Atalanta

Part 7

• Y/N •

As soon as I enter the stadium, the noises seem muffled.

Objectively, I know this crowd to be louder, to be larger than ever before but to me, it does not seem real. The racing of someone from Kom is such an oddity that today, the stadium is packed to its limits. Walking out on the track to take my place at the starting line, I attempt my usual stretches and swallow my fear.

I will try not to win.

I will try, but there is a voice deep inside me which knows I will fail. I have tried many times and the results remain the same. Perhaps this time will be different, though. The future is not always written in stone.

When Jimin steps onto the field, I cannot look away. The palace servants have attended to him, that much is obvious. He has been scrubbed clean, his clothes are freshly pressed – in this golden light, he looks kinglier than I do. The cheers which follow him attest to this fact.

Jimin's lips quirk when he sees me, sinking into a starting position. "Is it always this loud?" he asks, scanning the crowd.

I note that beneath all his bravado, Jimin is a shade paler than earlier. It seems he is as scared by this as I am.

Softening, I brush his hand with mine. "I'll admit, your cheers are rather unusual," I say. "Don't get a big head about it, though. I haven't lost yet."

Jimin's smile turns razor-sharp. "You have not raced me yet, princess," he warns. "I hear gods and the goddesses alike watch our racing today."

A chill travels my spine. "Jimin," I say, suddenly fearful. "Who have you prayed to?"

Stretching, Jimin offers a shrug. "Maybe someone. Maybe no one."

Dropping all attempt at pretense, I turn to face him head-on. "Jimin, you don't know what you're doing."

When he looks up, all laughter has disappeared from his gaze. "What would you have me do otherwise, princess?"

I stare at him for a moment, the longing so thick between us that for a second, I cannot think of an answer. "Don't die," I whisper suddenly. "Everything until now, I have managed but I could not bear that. Please, do not make me."

Jimin's gaze is bleak – that of a gambler with the die already cast.

"Then, I better win," he says. "Yes?"

The horn blows in the distance.

For the first time, I am not prepared. Jimin leaves the line first, sprinting down the track and leaving me staring, open-mouthed at his back. Something spurs at my ankles, urging me on and I gasp, vision suddenly blurred in the corners. I run, my first strides loose until my feet catch underneath me and I am suddenly flying. Even from here, I can hear Jimin's breathing. Even from here, I can hear how thin, how uneven it is.

He cannot keep up this speed for long – and he does not. As we round the first corner, he starts falling behind and I keep running on pace. I am passing him, trying desperately not to, when something extraordinary happens.

Jimin reaches into his pocket to pull something out. He turns, points, aims – and throws.

It happens too fast for me to see what it is; only that the object is beautiful, golden and landing several feet from the track.

All around me, I can hear screaming. The noise of the crowd intensifies, leaking into my consciousness as my feet stumble beneath me. Without pausing to think, I veer off track.

It does not matter; I will win anyways – Artemis has made me the fastest in the world. One detour will not change this fact.

Whatever it is, it is half-buried in dirt. I scoop the thing up quickly, holding it aloft as the crowd roars in response. Light glints off the pale golden apple as I read the inscription.