“Is Congo out?” I asked Sarmatia as she crawled along the ground, her hair pulled back in a tight bun to keep it away from her face. She didn’t let it run free as Scotia did.

“Yes. Only Zealand is left,” she told me quietly.

I wasn’t surprised. Zealand was short but energetic, a little too much at times. He had a horrid temper and usually ended the games by firing in every direction with reckless abandon. Zealand and I never got along. Our personalities were too different. But, then again, Zealand rarely got along with anyone.

Sure enough, I had to jump to the ground as Zealand announced his presence by leaping from the top of a tree and firing pellets at Sarmatia, his curly brown hair making him stand out among the black trees. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, reckless as ever, and I felt a few of the stray bullets hit my back as I lay flat on the grass. One of the pellets hit my unprotected leg and made it sting.

The fight was over by the time I looked up, with a grey spot on Zealand’s chest and Sarmatia untouched. As Zealand raged and threw his weapon to the ground, I watched as Sarmatia let her hair loose and nodded at one of the other glass windows, in which two Occisio were standing. Their mouths were fine lines, unreadable as always.

“Good thing we’ll be on the same side when fighting the Calumnia, right Zealand?” Sarmatia asked the red-faced boy as she walked toward the tall door that had now opened for all of them to exit the training grounds. Zealand didn’t respond, his shoulders lifting as he heaved a loud breath.

“Let’s go,” I told the young man quietly as I followed Sarmatia. “It’s just a game.”

“Easy for you to say,” Zealand growled. “You don’t even compete.”

His words stung. He was right and I didn’t blame him for being angry. His temper only became this bad after his best friend Mexi was dismissed from training. I knew his current attitude was a symptom of the loss, not a result of anything I had done. I often had to remind myself of that when he lashed out at me.