Chapter three,                  Goodbye sweet home
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There are many things Septimus wants to say which he does not.

The sound of pouring rain can be heard through the opened door. He is almost thankful that the entrance leads towards a roofed pathway. Otherwise, the rain would have filled the room the second he had stepped foot through the door. He can hear the drops of rain pounding loudly against the concrete ceilings. He always knows when a storm is coming through, he can tell by the shade of clouds when it's about to rain heavily.

There are no windows for him to look through but he is certain the wind must be making the rain sharper. Almost as if a storm was trying to cut its way through District Two and he was right this morning, he's never wrong about storms.

He remembers the last time he felt drops of rain on his skin. It was weeks ago, perhaps a few months already.

His boots were sinking in the mud while the roots of trees were trying to trip him. The wind was harsh against their faces— he was running with Gloria. Somewhere in the mountains near the Academy, they were running through the forest. They had been outside for a few hours already, most of their runs lasted about twenty kilometres. Sometimes more, sometimes less. It always depended whether someone had suspected they were leaving the Academy together or not. It was the only time they could be alone, even if the rain was harsh against their skin and the wind was sharpening their breaths.

Three months ago. He is certain of it now.

               He hears the same sound. It feels different now, almost foreign. It might be because he stands in a room he has never seen before. Maybe it is the smell of vanilla that is not familiar to him, it smells awfully loud. Everything about the room makes his eyes turn around to look for more. There is a leather couch near the wall on his left, and a large table in front of him. There is nothing placed on it but a folded paper.

Septimus takes a step closer, looking behind him before he unfolds the paper. The letters are printed on a white paper, it makes it easy to read the text— it should be easy for him to read but he still can not read past the first sentence.

His eyes grow small as he reads the same words over and over. Tributes, timer, kicked out. The words in between are insignificant yet he wants to read it whole. He starts over again. Eve-ry. Then tributes, and he starts to read again.

It takes a few tries. He reads again, starts over. He shakes his head before putting the paper closer to his eyes until he can finally make out the full sentence: Every tributes are allowed a maximum of ten minutes with closed ones. Everyone coming after the timer ends will immediately be kicked out.

How many minutes have passed already? He wants to say ten already. Would no one have come to see him? It makes him wonder if Ryker is regretting his decision, if he isn't standing in the Square begging the woman in white to turn back time. No, he wouldn't. He's the strongest career of his year.

Still, he finds no comfort in knowing that Ryker would never admit defeat. He had hopes for the last tributes— they are dead now. All of them with no exceptions.

He cares about his own game, about him being a victor. About the promise he made to kids who he once shared a life with.

Septimus can feel the temperature of the room rising and as he feels his skin becoming warmer, he takes the collar between his fingers. He can still feel a rash forming on his neck. He lets out a deep breath, turning to his left as he notices a digital clock on the wall. Eight minute and 44 seconds. He still has a few more minutes before he is taken to the Capitol. Then everything will be new to him, he will know nothing but his own self.

His thoughts are quickly shut down by the smell of vanilla being replaced with cognate. Cognate and cherries. Ryker.

               "There's my champion." Ryker says, taking both of Septimus' shoulders under his hands. The boy immediately tightens."Tell me, how do you feel?"

"Good." Septimus smirks. It's all he can say.

"I expected nothing less." Ryker doesn't let go of Septimus like he always does. His hands are still on his shoulders while he stares at him. His eyes are looking at his collar and his hands and his shoulders. His last tribute had his neck sliced opened. "You will do good. I don't doubt you. I never did."

"I gave you no reason to doubt me." He believes that, he knows that. He is made to kill, the arena will be his home, the one place where he can truly be himself.

"You're not like the others." Ryker searches for an answer on the boy's face but as he starts to question his own words, his hands let go of Septimus. "You're different."

Septimus stays quiet, wondering how many boys heard the same words before him.

"I didn't tell them all the same thing, you know?" The mentor chuckles while his hand makes its way through his own hair. He can tell Septimus feels indifferent, like he is just a name in a pile of mentored boys. "Lukas was the first boy I ever mentored. He was seventeen went he entered the arena. He died on the 19th day. Killed by mutts. I didn't know much back then and I made him a promise. A promise I could not keep. I won't make that same mistake. You are on your own out there. You know everything there is to know to survive."

Septimus is still focused on the name, Lukas. It doesn't remind him of anyone. There are no memorable tributes with that name.

"You remind me so much of him."

Him. He doesn't know who he is referring to and he doesn't bother asking. Ryker would not answer even if he asked.

Septimus nods. "I will make you proud."

"You will make all of District Two proud." Ryker states.

Septimus smirks. There is nothing left for them to say to each other. They have spent the last few years together, spent days and nights learning and teaching how to be a perfect tribute, how to be a victor. A last conversation won't change his fate. If there is something Septimus does not know about the games, he will learn it in the arena and Ryker will watch it happen, standing far away and unable to help. He is used to it by now. He has had a total of two victors on his own. The other record is hold by a much older female— Gloria's mentor. It is problaby why both mentors closed their eyes on their students leaving the Academy on the same hours. They were both the best. Their strengths were unmatched. At least before she came in.

Magnolia is glued to his mind like the plague and for a second, he wonders if the rumours about her being a witch were not the truth. Her name is heavy on his tongue, he dares not to say it out loud yet the question still fill his mind; who is she?

Septimus is surprised Ryker has not said more. He is usually the one asking questions, making sure the boy knows where he stands. No, today he is quiet, the same way you expect autumn to be quiet on a rainy day. Leaves are not whistling against the trees and the sound of rain does not muffle underneath the wind. He is quiet, as quiet as the leaves as they fall dead on the ground.

"And Orion?" Septimus asks looking down.

"He's waiting outside." Ryker starts, there is something bittersweet about the way he talks. "The boy was fidgeting like crazy. Made it seem like he's the one going in the arena. He really likes you, you know?"

Like. It's the first time Septimus has ever heard Ryker say that word. It sounds unfamiliar even to him. He wouldn't say he likes him, it would be showing weakness. He appreciates his company, the way he fights with spears which allows Sept to keep his swords, or the way Orion hates orange juice and always gives his portions to him. But no, he doesn't like him.

"He's a good friend."

"Be nice to him. He might not be one of mine but he has potential for Two." Ryker gives a quick look at the timer before he continues. "You should be proud of him."

"I am."

"Hell you might be the one mentoring him in a few years."

"A few years?"

"They want to wait until he's eighteen." Ryker laughs. He laughs as if he is mocking Orion's mentor. "All the way to the 73rd hunger games."

Septimus makes the count in his head. Orion is fourteen now. He will be fifteen in a week. It would make him nineteen by the time he enters his own game, but it would be possible. The odds would be in his favour. The boy is already skilled for his age— his throws are not near as precise as Septimus' skills were two years ago but with improvement, they could be significant.

"Why?" Septimus asks. His mind goes to the careers who waited until they were eighteen but still managed to get killed. He feels shame just thinking about it.

Ryker scoffs. He agrees with the boy, they have always shared similar values. Perhaps it was Ryker's fault for putting them in his mind. No child likes the idea of so much brutality with no help. "They say he won't be ready— that waiting would guarantee his victory."

Septimus nods at his answer. He doesn't quite understand but he nods again.

"It's alright if you don't get it." His mentor knows his behavior like he was the one to forge it. "You won't have much understanding to do after you win."

Septimus shakes his head. Maybe his mentor is right. Maybe after he wins everyone will believe every words he says and they will be the one nodding to his nonsense. He already knows the kind of victor he wants to be; he wants to be great. The kind of victors the Capitol can not look away from, the ones who have the Capitol eating in the palm of their hands. He will have the entire District Two chanting his name. Kids will ask of his name in the years to come; have you known him father, he's your age is he not? The fathers will shake their head and the mothers will smile quietly. Everyone knows him.

"You will make a good mentor." Ryker shakes his head. All of their faces flicker in his thoughts. Dehydration, infected wounds, neck snapped, broken ankles, throat sliced. Mutts. "You're strong. The other mentors have already started to talk about how precise your explanations are. Boys listen to you, they look up to you."

"Well my demonstrations are good—"

"Take some credits." Ryker scoffs while looking up at the boy. "It's not all about your demonstrations or how your sword flies around. They want to listen to you, they know you're going to help them. They trust you."

Sometimes, boys from the younger levels would come to him, their hands were sweaty behind the back. I'm sorry to bother you sir. The younger ones would often refer to him as sir, it was the only nickname that seemed fit to say in front of him. You see I- I've had some struggle lately in my fights. Septimus would place his sword on the floor before him. It's ok, I don't bite. The boy would laugh quietly, a deep chuckle that was let out in discomfort. He would step closer to him, his steps unsure but driven by fear of people hearing him. They call you the wolf. Septimus knew about it. His mentor knew about it, everyone did. They called him the lone wolf. Do you want my help? With knives I take it? The boy nodded. His hands were marked with small cuts all around his fingers.

"The odds are in your favour, don't forget that." Ryker reminds him. The odds has always been know his favour.

Septimus doesn't know what to say. Everything feels heavy. The heartbeat against his chest gives him a false illusion that his rib cage will be slice opened.

"No one can beat you with a sword, take one and show them you're well trained." Ryker speaks quietly, stuttering on his own words. He always sounds so sure of himself. He puts his hand on the boy's shoulder once more. This time, he puts his right hand on the side of his face, a small gesture to remind him he is there for him, even if it is only for a few more seconds. "Show them who you are."

By the time Septimus looks up, Ryker is already walking towards the door. He is leaving already, like a ghost who was never there. But who is he except a tribute? A career? A victor perhaps. Ryker would have been able to answer him.

With a rapid movement, he looses the top buttons of his collar. He thinks about following him— before he reaches the door, he is thrown back by the force of someone wrapping his arms around him.

Septimus immediately recognizes him. It's Orion.

He is a few centimetres shorter than him. For his age, Orion is considered to be tall. His arms are still lean, his muscles have yet to fully grow. If someone from a lower district was to look at Orion, that person would not take it for granted that he is a career. On the other hand, there is no mistaking Septimus; his head is shaved and his muscles can be seen through his clothes.

When Orion steps away, Septimus can suddenly feel the coldness of the Justice Building. The wind is not gentle on the temperature but he has seen worst days in the Academy. Sometimes, they would go weeks without heating in the winter. It was only when Two's masonry — Fourth Barrier founded their cause that a heating system was installed. A few things changed after the two institutions allied. The weapons were sharper to a point people were injuring themselves far more often. The knifes were sharpened, woods were no longer being used. The weapons were real. They would cut and rip and tear.

Accident would happen— they did happen.

Septimus shakes his head. He won't allow himself to think about those days. Especially not today, not when his whole life is pushing the start line.

"You were good up there." Orion cuts the silence, not that it was an uncomfortable one. They are used to sitting together in the silence. Especially at night, especially when no one would beg them to fight each other. Except no one asked such things from them, everyone knew Septimus would win. It was like sending a cat to fight against a wolf. "I almost feel sorry for the tributes who'll be watching the Reaping."

They both chuckle. "I wish I could see their faces." Orion adds. He has always been the one making conversations and Septimus would listen to him while sharpening his knives. "They won't know what to expect."

Even Septimus does not know what awaits him. He doesn't point it out his friend but it crosses his mind. He is like an obedient dog unchained in the wild. He tries not to think about the other tributes. There are far too many options on who he could be fighting. He won't waste the six remaining minutes guessing who his opponents are. He has waited years for this moment, he can wait a few more minutes.

Septimus bites his tongue before he decides to speak. "She seemed— um different."

"She looked Capitol." Orion agrees, not that he would ever disagree with his friend.

"She is a stranger."

It sounds venomous against his tongue. She is a stranger who bites with an open mouth. A stranger who appears as a friendly face in the dark. Someone who no one recognizes once their features are noticeable. Someone who does not belong. Ever since Septimus was first sent into the Academy, he has had no desire for strangers but only for people from home— people from the Academy. Magnolia is not one of them.

"You will get to know her." Orion tries to resonate him. He can see Septimus' fidgeting steps. "Wether you want it or not, you'll have plenty of time to know her."

"I don't want to know her." He answers with a stern voice. "Why would I want to know her?"

"Sept don't—"

"Don't what?" His voice is taunting, it is testing Orion wether he knows it or not. There is something different about the way Septimus talk to Orion— he would have gotten in a fight with any boy doubting him but never Orion. No, Orion was different. Everything was different with him.

"It's not her." He means Gloria, Septimus knows it but Orion won't say her name. It would be useless.

He has known Septimus every since he was 9 years old. At that age, they were only one level apart. Now Septimus is at level One and Orion is still at level Four. He has been stuck there for a while but now it makes sense. They have to wait before he climbs the rank, otherwise he will be kicked out of the Academy. Everyone else from Septimus's level has been discharged. There is nothing above level One. Most of the boys who were not chosen end up mentoring for the Academy or they become Peacekeepers. Making it to level One is an achievement on its own. Most boys don't make it past the third level. There is no guarantee Orion will.

"I know that." Septimus takes a step further away from him.

"Well accept it." Orion takes a step closer, shortening the gap between them. "You act younger than me sometimes."

"You speak of Celia all the time." Septimus chuckles, looking up at the boy. He's already looking at him.

"I haven't in a while. Not that it matters, she might volunteer next year." So might Gloria, Septimus thinks but keeps quiet.

Her name tends to come to his mind whenever he thinks of allies. He knows she would have been an asset because of her strength. It doesn't matter that she would often get on his nerves for how many times she would mention her friend from her own level. It didn't matter that he often stayed quiet with her because he had nothing to say to her. They would run for hours in silence. No, they don't know anything about each other but it doesn't matter, they would been able to trust each other in the arena.

Except she's neither of those things now. She was too afraid to even try and volunteer.

Both boys are now standing in the middle of the room. The sound of the wind is muffled by their own voices. For a moment, Septimus forgets that a Peacekeeper waits outside the door. For a moment, he forgets that his family has yet to come and see him. He forgets that he has not talked to his sister in years. At least he knows they are proud. It would make no sense for them not to cherish his act of bravery.

Then he thinks about her, Magnolia, and a sense of nausea forms in his stomach. All he can see when he thinks of her is her eyes. Two purples dots staring at him in the dark. Then he feels her fingernails digging in his own flesh.

"Ryker told me you would only volunteer for the 73rd Games." Septimus is the first one to speak again. There is so much he wants to say and the thoughts of bearing goodbyes feel too heavy. He won't see him for about two months. "Are you scared to go before?"

Orion shakes his head. "My mentor said it would be better to wait when I'm older." He explains, stumbling over his own words. It's a habit of his when he starts to doubt something. "That people start to volunteer too fast."

"Do you think I was too fast?"

"No not you." Orion states without any sign of doubt. He means it, he fully believes it. "You're different, you're strong."

"I've seen you fight, you're good."

"Good isn't best." He is fidgeting again and Septimus starts to understand why Ryker was comparing him to someone about to enter the arena. He looks like a scarred puppy. There is something he is not saying. "I— I saw her. I saw Gloria."

Septimus watches him. He watches his lips trembling and his eyes starting to water. He sees him.

"I thought you should know— she wanted to see you." Orion whispers and Septimus has to take a step closer to fully understand what he is saying. "She was waiting with me for a while but then Anastasia saw her— they took her away."

"Why are you telling me this?" The tone of his voice matches the one of his friend. They speak as if someone else was in the room with them.

Orion looks behind him, right through the empty doorway. His legs are bouncing up and down and he reaches through the pocket of his pants. He is wearing all black. "She gave me this."

The younger boy extends his arm for Septimus to reach. He takes the folded paper in his hand. With a rapid movement, he hides the letter in his pocket.

Septimus hopes it is the last time he ever hears about her. He wants to forget all about who she is, about the coward she has become. Maybe this stranger can not be worse than a traitor.

Who is she anyway?

A tribute now, but he is more intrigued on the before. Someone from the Academy would have worn a black pair of pants styled with black top. The shape of it did not matter but it would not be what she wore. Even a tribute outside the Academy would not have chosen such a bold dress. If he had seen her at the screening for the Reaping, he would have believed her to be from District One. Their Reapings are always distinguished by the high sense of fashion— loose fabrics tied together with colourful patches to make it seem rich. People from all twelve districts wear their best clothes on the Reaping. The Fourth of July is the most celebrated day.

"Read it later, there is not much time left." Orion whispers with a sense of hurry.

He has no intention of reading it now. Septimus turns his head sideways to look at the timer. There is only three minutes left.

"We'll have plenty more time together." Septimus says looking back at Orion and for the first time today, he notices the large scar on his forehead— the one he got when defending Septimus.

"Not for a few weeks at least—"

"We already went two months without seeing each other."

"A month and a half." Orion corrects him. "It wasn't more than that."

Two minutes and thirty-four seconds.

During that month, Septimus and the rest of his level were in the mountains. For days, they stayed in the forest to learn about survival in the wild. They went in the winter. The higher they would climb in the mountains, the softer it would snow. He still remembers the feeling of knives piercing his skin as his fingers were turning cold. Their mentors were there to help— Ryker was there to make sure Septimus was first. That he was the best, and he was.

His breathing is sharp against his throat. It feels as if the world is turning slower, as if it is trying to give him a chance but he knows that to be a lie.

"Your family's here for you." Orion tells him, taking a step closer to the door. He has already reached the exit.

Septimus runs after Orion but he has already stepped outside the room. "Where are you going?" He tries to follow after him but as he is about to take a step outside the door's limit, the Peacekeeper blocks his way and Septimus immediately backs away.

Orion smiles at him. "I will see you in a few weeks."

"You better throw those knives by the time I'm back."

"Sure I will, but remember I'll be watching every second of your game." Orion tilts his head, pointing behind him where Septimus guesses his family stands. "All the way to when you're going to win."

Septimus smiles back at him. They look at each other for a few seconds before Septimus gazes at the timer. There is one minute and ten seconds left. When he looks back, the hallway is empty. Orion is already out of his sight.

What could his family possibly want to tell him?

What could Gloria possibly have told him?

He wants to ask for Ryker. The man would know how to handle such situations. He tries to bulge the Peacekeeper but the officer does not move. Trying to exit the room would only cause him unwanted problems. The man is only trying to do his job but Septimus wants to see his mentor again. Ryker would know what to do, he always does.

A sudden shiver runs through his veins. It is the first time he will ever be completely alone. Over the spam of years he spent in the Academy, he had spent a fair amount of time in the woods. They would be left alone in a part of the mountains and would have to find their way back to the Academy. They had no water, no food, no weapons. It took Septimus a week. He is the second fastest who has ever done it. Not the fastest however, not the best.

He wants Ryker to come back. He knows that now.

Going after him is no longer an option. He starts to hear the timer clicks. One, click, two, click. Maybe he is hearing sounds. There is fifty seconds left.

The timer on the wall makes no sound.

The weight of the room should not bare so heavy on his shoulders but it does. The warmth of the room makes his hands start to sweat. He passes them through his hair— they immediately get in contact with his bare skin, with the scar on his head. He shaved his head last night, he still isn't used to his blond hair no longer being there. Now the healed scar on the top of his head can be seen. It is completely white by now.

The same white Septimus would see every winter in his hometown. Every November, the sky would turn grey and when the weather would be cold enough, the rain drops would turn into snow. Snow would be falling for weeks. Then, the snow would melt.

Spring was the worst, especially in the Academy. He doesn't remember much from home but he remembers there were too many walls for him to count. The hallways were so long he could get lost in them, but the water would never go through the walls. Goodbye sweet home, he thinks. He barely remembers the colors on the walls. In Spring, when Septimus first got in the Academy, the floors would be flooded with melted snow. They would run with their feet soaked and the bottom of their bunks filled with water. The next year, reparations were made and the Springs went back to normal.

There is thirty seconds left.

Twenty-Nine seconds.

Twenty-Eight.

The steps in the hallway are becoming louder with each passing seconds. They could be from Orion but Septimus knows his walk is much sloppier from his leg injury. No, someone is walking towards him. Someone who might be a complete stranger.

Even his family are half strangers.

Cersei Crain— Ciri. He hasn't said that name out loud in years. Even now, it feels foreign on his tongue. It leaves a taste of sour, one he would rather not taste again.

Septimus knows it now, his sister is a stranger to him.

Twenty-four seconds, twenty-three.

He won't have time to say goodbye. He won't have time to meet them again, to present the new person he has become. Instead they will have to watch him on a screen be a son they have never known. Ryker can see say knows him through all his perks and faults.

Without effort, Septimus begins to walk towards the exit. The peacekeeper is still posted on the wall left to him, his gun charged with munitions.

Twenty seconds.

He stands the same way he would during morning checks, his head is held high and his arms are at his side. In no time, the Peacekeeper will acknowledge him and show him the way to the train. In a few seconds, everything will begin.

Fifteen seconds.

Septimus remembers the name now. Lukas, Lukas Brody. He was killed in the 56th Hunger Games. First, his death started by mutts. They were wolves or dogs— he can't quite remember. They had been picking at him until a boy from a lower district killed him. They classified it as an act of mercy. His death was meaningless. A boy from Five won that year. Right after Two died.

Ten seconds.

His family isn't there yet. There are steps approaching him but he cannot see them.

Nine seconds.

Septimus sees them— his family. His parents, his sister. Lucius, Lindsei, Cersei. Those are the names of strangers.

He can half see his father from he stands. Lucius' smirk stands tall on his expression, Septimus has never seen him so proud. His mother's smile is barely noticeable. Instead, she holds Cersei close to her.

Five seconds.

Their faces are mixing from people within the Academy. When he closes his eyes, he's unsure wether he sees his family or his opponents.

Four seconds.

With sharp movements, the Peacekeeper moves to stand in front of Septimus. The boy raises his stare, looking right at the Peacekeeper. There is no time left.

Three seconds.

His heartbeat keeps rising.

Two seconds.

The guard extends his arm and his fingers envelop Septimus' arm. With a sudden movement, he pushes him out the room and into the hallway. Septimus is thankful for his quick balance because as soon as he takes a step, the Peacekeeper presses against his back to increase his speed. The guard means no harm, Septimus knows that but it doesn't stop him from biting his own tongue.

They begin to walk towards the train station, the opposite way from where his family is standing. He does not look back.

Septimus can feel his heartbeat raising. Soon, he will be in the Capitol, in the arena.

His sister yells for him but he remains quiet. He wouldn't know what to tell her— there is nothing left for him to say.

Author's note

I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter but here it is! Also, I saw an opportunity to add one of my oc from another fic and I took it. Lukas you won't be missed!