had all collectively revolted against the Capital, back before they were districts and when they were all independent countries. Back when the Capital was simply a group of extremely powerful people who squashed the rebellion in merely a year’s time. The narration frames it as though the countries all sought to hurt those different from themselves, choosing to turn on that group first. The former president of Teyvat goes on to say that if they hadn’t been stopped, they would’ve turned on each other next and destroyed everyone and everything. These games were established as a punishment and a reminder; a reminder of what happens if anyone dares to step out of line ever again. Death awaited them.
Kunikuzushi always hated that and frankly never understood it. At that point, there had been no Capital to bend to the will of. He suspected that the countries had not wanted to be supremely ruled by a singular government.
The film ended and the frivolous woman, Furina de Fontaine, clapped enthusiastically. Kunikuzushi didn’t care to learn her name, often tuning out most of the program until the drawing came, but he had heard whispers from others claiming that’s who she was. They recognized her from Teyvat Times so it was only natural that, as someone who didn’t read the stupid magazine, he would have no clue who she was.
“Now that our wonderful Capital presentation has ended, it’s time for the moment we’ve all been waiting for!” Furina said with a beaming smile. “As always, ladies first!”
Her voice was incredibly singsongy and it made Kunikuzushi sick to his stomach. How could she be so happy about the death of children? How could anyone?
Because they are exempt from it, an angry voice hissed in the back of his head. That voice was right. They didn’t have to fight to the death for “glory and sacrifice”. They didn’t have to live in constant fear of being reaped. And even after they were past a certain age, they didn’t have to worry about pain and struggle. They would never, ever know that feeling.
Furina reached her hand into a glass bowl filled with names shuffling them around before pulling it out. She unfurled it and read out in a loud, giddy voice, “Yoimiya Naganohara!”
While he remained stoic outwardly as Yoimiya made her way forward, her head down and her hands trembling, Kunikuzushi’s heart went out to her. She helped her father run the firework stand here in Inazuma, one of the few luxuries they had. He had severe arthritis and was almost completely deaf, so he was one of the few lucky ones exempt from forge work. He couldn’t run the stand without her, and everyone knew it. He would likely starve to death or be forced to do forge work to feed himself.
“And now, the boys.” Furina reached into the bowl opposite of the first.
Normally, Kunikuzushi would be shaking by now from anxiety. He could feel tears brimming in his eyes, but not from fear. From bliss. His name wasn’t in there as much as Niwa’s had been and he never got selected. There was no way it would be him. The chances would be so slim it was almost laughing.
Furina unfolded the little slip of paper and announced to the entirety of District 12 the name written upon it, “Kunikuzushi Raiden! Or, perhaps I should say Raiden Kunikuzushi!”