When Soryn resurfaced, he crawled for the nearest shore of the dimly lit cave. Above him, what had been the bottom of the river had opened, the doors folding inward. With how little water there was, Soryn guessed there was a drainage system pumping the water to other parts of the arena, possibly even back at the tops of the rivers.

A loud roar echoed in the cave as Gaius pulled himself ashore, tearing the armor covering his upper half off and tossing aside. An angry burn had splotched across his back, blood trickling from the wound that had seared his flesh.

Soryn reached for his throwing knife, only to find his belt empty. His sword lost in the river, Gaius was equally unarmed. He quickly noticed his presence and trudged through the shallows to the center island, pointing at him.

"Two of us are still alive, Soryn." Gaius called out. "Let's finish this."

Begrudgingly, Soryn waded through the pools to him. The other tribute stepped to his side of the island, fists raised.

"Show me what you've got!" he bellowed, lunging forward.

Sidestepping the attack, Soryn smacked the back of his hand against the burn, causing Gaius to yelp as he whirled around.

Sliding around him, Soryn kicked at the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel. Jumping up, Soryn kicked at Gaius with both of his legs, staggering the boy.

Gaius got up and sprinted to the opposite side of the cave, rushing past Soryn as he evaded him. It took a moment for Soryn to realize what he was racing towards. The sword had been just off to the side of the cave he had been before.

Racing to catch up, Soryn leaped as far as he could, fighting the current and the torrent of water raining from above. Lashing out with his fists, Gaius tried to keep the lead. Initially, Soryn obliged him, backing off and instead, circling around wide to reach the ground faster.

When Gaius reached the sword, he twirled around, furiously swinging it at Soryn until he backed him into a corner.

As Gaius made for the final blow, Soryn caught the blade between his hands. Holding it in place, he could feel it cutting into his palms. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he shifted the blade to the side, driving it in a wedge between the rocks and slammed his elbow against the side. To the surprise of both, the blade fell from the hilt, falling into the water while the grip stayed in its wielder's hands.

Diving after it, Soryn plucked the blade out before it sank out of view and drove it into Gaius' abdomen, twisting it for good measure, cutting his left hand on its edge.

As he winced from the pain, Gaius kicked Soryn to the ground and slammed his foot against Soryn's arm. A loud crack signaled the boy's arm break against the stone floor, followed by a scream of pain.

While Gaius worked at removing the blade, Soryn wriggled away. Slipping his knife belt around the broken appendage, he tightened with his good arm, writhing in agony. As his vision cleared, Gaius affixed his hands around his neck, dragging him into the water and submerging his head.

Struggling against the larger tribute's strength, Soryn reached for Gaius' face and drove his fingers at the first soft object he could find: Gaius' right eye. When his opponent recoiled, Soryn pulled his knee up and kicked at his groin, shoving himself away from him in addition to throwing him off balance.

Drawing himself out of the water, he kept his hand open, rapping the joints of his fingers against Gaius' abdomen and back, taking shots at his face with his elbow intermittently.

Gaius gave as good as he got, smashing his fist against Soryn's torso, cracking his ribs as he slipped on the rocks. Ambling to his target, he slammed his elbow against Soryn's back, knocking him down again and landing a kick against his ribs, fully breaking the ones that had been cracked.

When Gaius went for another kick, Soryn knocked the other foot from underneath him, destabilizing the other with his good arm when he tried to regain his balance. The boy crashed down, and Soryn jumped on top of him, smashing against his chest before going to work on his face in a relentless barrage of punches.

Slapping Soryn off, Gaius grabbed him, hoisting him above his head, and slamming him against the rock. Blood spewed from both of their mouths, their injuries taking their toll. Gaius stood over Soryn, water dripping off him steadily, turning into a silhouette against the sky. He dropped his, slowly and deliberately on Soryn neck as he began to suffocate the boy once more.

With a sudden burst of energy, Soryn reached for a small rock, smashing it against Gaius' face. He fell slowly, as if gravity had only the slightest effect on him. Blood trickled from his broken nose as he rolled over, gasping.

A gleam from the broken blade caught Soryn's eye. Dragging himself towards it, he gingerly picked it up and forced himself to his feet to get to Gaius' prone form. The other boy eyed him as he approached, too weak and hurt to move.

As he reached his side, Soryn's legs gave out, dropping him to his knees. He lifted the blade, point placed on Gaius' chest.

"Don't worry." Gaius said, his breath thin and raspy. "It has to end this way."

Even when he tried leaning, Soryn could not generate the necessary force to finish him off. Summoning his last reserves of strength, Gaius moved his hand to the hilt of the blade, steadying Soryn's quivering hand and pulling it along.

"Do it." He wheezed.

With a quick thrust, the metal pierced Gaius' flesh. As the life faded from his body, Gaius managed to muster a sad smile. The rain tapered off from a torrential downpour to a steady fall. Soryn let go of the sword, and closed his fallen opponent's eyes. His own strength gave out shortly after, slumping to the ground next to the deceased tribute. To relieve the pressure off of his cracked ribs, he rolled onto his back.

Laying on the ground in dissonant serenity, Gaius' blood mingled with Soryn's and with the water. The cold began seeping into him, causing him to shiver, even though it hurt to do so. The rain masked the few tears that ran down his face, he stuffed the sobs away as the crept to up his throat. It hurt too much to cry.

Above him, he could hear voices booming over the arena. The national anthem sounded warbled to him. The few words he could make out were those Calliste announcing the end of the Seventh Hunger Games.

"It's over." He thought bitterly.

It seemed like hours instead of a minute before the familiar hum of hovercraft filled the air.

/-\\

The following days were a blur. Sometimes he could hear voices, some more distinctly than others. At times he felt like he was so deeply asleep, he thought he was dead. Any time that happened, he could vaguely feel the aches, pain. Occasionally, he could see light. It stung his eyes, but warmed him.

Over time dreams and nightmares return, coming and going. Dreams were of home, his family, or even the dreams that had plagued him ever since his home had burned.
The nightmares were the faces of those he had killed, accusing him of selfishness, blaming him for the pain he had caused. More unsettling were the ones that thanked him.

The worst ones were the broken and decayed tributes standing over him. Those he had seen when or how they had fallen, their injuries as vivid as when they had died. The dagger still protruded from Ruby's eye. Blood welled from the numerous slashed Philyp had suffered from Soryn's attacks. Poison dripped from Jett's mouth.

Dirt, mud, and dried blood clung to them. They stood there, doing absolutely nothing but stare at Soryn while he was unable to move.

It continued, the rising and falling, the dreams and nightmares, day in, day out, repeating over and over until he worried he would forget the notion of time altogether.

Suddenly, it felt like he was dropped into an infinite abyss of white. A hand reached out, pulling him up till he stood face to face with Saerah. Next to her were Jack and Nylia. All of them were clean. Whole.

Without a word, they turned and walked off. When he chased after them they faded away. He stretched out his arm…

/-\\

Soryn shot up in his bed. The pale lights of the Capitol hospital gave the room an eerie glow that clashed with the light of the sunrise coming through the window. He reached for his sides expecting pain, but to his surprise, all of his wounds were patched up and well healed, only faint scars could be seen on the worst of his injuries. Looking under the covers, he tested his toes. All of the responded to his command, even the stub.

A nurse came through the door, much more conservative in appearance than most other citizens. She wordlessly checked on the machines monitoring his health.

"How long has it been?" Soryn asked, his voice raspy.

The nurse looked at him, eyebrow raised. "It has been just over a month since the end of the Seventh Hunger Games." She replied. "Congratulations, by the way."

Soryn grunted. The woman took it as an acknowledgement and left the room.

When the door closed, he threw the covers off and swung himself out of bed. The floor was cold as his toes touched it. Ignoring the discomfort, he slowly slipped off the bed, leaning on the railing for stability.

To his surprise, his legs did not feel as weak as he would have expected after sitting in a bed for a month. Still, he followed the wall to the bathroom where he looked at the mirror. The scars that he would have expected to be there were faded, less gnarly than they would have been back in District Twelve.

Before he could inspect the Capitol's work any further, he heard someone knocking at the door.

"Impressed?" "It's something I've been tweaking over the years. It removes scarring almost entirely. I imagine, given a few years, or maybe even a decade, we will be able to surmount even that hurdle."

"The man has pride in is work" Soryn thought, but it felt like he was boasting to him.

What was he supposed to be? Relieved? Grateful?

Just looking at them stirred a hatred deep within him. But they were expecting a triumphant warrior. He would give them that. He had done well hiding his thoughts from them before, he could do it now.

He gritted his teeth under his lips, then relaxed his jaw to smile. "Thank you." he said, masking his contempt with a veil of politeness.

/-\\

The next few days were devoted to his recovery. His time spent resting was, to his gratitude, spent in solitude. When he was cleared to leave, he was escorted by Mizzie and Hunter to the training center.

Mizzie pranced off, Hunter turned to Soryn, handing him a simple looking box. Remarkably, he was completely sober, his features softened and relaxed.

"Here are your things." he said with a hint of reverence, but also relief.

Nodding his acceptance, Soryn took the box.

"It looks like you'll be taking over my job."

"I guess so."

"At any rate, I don't think we'll be seeing each other again anytime soon, but..." he paused and offered his hand. "May you have the strength to bear this task."

When Soryn shook his hand, he could see just the slightest hint of an earnest smile.
"I'll leave you alone."

The first thing Soryn did was go to Saerah's room. The place had been swept clean of any trace that she had ever been there. He plopped on the bed, musing the similarities of the room. His attention returned to the box.

It was more like a chest, latches holding the top in place. Littering the inside were the meager things he had on his person when he had been retrieved from the arena. The locket had come through almost completely undamaged, though the chain had been clearly replaced. The tooth rolled around the bottom as he shifted the box around.

Everything, both from the arena and before, seem like a far off dream. Rolling the tooth in his hand brought those memories back to the front of his mind.

There was a rapping on the door.

"Soryn?" Mizzie called out.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Your prep team will be here soon, and Carlynne is already waiting for you."

Securing the box, Soryn went to meet his stylist.

"You've probably heard enough congratulations already. I won't pester you with any more."

Soryn smirked.

"I hear you'll have access to a phone here soon. You can call me."

"Hopefully I'll have time to do that. I hear that Victors don't get to sleep much for the rest of the year from all the pestering."

"At any rate, I've already laid out the clothes you will be wearing in your room."
"I guess I better get changed here soon."

After the last interview, Soryn was whisked away to the train.

/-\\

Nash stood with his arms crossed behind his back. He could barely contain his excitement. He only did so for the sake of appearances. It would not do to have others hear the nature of his arrangements. And until a proper transfer could take place, he was still in charge.

The hovercraft settled over the district, docking on the primary landing pad. The whine from the engines tapered down and the bay door lowered, allowing his replacement disembark.

Marching straight to Nash, the man snapped to attention and saluted. "Peacekeeper Marius Denton, assuming command of the Panem Forces in District Twelve. I hereby relieve you of your post."

Slightly smirking, Nash returned his salute. "Very well."

"I see you're traveling light."

"I had most of my possessions shipped out this morning."

"It doesn't matter. I can make do with what I have here for the time being."

Marius slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and walked past the former Head Peacekeeper.

"Good luck." Nash said, walking to the hovercraft.

Marius paused, glancing over his shoulder. "To you as well."

Climbing onto the vehicle, the familiar scent of the Capitol filled his nostrils. The hovercraft was a luxury model compared to the ones he had seen used by the Peacekeepers.

Cassius was already seated, rising to meet Nash with a handshake.

"Welcome back." said Cassius. "Have a seat."

"This is more like it." Nash said, easing himself into a large chair across from his friend.

Soon, they were in the air. Looking out the window, Nash grinned as District Twelve disappeared from view.

"Shall I call for a drink?" Cassius offered.

"Yes, please." Nash answered eagerly.

Pressing the call button, the request was forwarded. In short order, an Avox emerged from the galley carrying a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.

"A toast." Cassius said, filling both of their glasses.

"To future successes." Nash declared, downing his glass.

While Nash was distracted, Cassius placed the glass back in its holder, having not taken a sip from it. Nash was seized with horror when his body failed to respond to his command. Cassius stood up, looking at Nash with a mixture of disdain and pity.

"I am sorry, Cepheus."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone step out of the cockpit. The person walked just out of his view, resting his hand on his shoulder in a vice-like grip.

"Hello, Nash." Iacchus whispered into his ear. The normally charming, charismatic commentator's voice was chilling. "You've been quite...meddlesome as of late. Seriously, you disturbed quite the well-laid psychology experiment."

From the corners of the room, shadows peeled from thin air, black longcoats and stern faces. The approached him, like a pack of wolves.

"We are not without contingencies," Iacchus continued. "Nor are we without patience and mercy. But you've more than tested our limits of both as of late. It's about time you learned the price for interfering with our work."

The men picked Nash up from his chair, carrying the paralyzed man to the back. The hovercraft slowed, hovering high above the land when the rear bay door opened. Wind whipped around the opening, tussling their hair.

Nash tried to scream, to plead. He was prepared to beg. Still, his jaw declined to pass his words to the people preparing to dispose of him, hoping that, against all odds, he would be granted mercy. Not that they would have cared in the slightest, or be the least bit moved as they carried him closer to the edge.

He had barely managed a single grunt when Iacchus turned and smirked.

"So long, old buddy." He said cheerily.

At that, the men in black coats wordlessly pitched Nash off the hovercraft, sending him plummeting back to the Earth somewhere between the districts.

/-\\

The ride back to District Twelve was a solemn affair. Soryn sat in silence, reflecting on his experiences.

Here he was, a survivor of the Hunger Games. A Victor. A life spared at the expense of many more. A life he had no intention of wasting.

He would see the Capitol's reign of terror end.

\\-/

That's a wrap for this portion of the story. I will give it a proper closure in the future in the form of a sequel, but in the meantime, Soryn Lockwood's story will be on hold while I work on other projects.

If you are a fan of the Dragon Age series, try checking out the Apocalyptian Saga.

Please review. I am always interested in improving my writing.