Initiation into Dauntless is never just a straightforward process; it’s a crucible forging individuals through trials of bravery and resilience. For initiates in the Divergent universe, it’s also a stage for intense rivalries and unexpected bonds to form. Among these dynamic relationships, the complex interplay between the protagonist and Peter Hayes stands out, marked by fierce competition and a subtle undercurrent of mutual respect. This article delves into the engaging dynamic between these two initiates, particularly focusing on Peter’s character within the thrilling context of Dauntless initiation.
The Heat of Competition: Knife Throwing and the Leaderboard
From the outset of initiation, the air crackles with anticipation whenever you and Peter are set to compete. The other Dauntless initiates, though pretending to be nonchalant, are keenly observing, sensing the brewing rivalry. You and Peter are neck and neck for the top initiate spot, a fact made evident by the constantly shifting leaderboard. Peter might hold a slight lead at times, but the competition is so tight that a single successful performance can tip the scales.
Knife throwing becomes a pivotal event in this ongoing contest. It’s a skill where you naturally excel. There’s an almost intuitive connection between you, the blade, and the target. It’s not just about strength, but a precise blend of focus, muscle memory, and instinct. Peter sets a high bar, but falls just short of the bullseye. Knowing this is your chance to reclaim the top position, the pressure is palpable.
Despite the internal pressure, backing down is not an option. Dauntless initiation is about facing challenges head-on, and you’ve never shied away from one. Walking to the throwing line, the cold steel of the knife handle offers a stark contrast to your racing pulse. After a moment of focused concentration, the knife is released. A wave of impressed murmurs sweeps through the room even before you look, a clear indication of a successful throw.
And indeed, your knife is embedded perfectly in the center of the target – a perfect shot. It’s becoming almost routine, yet the satisfaction is undeniable. Turning your gaze towards Peter, you see his jaw tighten. He attempts to mask his reaction, but it’s clear he understands the shift in rankings. This back-and-forth for the top spot is familiar territory for both of you.
Morning Runs and Verbal Sparring
The competitive spirit doesn’t end in the training room; it spills over into the grueling early morning runs orchestrated by Eric Coulter. While these runs are physically demanding and universally disliked, they offer a rare opportunity for training without constant scrutiny. The focus shifts from performance to endurance, a different kind of test in the Dauntless initiation.
You excel at these runs as well. Having adapted to the rigorous schedule, they’ve become just another part of the Dauntless routine. The initiates spread out, forming a scattered line across the training grounds, with you and Peter consistently leading the pack.
Once a safe distance from the others, Peter subtly adjusts his pace to run alongside you. “I heard the rankings are about to change again,” he remarks, a hint of playful frustration in his voice.
You respond with a grin, “They already have. Looks like second place is your spot again.”
Peter rolls his eyes, dismissing your jab. “Temporary. Rifle practice is later, and we both know I’m better at that.” He asserts his confidence, highlighting his strengths in another area of Dauntless training.
“Do we?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow, enjoying the banter.
Peter gives you a pointed look. “Yes, we do. So, enjoy first place while you can, because it won’t last.” He sets the stage for the next competition, already looking ahead to rifle practice.
“Oh, I am,” you smirk. “Trust me, I’m enjoying it thoroughly.” You relish in the moment, knowing how much it irks Peter to be outdone.
Peter lets out an irritated sigh. Nothing seems to frustrate him more than being second best. It’s a frequent occurrence when you’re in the picture, adding fuel to your competitive interactions.
“Really? Well, how about enjoying this when I kick your ass in this run?” Peter suddenly accelerates, breaking into a sprint. He seizes the moment to challenge you physically, catching you slightly off guard. You quickly respond, pushing yourself to match his pace, the burn in your legs a testament to the escalating competition.
Peter’s timing is strategic. The finish line is just beyond the next turn. He must have conserved energy during your conversation, showing no signs of fatigue. It’s a close race, but you manage to catch up just as you both cross the finish line simultaneously. Peter glares, but his competitive fire seems more playful than genuinely angry. Four, the Dauntless initiation leader, arrives to address the group.
“Who won, Four? Be honest,” Peter demands, seeking official recognition of his effort.
Four simply grins. “It was a tie.”
The outraged reactions from both you and Peter are met with Four’s amused surrender. “It’s true, what can I say? You beat everyone else, just be happy with that.” He deflects the rivalry, emphasizing your collective achievement over the rest of the initiates.
Peter mutters a quiet “never” before moving to grab water, tossing a bottle your way. “Looks like it’s us winning again, isn’t it?” you remark, acknowledging the consistent dominance you both display.
“What else would it be?” Peter replies, a hint of reluctant admiration in his tone as he watches the next initiates crest the hill. “You know, I’m almost going to miss beating you in initiation.” There’s a surprising note of nostalgia in his voice, hinting at an unexpected enjoyment of your rivalry.
“Initiation isn’t over yet,” you remind him. “Plenty of time to get your ass handed to you in the ring.” You keep the competitive banter alive, but there’s a lighter tone now.
Peter shakes his head. “Phase One ends in a couple of days. Phase Two… I have a feeling it’ll be less about physical fights.” He looks ahead, anticipating the shift in initiation focus.
“Never thought you’d be the nostalgic type, Peter. I’m almost impressed,” you tease, genuinely surprised by his sentiment.
Peter chuckles. “You can be more impressed when I beat you both physically and mentally. Only one of us gets the top slot, remember?” He quickly reverts to his competitive persona, but the earlier moment of reflection lingers.
You grimace playfully. “Don’t remind me. I’d hate to see your face when you come out of this in second place.” You mirror his competitive jabs, but there’s an unspoken understanding developing between you.
Peter rolls his eyes, but there’s a thoughtful pause. “Whatever. Maybe I just like hitting these guys as hard as I can.” He deflects, focusing on the physical aspect of initiation, but the conversation has shifted slightly.
The other initiates start crossing the finish line, exhausted and sweating. You smile, acknowledging Peter’s point. “Maybe I do too.”
Phase Two and the Fear Landscape: Unveiling Vulnerabilities
Peter’s comment about the end of Phase One prompts reflection. Despite the intensity of initiation, there’s a unique camaraderie and challenge that’s been surprisingly enjoyable. The constant sparring with Peter, the drive to excel – it’s become a defining part of your Dauntless experience.
Perhaps you understand Peter’s sentiment after all. The future in Dauntless is uncertain, but the present, with its challenges and rivalries, holds a certain appeal. There’s a desire to savor this moment, this phase of initiation, before it inevitably changes. And so, in the final days of Phase One, you and Peter become almost inseparable in training, constantly pushing each other, trading barbs and laughs in equal measure, cherishing the dynamic you’ve built.
Inevitably, Phase One concludes. The training room is left behind, replaced by a sense of anticipation and perhaps a touch of anxiety about what’s next. While celebrations occur across the faction, you find yourself in conversation with Peter, sharing drinks late into the night. You sense a shared apprehension about the unknown challenges of Phase Two, but also a mutual comfort in each other’s presence. Bravery seems easier when Peter is around.
Phase Two shifts the focus from physical prowess to mental fortitude. The fear landscape training is introduced – a daunting prospect of confronting one’s deepest fears in simulated realities. It sounds terrifying, and the reality doesn’t soften the initial apprehension.
Each simulation session leaves you shaken, but within the landscape, you navigate with a soldier’s resolve. The simulated nature is easy to forget in the face of visceral fears, yet you push through, prepared to face your mind’s darkest corners.
After a week of individual fear landscape training, Four announces a new exercise: initiates will partner up to enter each other’s landscapes. The purpose is twofold: to foster vulnerability and understanding by sharing fears, and to enhance one’s own ability to confront them by witnessing another’s.
Due to limited Dauntless personnel, Four informs you and Peter that you’ll be conducting this exercise unsupervised. He expresses confidence in your abilities, stating you don’t need chaperones.
You find yourselves in a simulation room, preparing the joint landscapes. Peter watches from his chair, legs casually crossed. “So, whose fears are we diving into first?” he asks, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in his voice.
Glancing at him while preparing the simulation serum, you reply, “Doesn’t matter. I think I loaded mine first, but I can switch it if you prefer.”
Peter shakes his head slightly too quickly. You can’t help but wonder about the fears he keeps hidden. “I’m fine with that. Can’t wait to see what makes you nervous,” he says, attempting a light tone.
You chuckle, though unease lingers. The idea of Peter witnessing your deepest fears is strangely more unsettling than facing the fears themselves. “Oh, hardly anything. I am, after all, the bravest initiate Dauntless has ever seen,” you retort, masking your nervousness with bravado.
Peter smiles softly, a rare, genuine smile unlike his usual guarded expressions. He injects you first, then himself. The simulation takes hold, pulling you into its immersive world. Just as consciousness fades into the landscape, you register Peter pulling you back into the chair, cradling you against him. It’s surprisingly comforting, a fleeting thought before the simulation consumes you entirely.
Shared Vulnerability and Nascent Understanding
You awaken in your fear landscape, Peter beside you. It’s disconcerting to have another presence in this intensely personal space, but you try to remain unaffected. The familiar array of fears manifest: dangerous scenarios, childish phobias, and new anxieties born from Dauntless life.
Then, the scene shifts, morphing into a recently acquired fear, one specifically tied to Dauntless. You’re in the Dauntless compound, but something is amiss. An unsettling silence hangs in the air, and the corridors are eerily empty.
Peter looks at you, confused. “What fear is this?”
You shake your head, avoiding his gaze. “You’ll see.”
Rounding a corner too quickly, you collide with a tall, unfamiliar man wielding a gun. Instinct takes over. You disarm him, kicking the weapon away. Instantly, more figures appear, blocking all escape routes.
Just as they prepare to fire, a familiar face emerges from the crowd. It’s Peter, but not the Peter beside you. This Peter is in command, the others looking to him for orders. You turn to him, silently pleading for help.
But this Peter shakes his head, his expression cold. “You shouldn’t need my help. You’re weak,” he spits, the word like a physical blow.
His harsh words continue, cutting deeper. “You should have known better. Why would you ever be better than me? You’re nothing. We were never equals. You’re not worth my time.”
Peter raises a hand to the soldiers, dismissing you, disappearing back into the crowd. “Kill her. She’s not someone we could ever want.”
You jolt awake, moments before the simulated bullets strike. You’re now in Peter’s fear landscape. He seems disoriented, not immediately registering the shift. He looks at you, stunned. “What was that?”
Your gaze falters. “It’s a stupid fear, I know. I’m just…nervous I’m not as good as I think I am.” You confess your vulnerability, expecting dismissal or sarcasm.
Instead, Peter reaches out, taking your hand, compelling you to meet his eyes. “Hey. None of that is true. You know that, right? You have never been nothing. Not to me.”
Peter swallows hard, the truth seeming difficult to voice. A surprising vulnerability from someone formerly of Candor. “You should never have to doubt yourself.”
Almost disbelief, you ask, “Why not?”
Peter hesitates, about to respond, then simply squeezes your hand. “We haven’t seen my fears yet.”
He leads you through his landscape, his hand remaining in yours. At the climax of his fears, a scene mirroring Phase One initiation appears. This time, it’s you facing Peter, a simulated version of yourself. The other you mocks Peter, calling him a failure. It’s a striking parallel to your own fear. Why would you both fear each other’s rejection, each other’s negative judgment? The answer hints at a connection deeper than mere rivalry.
Awakening from the fear landscape, you remain in Peter’s arms. A shared silence settles as you both process what just transpired. Finally, Peter speaks, his voice soft. “Do you get it now?”
You nod slowly. “I think I do.” And you do. Words of love might be premature, still distant amidst the intensity of initiation. But this shared vulnerability, this mutual recognition of deeper feelings, is a significant beginning. A foundation built not on competition alone, but on something far more profound.
