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“There are no winners, only survivors.”
Sylus took these words to heart after witnessing all the carnage EVER had brought upon the world. After the word fell into chaos when wanderers attacked and reduced a city to ash, EVER took over and decided to pass the blame onto innocent people. Sylus couldn’t fight without causing much more pain and having too many people in the crossfire. The N109 zone was blocked off, and the rest of Linkon was separated. Sky Haven was the new world capitol.
For years, Sylus watched as EVER forced a cruel system into place: The Hunger Games. Each year, he watched people thrown into slaughter with one survivor, most tributes being younger than 18. Very few people remembered what the world was like before EVER. Sylus remembered, and he hated it. As much as the dragon wanted to protest and fight back, it was a losing battle on his own. Even with his allies, EVER was currently too powerful.
Sylus lost most of his contacts outside of Linkon or the N109 zone. The No Hunt zones were full of wanderers and modified to be different arenas to add a diverse watching experience. After all, watching the same old slaughter year after year got old. He knew far in the snowy mountain there used to be a safe haven where Doctor Noah had been. However, it was compromised when EVER struck. Lumiere had disappeared into thin air, and Sylus had no way of finding him. While Mephisto scoured beyond the borders, he had to be careful.
Sky Haven was full of revelry and greed. A perfect place for a dragon looking to feed, but Sylus found it disgusting. Everywhere he looked, he saw the depravity of humanity. These rich and privileges nobles would splurge on everything and anything, looking extravagant and trying to upstage one another in fashion. They ate beyond their limits and partied to their hearts content. They watched and laughed as children died every year. They looked down on Linkon and the N109 zone. Sylus hated them all.
The 10th Hunger Games revived the people's interest in the games. Sylus mourned the fact the games could have died out. But, no. Lucius, now President Lucius, came up with the idea to televise the games and make them a spectacle instead of just a slaughter. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, fleeting thoughts of Rafayel flashing through his mind. He was starting to forget what his Pearl looked like.
Rafayel had been an up and coming artist when he was reaped. He also had the most melodious, serene singing voice anyone could ever hear. Sylus missed hearing those melodies. EVER had covered up what happened to him after the Games. No one knows what happened to him. He just vanished afterwards. Some say he died, others say he survived and managed to run away from everything. Sylus didn’t let himself think about it. It didn’t matter what happened. Rafayel was still gone. Around his neck was a simple chain with a blue scale on it, hidden beneath his clothes. The scale hadn’t glowed in years. That’s all Sylus needed to know.
Many tributes that survived would live in the Capitol, and Sylus knew most of them. Though, he refused to make any bonds that EVER could manipulate. The organization was cruel, and their cruelty knew no bounds. Sylus remembered the poor tribute who committed suicide after their games only for EVER to create a clone of them as to not worry the Capitol citizens. Year after year, Sylus would see these traumatized children try to adjust to the extravagance of the Capitol. Going from bloodshed to having anything they could ever want.
Sylus never thought he’d experience being reaped, but the 25th Hunger Games changed that when the game makes decided to make the tributes adults that year. Since Sylus was a N109 citizen, he was qualified to be reaped. Being in that arena, fighting against the most desperate side of humanity had changed him. EVER had drugged the arena to suppress evols. Sylus killed everyone with his own skill and experience without the help of his evol. Ever since his games, evol suppressants were used. However, many evolvers didn’t reveal they had evol to protect themselves from exploitation.
“I couldn’t have killed them all for nothing…”
“PLEASE! I DON’T WANNA DIE!”
“I'm scared.”
“I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry!
“Guh! No, I can’t—”
“You’re a monster!”
“I…I have a family! Children!”
“I just have to kill you to win! I can’t lose!”
Sylus used to only kill those who crossed him and those who deserved to die. No one in that arena deserved to die. Not the adults and certainly not the children. The innocent blood on his hands haunted him, the souls he’d taken tasted horrible. He couldn’t give any of them a proper burial. If he didn’t want to be experimented on, he would’ve let the dragon loose.
“You’re not looking well,” Zayne, the victor of the 65th games, said, looking Sylus up and down, and the flask in his hand. “For someone who constantly drinks, I’ve never seen you drunk.”
“You don’t look the best either,” Sylus scoffed, looking Zayne up and down. The younger man looked tired, that haunted look in his eyes never fading. Sylus had remembered those games. Zayne had been the younger tribute to ever win. He still remembered the terrified look in his eyes when he couldn’t use his ice to protect himself. Seeing him survive, Sylus saw potential, and he’d taken it upon himself to make sure any victors were cared for in the Capitol. He couldn’t save everyone, but he tried.
Zayne narrowed his eyes and down a glass of champagne, despite knowing how much of a lightweight he was. No one said anything, knowing he liked the numb feeling when anyone in the Capitol wanted him. “Reaping Day is coming up,” he murmured, voice already slurring. “Are you going to mentor anyone this year?”
Sylus raised an eyebrow. “I suppose. I am one of the few N109 zone victors. It’s only fair I mentor the tributes reaped from there this year.” He looked at the extravagant party. “I saw the interview with Tara this morning. Caleb isn’t Game Maker this year, wonder why that is.”
“Maybe he just wanted a gap year,” Zayne shrugged. “I’m sure Viper will do fine,” he said bitterly. Viper wasn’t a victor like Caleb was. Lucius had gotten the great idea for the 70th games that a victor should be game maker as they had experience in the arena that could help make the games more unpredictable.
“Mm, perhaps,” Sylus sipped his flask. His eyes narrowed as he saw a Capitol citizen approach them, eyeing Zayne with a hunger Sylus didn’t like. Zayne was too intoxicated to notice. “Uh uh,” Sylus said smoothly, pulling Zayne close. “He’s mine for the night. I suggest looking elsewhere.”
“Hmph, you never share, Sylus,” the female—Alyssa, Sylus thought—huffed her cheeks puffing like a chipmunk. “I haven’t had him in so long.” She batted her eyelids at him, swaying. “Come on, Sylus,” she purred. “Sharing is caring after all.”
Sylus’ eyes flashed dangerously before he put on a charming smile. “Alyssa, I suggest you move faster next time.” He gently urged Zayne out of the party, shooting a glare at the rest of the guests. Sylus took the intoxicated man to his room, letting him rest. He’d never take advantage of anyone despite what others thought. He’d take the rumors and the jabs at his character to keep those he wanted safe.
Sylus took one last drink from his flask, and glanced at Zayne, sleeping somewhat peacefully. The alcohol also kept the nightmares away. He sighed heavily.
One day, he’d burn everything to the ground.