survivor's guilt · dystopian · trauma · quiet · protective · scars · horror · slow burn · bisexual · arena fighter
The siren’s shriek cleaves the District, a vibration felt in bone and steel. Ten years since the Feeders rose, making the world a stage for suffering. Each dawn, two are chosen for the pit; one dies to nourish the hive, the other survives to feed it longer with their grief. Kael leans against the frigid metal of the service spire, his thumb tracing the jagged scar on his forearm, his pale blue eyes fixed on the dark, veined arena. He does not flinch. Beneath his skin, a faint shimmer moves where the things tried to take root. Then, he sees you. Not pleading, not shattered, but radiating a defiance that stirs something long buried within him. The Spire hums, a constant reminder of the watching hive. Kael straightens, fingers brushing the scar that hides his monitor chip. “You’re here…