The next morning, she got up and tried to get back into her typical routine. The shower was more modern than anything in the city and it took a few minutes to figure out. There were no eggs, but she did find the means to make coffee and oatmeal in the kitchen cabinets. After some breakfast, Rye brushed out her hair and braided it back. She scrubbed and dried her mask and put fresh clothes on. The pain in her chest was mostly gone, it was just a little tender where the needle had been jammed in. There was a knock on the door and Rye put on her mask, loaded up her knife, and answered.
"Good morning. As I see you're ready to go, please follow me," Seven said, hands clasped behind his back. Rye nodded and locked the door as she followed, slipping the key in her vest. The sun was up but Rye could tell it was still early. Seven took her to a number of places and explained some ground rules on the way. They got her Legend name registered as Oracle, he showed her the training grounds where she could practice using the weapons and technology they provided during the games, and he showed her the hangar where a large dropship was stored, idle until the next game.
"As per the terms of your agreement, you'll be expected to report to the dropship by eight AM on game day. Other than that, you're free to roam the facility as you wish so long as you abide by our rules," Seven said. No killing, no sparring outside the training grounds, no uninvited entrance into another Legend's home.
"Understood," she said.
"If you need my assistance, there's a buzzer in the entryway of your home. Press the button and I'll respond."
Rye nodded. Seven turned on his heel and left her outside of the dropship hangar. She navigated back to the training grounds through a rocky tunnel that emptied out into a small area surrounded by steep cliffs. It was lined with chests of weapons and supplies and had rows of electronic targets. Relieved she had the place to herself, she loaded up a random firearm and started unloading clips. Her aim had really depreciated. She cycled through several guns, getting a feel for their recoil. She focused on retraining her fire down sights and she practiced until her trigger finger was too sore to continue.
Rye did this every morning, arriving and returning home before anyone woke up. It was the day before the game and as she stepped into the range, there was already someone there. With their leather coat and pants lined with pockets and a mask adorning their head, it was none other than Bloodhound. She did a one-eighty on a dime and took a quick step back in the other direction.
"Please, come join me," came a warm voice laced with a soothing accent. She paused her escape and looked behind her shoulder. The lenses of his gas mask peered in her direction, he was holding a rifle in one hand, leaning it against his shoulder. He had an air of an otherworldly force. Rye made a prediction and she had a moment of internal deliberation. In her vision, Bloodhound stood in the same position and gestured her over again. She didn't want to expose her own lackluster aim, but it would be a good opportunity to try and glean information about the mystery Legend. She cautiously approached Bloodhound, trying to appear casual.
"No need to be nervous," he said. She felt a chill up her spine. "I am Bloth Hoondr, you can call me Bloodhound."
"My name is Oracle," she said with a nod.
"May the gods guide your fights in the games."
"Gods? Which gods?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"The Allfather, and the Old Gods of the North. They have set the path before me."
"I'd accept all the guidance I can get, if they'd have me."
There was a quiet chuckle from behind Bloodhound's mask. He set the rifle down and closed the gap between him and Rye, the lenses of their masks just two feet apart. He said, "The Allfather would have those that would have him. Would you like me to show you?"
