𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝟎𝟕. 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐚'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞

— 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐚 —

━━━━━━ ☽【❖】☾ ━━━━━━

The cannons had echoed three times in the span of one day. It had taken about three weeks but the poison must have finally taken effect. It was a subtle little thing that I'd concocted, meant to get worse over time the closer it got to your heart.

The child was probably the first to go. Then the goddess. And finally I could only imagine Romulus writhing in pain, knowing that I'd gotten the better of him.

That meant it was only the other tributes from district nine and ten that remained. Easy pickings really. Sure the tribute from district ten had almost bested me before, but he had numbers and the element of surprise on his side. Something I would never surrender again.

I wasn't worried about the numbers or the potential two versus one battle. Because logically the bigger and stronger would get rid of the weak link before coming to face me on his own. And then it would just be him and me at the cornucopia, battling for the title of champion and the superiority that followed.

I'd worked so hard for this moment. I'd worked so hard to survive. I could nearly taste victory on the tip of my tongue. Perhaps I'd made a mistake killing Lux so soon after the mountainside battle, but I couldn't take the risk that he'd strangle me in my sleep or cut me open. I was just the first one to act, so in my mind that action was justified.

The three weeks that followed had been literal hell. I nearly succumbed to frostbite, but after the first evening alone I risked making a fire the next. Seeing as I was left alone, I continued my pattern for the next week—never staying put in one place longer than twenty-four hours. I knew the arena like the back of my hand, that is the forest region anyway. I hadn't dared trek the mountainous region on my own without climbing gear.

And ever since I'd been on my own, I'd heard no word from the outside world. It's as if I'd been forsaken by my own district and my own blood as only the harsh wind whipping my sides acted like a cruel companion. I should have gone insane, but I remained proactive.

Following that first week alone, I encountered another pair of wolf muttations. It was a valiant fight, but the odds were stacked against me. So I was forced to switch tactics mid battle. I manipulated the situation so that I controlled the beasts' actions with corrupted empathy, and in turn they would come to call me master.

They bent to my whim almost as if they desired to please me, and there was some ironic gratification to the feeling of having these wolves under my thumb. If only my partner broke as easily, perhaps this whole thing would be over by now. Either way it made no difference because neither survived. My partner fell from a touch of poison, and the mutts died from heat exhaustion.

The first day was the most dangerous. The heat required to melt the arena at such a quick pace was deadly. It fried everything alive within a matter of minutes. The only space that remained "safe" was the ring of explosives surrounding the cornucopia. And even then the snow only lasted another few hours.

The sun was unbearable during the day, so I was forced to remain concealed within the inner chamber of the cornucopia for safety. However, the night was equally as dangerous. Although it wasn't as hot, that's when any new living muttations the gamemakers created would prowl. It's how I acquired the viper fang that adorned my head like a crown. I'd faced hell at its worst and its best to reach this moment—and it was my moment—so nothing was going to distract me from the glory I deserved.

I sharpened my blades, curving the steel to match the shape of the viper's fang before coating each weapon in a thin layer of venom that I'd harvested from the mutt. I stared into the reflective surface at my eyes, watching each moment of these nine weeks flash before my eyes.

I outlived all the tributes who fell before me. I outlived the avalanche that tried to crush the breath from my lungs. I recovered from the scrapes, the bruises, and the torn muscles. I survived the pack of mutts. I overcame the vultures which tried to pick me apart. I created the antidote to a venom I should've succumbed to and then used said weapon against my enemies.  I manipulated the gamemakers' playing field to work at my advantage. I would not be defeated so easily. The sun was setting and I would rise in its place as the new morningstar.

I could almost taste the luxury of my life that would follow. The respect I'd gain from all those who doubted I had what it took to be a champion. I knew how to play the game, and I masked that knowledge even better. No one knew what to believe. Was I just a ditzy, jealous, love-stricken child? Was I the drama-centered brat that didn't want to get her hands dirty? Was I the venomous bitch that didn't care who got hurt as long as it benefitted me? Or was I the hidden third side of a weighted coin?

Perhaps I'd reveal the answer one day in my autobiography. But before I could savor any of the fortune, I needed to complete the moment that would immortalize my name in the history of the games.

The moon was slowly rising from the horizon—and while the sun set for the final time in this arena—a pair of shadowed figures stepped atop the hill that overlooked the cornucopia. My eyes lit up with glee; however, my jaw clenched as I took a moment to examine the silhouettes of these tributes as they approached: one male, one female.

I twisted my blades into a readied position, waiting for the opposition to approach. I knew the environment surrounding the cornucopia better than any tribute ever had, I would not foolishly give up that advantage no matter how much rage was brewing beneath the surface of my iced expression.

One at a time the tributes crossed the wooden planks that I'd placed at the beginning of the week to cross the stream surrounding the cornucopia—the only source of water left in the entire arena. Then they stood side by side as we stared one another down. Whatever light was left from the sun dwindled and finally disappeared, yet their gold and ginger hair still seemed to glow in the moonlight.

There was something different about each of them. A weird displacement of strength and confidence that did not match what I remembered. It hardly mattered though because my own rage would easily provide the fuel I needed to claim victory. I may have been outnumbered, but I was not to be underestimated. Especially not after they shared a glance and the girl nodded her head as if giving him permission to end my life.

Romulus stepped forward, lifting his sword into a battle-ready position while Juneaux stepped back as if she were only going to spectate. They likely presumed this chivalrous, I called it cowardice. No matter. They would see I was a force to be reckoned with.

I swiped my blades through the air, switching my starting position to accommodate the attack strategy I was anticipating from the boy who I'd trained alongside for years. His skill and form were great, yet he was predictable and always had been.

He carried a brave face, but I was the queen of masks and saw straight through his the second his eyes flickered back to his goddess. That was the moment I attacked. That was the moment I knew I was going to win. For the wolf had been tamed while I grew to embrace the feral wilderness.