I ran barefoot through the pines, shoving through branches and stumbling down hillslopes.  Demon crows nipped at my face and neck as they passed, their claws raking across my arms and legs, showering me in painful abrasions. I fought against my burning calves and the stress on my lungs, pushing hard to escape the swarm.

At last, the forest thinned around me, and I choked out a sob of relief. 

I was almost out.  Almost free.

Then something molten sailed through my chest, wrenching my sternum forward and butchering any hopes of escape.

My gaze dropped to the gaping wound in my chest, the red soaking a uniform I didn't recognize. I watched the bloody circle grow over my breast and drip down my navel, and I couldn't process my fate. I couldn't accept this reality. 

Someone—a boy—was screaming my name outside the grove, waiting for me to breach the forest line, but I wouldn't get there.  And the fact that I would never arrive almost hurt worse than the hole in my flesh. There was a desperation for reunion I couldn't fathom.

I fell to my knees, my hands trembling over the bloody mess. 

It was...over.  There was no coming back from this.

I'd lost.

The birds swarmed together before me, morphing into a single shadow.  Two gory legs, a torso, and a head—stitched together in a blur of feathers and beating wings.

When the face appeared, I finally felt the raging agony in my body, the ruptured organs and splintered ribs.  I howled in protest,shaking my head as the tears flooded my eyes.

The man flashed an evil smile, a blistered and deformed face replacing the one I knew.  

My father had been killed.  His soul had been eaten. Destroyed.

He cocked his head to the side and grinned down at me, hateful and unfamiliar.

"Your turn, kiddo."

Upon waking, it took me a few moments to disentangle dreamscape and reality.  When consciousness butchered the final scraps of my nightmare, I took a deep, steadying breath and released my deathgrip on my knife.

Pushing off the ground, I staggered through camp for the edge of the glade. Darkness enveloped my surroundings, the veiled moon barely casting enough light to navigate. But eventually, my eyes adjusted to the night and absorbed its shadows.

After pacing back and forth for a few minutes, I sat down on an even patch of ground, staring in front of me into empty space. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, and I frantically wiped at them to keep the droplets from falling. 

Don't you cry. If you cry, you won't be able to stop. 

I scolded myself until the urge subsided. Dad was fine. Nova was fine.  Maybe even Richard made it out okay. Perhaps Will was wrong, and Belgate had triumphed. 

For now, I couldn't assume the worst—not with my sanity on the line. 

"Can't sleep either?"

The voice drop-kicked me out of my skin.

I spun, wide-eyed, and Fudge offered a weak, apologetic smile. He sat down next to me, his gentle presence whisking away my tension and anxiety like a summer breeze. Strange, how some people were capable of such things. I was pretty sure I only brought an entourage of headaches to those around me.

We sat together for a while, far away in the refuge of our own minds.  Processing our circumstances.

Fudge was the first to speak. "I can't believe this is happening," he said, and I found his openness refreshing.  "I mean, these things—we're completely unprepared for them, totally outmatched."

Understatement.

"Our soldiers don't stand a chance, let alone teenage recruits." He shook his head. "How could the Court send its youth to their death beds? Blindfolded?"

I frowned, thinking back to the training sessions I'd attended. "Didn't you sort of expect that when you auditioned for the army?" I asked. "All Frost ever talked about was personal responsibility and losing his leg in battle. We were always taught to see ourselves as disposable, so long as our sacrifices served a greater purpose."

Bodily autonomy, livelihoods, health...those wants were all inferior to our nation's wellbeing, at least in the eyes of the government.

He swallowed, glancing to the side.  "I...didn't think I'd place in the Tournament, actually."

I failed to repress my bewilderment. "Really?"

Boys were often encouraged to compete in the Tournament as a ceremonial tradition, but those who intended to pursue apprenticeships or careers in Belgate rarely trained for the competition, and certainly not for years on end. So why had the smallest boy in our cohort?

He started plucking weeds out of the ground.  "I never really wanted to be a soldier.  My parents expected me to carry on the family title.  My brother and my father and his father were all in the military, earned huge honors—so I did as I was told and attended lessons.  I mean, at least it got them off my case, you know? But I knew all along I wouldn't make it; I was never built for war."

I thought about my own father trying to influence my decision to fight.  He'd dragged me kicking and screaming away from the front lines, away from the path I'd chosen. Meanwhile, Fudge had been pushed into fire.

"Knowing I'd flunk out," he continued, "I was so relieved.  I thought, well, my parents can't say anything if I just don't have the talent for it, right?  It was my ticket out of fighting.  Out of dying." He hummed, ripping up blades of grass between his fingers. "So much for that."

I remembered those who'd fled when disaster struck, the citizens who'd followed my father to the Southern Ridge. "Why didn't you go with the evacuees, then?  Run when you had the chance?"

"My mother tried to convince me to leave with my brother. But Mason was set on finding the army, and I couldn't just...I couldn't let him go off on his own." A tired grin twitchedat the corner of his mouth. "Not when he lacks every basic survival instinct."

I knew Fudge and Mason were as close as brothers—a friendship that had stumped me for years—but for someone so unfit for war, it didn't justify his decision.

"Is that the real reason?"

He looked down, releasing a defeated breath.  "Part of it.  I guess I also didn't run away because..." He paused, his shoulders falling pathetically, "Because even if I'm useless on a battlefield, it doesn't mean I can just...stand by and watch other people die for me."

The confession pushed my eyebrows skyward. Our limitations were different in nature, but I understood the feeling too well—the need to contribute something, to no longer be the recipient of change, but the enforcer.

"There's no way I'm going to make it out of this war alive, Alex," he said with a tilt to his lips.  "But...even if I die tomorrow, at least I'll have tried to help. At least I might still make my parents proud, you know?"

His eyes were so bright, even in the shadows. They were blue and curious and young and—and someone like him did not belong in a world as dark as this.

I patted him on the shoulder. "I won't let you die."

His chuckle was empty. Mirthless.

"Hey, I'm serious, Fudge.  I won't let any of you die.  I promise."               

He looked at me then, contemplative and curious, his skepticism deteriorating with every heartbeat. No one had ever looked at me that way, with wonder parting their lips and a sparkle of hope in their eyes. It did weird things to my heart.

"Okay, I mean, if Mason happened to fall behind, it wouldn't be the most devastating thing in the world," I amended.

The response pulled a small, genuine laugh out of him. "Honestly, he's really not so bad once you get to know him."  I made a face, and he snorted. "Really.  There's more to him than you think. He's a different guy under the bravado."

"Well, if he never shows his good side, does it matter?"

He rolled his eyes, but a smile still danced on his face.  He seemed to feel lighter, having shed his concerns, having confided in me about his fears. And despite everything we'd seen today, I felt safe beside him. Safe and heard, which wasn't something I could say about most of my male peers.

"So, how did you and Mason even become friends?"  I asked, not wanting to kill this peaceful feeling just yet. It was a pleasantchange, having a conversation with a boy who didn't make me want to pull myhair out, run away, or kick him in the coin purse.

Fudge leaned back on his hands, his oversized breast plate and spaulders overwhelming his petite form. "I guess I saw through his act early on, and as soon as I recognized his insecurities, his behavior didn't annoy me anymore. It just made me sad." He shot me a hesitant look, probably wondering if he should reveal any more, but whatever he detected there in my features dissolved any reservations. "The first time I witnessed that vulnerability, we were nine years old.  We'd just had our first training session, and when Mason's father came to pick him up, Mason ran right up to him with this great big smile. He started gushing about his day, bragging about how amazing he was and how much better he was than the rest of the class. But instead of indulging him, or even scolding him for his conceit, his father walked away without a response, snapping his fingers at him to hurry up. And Mason's joy just...disappeared. Vanished right off his face." He sighed. "I began to realize it was always like that."

I pursed my lips. "So he's attention deprived, and his dad never gave him the light of day."  Made sense why he was always trying too hard and shining too brightly. He wanted his old man's approval, and he'd shoved everyone aside to get to his pedestal.  

"That's just scratching the surface."

"Maybe. It still doesn't explain why you tolerate him." Ugly home-life or not, it didn't excuse Mason's horrid behavior.  Even if it did explain it.

"Once you see him for who he really is, it's hard to unsee that, you know?" he said.  "Mason has a lot of potential.  He just...needs some help."

I dipped my chin, smiling at the ground.  Leave it to Fudge, the nicest, most harmless kid in the class, to take someone like Mason under his wing.

"Well, he's lucky to have you.  Not many people would put up with that attitude this long."

Fudge laughed again, louder this time, and I wasn't sure I'd ever heard a sweeter sound.

"I think I've just grown immune." He tilted his head, his expression warm. "But hey, it's getting late.  Why don't you try and sleep? I'll take watch."

I tried to argue, but he waved away my protests, and I sauntered back to my circle of dirt in resignation. Trying my best to sustain the warm, comforting feeling in my core, I curled up in a ball on the ground, pillowing my head on my arm and staring up at the murky sky. My gaze snagged on Will, who sat in his crooked tree like an animal native to the forest and her whispers, wide awake.

I wondered if he'd been thinking about his father too.  We all had family back in Belgate, and we had to push forward without knowing if any of them were okay. 

"Are you worried about your dad?" I asked quietly, casting for a human reaction of some kind. Avoiding sleep for another minute or two if I could help it.

He regarded me for a moment, cautious of my small talk. "Yeah."

"Did he go with the others?"

"Think so."                               

"...Do you think they made it out alright?" I whispered.

He chose not to respond, but his silence said everything.