Chapter Text
Day One:
Kingdom
Dia Octave, D8F, 18, 93rd Games
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Dia never thought she was special. In fact, she knew she wasn’t special. It was pure bad luck that had gotten her reaped for the Games, bad luck that had torn her away from her family and sent her into the last place she ever wanted to go.
The Capitol had been a whirlwind of lights and color, the colors far more saturated than anything she’d experienced in district eight. It was odd, to think that the fabric her parents had woven was turned into something unrecognizable there. She certainly hadn’t gotten used to it while being in the Capitol, and now that she was in the games, she felt even more of a disconnect.
Her arena uniform felt strange as she ran, the fabric constantly shifting colors with her mood. Her stylist had told her that any strong mood would make the colors brighter, and she had interpreted that to mean she had to push her emotions down as far as possible. Dia couldn’t help the intense blue that lit up her uniform from neck to foot as she ran behind her two remaining allies.
The kind district five tribute that had been a couple years younger than her was dead. He’d been speared in the back during the first few minutes of the games, falling over into the murky water that threatened to rise up and swallow everyone as the bloodbath went on. She still couldn’t believe he was dead. They’d sang songs together in training, with her voice cracking as his voice rose above to compensate for her squeakiness. Everyone always said she should have been better at singing, given her parents’ talent.
“Dia, hurry up!” came a voice from ahead of her, making her realize that she’d slowed down far too much while being deep in thought. A flare of bright purple embarrassment rippled down her uniform, causing her to pick up the pace and hope that her two remaining allies hadn’t noticed her emotions changing. Jogging, she struggled to keep up.
The constant hum of the arena was already hurting her head. It was like an intense bassline, thrumming along and wiggling into her ears like a worm. She really wanted to find somewhere to hide from it, but it was constant and continued to drone on.
Finally, after what felt like hours and was probably only around ten minutes, the trio slowed down. The abandoned mall that their games was set in had several levels, with the bloodbath being on the lowest, and they’d taken the broken escalators all the way up to the very top. Putting her hands on her knees as Hilbert and Geist began to bicker, Dia wished she had more endurance.
She found herself in the remains of a fancy department store, resembling more what she’d seen in the Capitol than what she was used to in the slowly disappearing malls that still existed in the higher income parts of Eight. There was an array of beautiful dresses, all stained and slightly faded from exposure to light, the colors nowhere near as bright as the tributes’ uniforms.
To her left, Hilbert was standing with a slightly shellshocked expression on his face. The older tribute was clearly upset about the death of the group’s other ally, with swirls of blue and red trailing down his uniform. Dia frowned, then ran over to one of the dress racks. Everyone always treated her like she was younger than she was, so why not play it up?
“Look, Hilbert! I’m a princess!” she exclaimed, holding one of the smaller dresses up to herself as she twirled around. Hilbert, who’d been bickering with Geist the entire way up to the top floor, managed to crack a smile. He walked over to Dia, purposefully ignoring Geist, and grabbed a sparkly hairpin from one of the nearby mannequins.
“Can’t be a princess without some sort of tiara,” he said, handing her the hairpin. Dia grinned back at him, a small pop of yellow briefly appearing on her uniform before dissipating into the blue that consumed every other color.
She wasn’t going to correct him and say that the hair clip wasn’t a tiara, as she was sure he knew that. Maybe they’d get some sponsor gifts if she continued to pretend to be more childish than she actually was.
For a second, Dia twirled about, then paused. Where had Geist gone? The district five tribute had disappeared, out of view from where Hilbert and Dia stood, having just been there a minute earlier. Dia promptly dropped the dress and felt panic begin to well up in her stomach. Was there someone else up here with them? Maybe Geist was just playing a joke.
“Move and the Five girl gets it,” said a voice from behind them. Dia spun around to see one of the district two tributes holding a knife up to Geist’s throat, the older tribute struggling as she tried to get free from his grip.
“Geist!” yelled Dia, freezing in place. Hilbert readied the ax he’d picked up from the ground at the bloodbath, trying to get into a stance that made him look more threatening. Neither of them wanted to move, but something had to be done.
Dia carried no weapons, just a heavy backpack that she hadn’t had time to open yet. It weighed around twenty pounds, at least from her best guess, and probably held something important inside it. Nothing was more important than her allies, however, and she began to weigh the pros and cons of hitting the district two tribute with it. None of the other careers seemed to be there.
There was a strange color beginning to spread through Geist’s uniform, one that Dia couldn’t figure out the meaning of. It was almost a chartreuse, a vibrant yellowish green that almost hurt to look at. She didn’t have time to look at the uniform, though. She had to act, and with a quick glance at Hilbert, she’d made her decision.
“Dia, don’t do it!” HIlbert exclaimed, but it was already too late. She had slung the backpack off her shoulders and was running toward Geist and the district two tribute with reckless abandon. With a shove, she swung the backpack at the volunteer, almost hitting her target before something pierced her in the back. Surprised, she blinked.
Falling to the ground, Dia couldn’t figure out what hit her, her face hitting the tile floor as the arrow in her back started to cause blood to pool around her. It hurt more than anything she’d ever experienced before, which probably wasn’t hard to do.
Picking her head up, she saw Geist and the district two tribute standing above her, the backpack she’d swung at them discarded on the ground at their feet. Geist didn’t seem to be running, nor did she seem to be in any sort of distress.
“Traitor,” hissed Hilbert. Geist simply shrugged, then turned to the district two tribute. Dia heard footsteps from the other direction, probably another career, and saw another figure towering over her. A boot landed on her back, causing her to let out a sharp exhale as her face slammed back into the floor. Was this it? Was this the end?
Geist had betrayed them without a backwards glance. She could hear Hilbert yelling and Geist shouting back at him with harsh words as her vision started to fade. She wanted to say goodbye to Hilbert, but there was no way for her to do so. She’d made it past the bloodbath, and now she was going to die. There was no stopping it at this point.
“I’m sorry, Hilbert,” she managed to whisper, not loud enough for him to hear, but loud enough for her to know that she’d at least said her own sort of goodbye. That was the last thought Dia could form before something else sharp came down on her neck.