Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: The Games have begun

I took small steps each time the line in front of me moved. As usual in District 6, it was cold, and some raindrops touched my face while I looked at the dark sky. But I didn’t care about it; I only cared about how my heart was pounding in my chest as if I was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Regardless, I kept a cold look on my face and forced myself to calm down and breathe.

In fact, I shouldn’t be so worried about this. My name was probably the least repeated in the urn, only seven times, each one for the years I had been participating in this crap. However, something within me told me I would be selected, but I tried to shut it up; I thought that every year. This is the last one. I forced myself not to smile at that thought.

I reached the end of the line and gave my hand to the guy in front of me, who pricked my finger and made me keep moving. I entered a group of guys of different ages. I liked to be surrounded during the reaping; it made me feel like I was just one more among all of these kids, and there was no reason for me to be picked.

The young lady on the stage, wearing a bright yellow dress with orange details and a tall wig of the same color that tried to represent a sun, which contrasted with the cloudy day, attracted my attention. Horrendous. I didn’t even bother listening to her; I knew she was probably introducing herself and telling us about the Games and their history. I didn’t give a shit about that. I looked around, seeing all the sad and worried faces of the boys around me, and felt glad that I didn’t have any friends or family who could be selected for the reaping, even though I also didn’t have friends in general. I couldn’t even imagine having to care not only about my safety but others, or worse, being tempted to volunteer.

I almost fell to the floor in surprise when I saw President Snow appear on the big screen on the ugly metallic walls of my district. “Good evening to everyone, citizens of Panem,” he said with a creepy smile on his face. “We are all gathered here today to celebrate another year of our beloved Hunger Games.” No one said a thing, but you could feel the tension in the air.

The 75th Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, definitely not the best Games to play. I am not a lucky guy.

I turned my attention again to the screen on the wall. “I know we are all expecting, so let’s not make this longer…” he laughed a bit. “Let the… 76th Hunger Games begin!”

At that exact moment, everyone around me started to talk in low voices, which quickly turned into a loud cloud of noise. What? That was the only thing that crossed my mind. I tried to look for my dad’s face among the adults on the other side of the square, but it was impossible to find him. Suddenly, I felt myself pushed to the front, and I almost tripped over the guy in front of me. The peacekeepers were already shutting up the crowd. Don’t tell me someone will die before the reaping even begins.

A loud noise coming from the microphone of the yellow lady made us all cover our ears. “Well…” she looked as shocked as all of us. “In that case… I suppose the reaping has begun.” She smiled. We all stared at the screen, watching how the tributes of the other districts were selected.

As I imagined, the four tributes of the first and second districts were volunteers; all of them looked prepared to become the winners of the now 76th Hunger Games.

In District 4, there was also a volunteer, a kid no more than thirteen years old, to our surprise. I did not pay much attention to District 3’s tributes, much less to District 5, because the turn of my district was coming.

“Oh!” The yellow lady looked excited. “It is our turn, guys.” She came closer to the urn on the right side of the stage. “Let’s see, let’s see, who will be the fortunate guy that represents District 6 in the Games this year…”

My heart started beating fast again, and everyone kept an overwhelming silence. I looked down, trying to distract myself from the whistle in my ear. “Zeb Galloway.” I felt the curious eyes on me before I even felt my blood freeze. I think only a few seconds went by before I realized: it has happened.

However, in that moment, I felt a sudden calmness within me, and my attitude changed drastically. I started walking calmly to the stage, much to the surprise of a peacekeeper who was already getting closer to me. I knew no one would volunteer for me; that was the only disadvantage of not having friends. But I was not afraid; I had been preparing myself for this all my life. I got up on the stage, and I could only think about my father. My mom was probably crying, same for Grandma. But Dad, could he be crying? Angry? Upset?

“Fabulous,” the woman interrupted my overthinking. “A really handsome guy to represent District 6.” She smiled at me, and I quickly understood: The Games have begun. I smiled back at her.

“Do you have any words, Galloway?” I turned to look at my district. Many of the names of the kids down there would not be in the next urn. Mine wouldn’t be.

“I just want to say” I took the microphone from her hand “that I will do my best in the Games to take the name of this district to the place it should have always been.” Everyone stared at me. “On the winners' side.” I was not expecting them to applaud, but they did.

“Okay…” The woman, who surely did not like to be taken from the spotlight, took the microphone from my hand while getting closer to the other urn. “Let’s find out who our female tribute will be, should we?” She took a paper and read it out loud.

“Nita Hest.” I knew that girl; she was a bully. Surely there would not be any volunteers for District 6 this year. What a surprise.

She got up on the stage, and the extravagant lady got her close to me. “Any words, Hest?” She hesitated. “No,” she said, annoyed. Not a good beginning.

The yellow lady fake-smiled. “Well… I guess we have some mesmerizing tributes this year.” She laughed. “Congratulations to both of you, and may the odds be ever in your favor!”

I think I got lost on my thoughts for a moment because the next thing I notice is some peacekeepers took me by the arms and led me to a room inside the building closest to the reaping.

A few minutes went by when the door opened, and I was quickly wrapped in a hug by my mother. “My son, my only son,” she cried out loud while she held my face to look me in the eyes.

“Mom, don’t cry,” I said, even though I was close to crying myself. My mom calmed a bit and stroked my face.

“I love you, my son.” I put my hand on hers.

“I am going to come back, Mom,” I said, sure of myself.

“I am sure of that…” my grandmother said from the door.

“Grandma,” I said, getting closer to her and taking her hand. She smiled at me with difficulty. “Just try to come back with as much humanity as you can…” A tear ran down her face.

I opened my mouth, but I could not say anything more because a peacekeeper took my arm and dragged me out of the room almost running. “Wait!” I shouted, looking at my mom and grandma. “Where is Dad?!” They didn’t answer.

When I couldn’t see them anymore, I broke free from the peacekeeper’s grip. “I can walk,” I said angrily, but the peacekeeper didn’t let me go until I was at the door of a train.

“Get in,” he said and went to the pilot's door to get in.

I sighed angrily but wrapped my hand around the door to push myself up and then onto the train. I never thought I would actually travel in one of these one day. But I was pushed down suddenly.

I turned to look directly into my dad's eyes. He grabbed me firmly by the shoulder and looked at me deeply when he said, “Get away from 9.” I looked at him extremely confused.

“Dad?” He grabbed me tighter by the shoulder, which I took as an affectionate action.

“You are going to live, Zeb; you are going to live.” I was not sure if he said it to me or to himself. I nodded.

The train started whistling, and I got up quickly just before the doors closed. The train started moving, and I couldn’t even see my father's figure disappear from the window. I only had one thing on my mind. Get away from 9.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Savages

I look through the window and see how we left the long tunnel, leading to the night sky. Now I could see the beautiful natural picture of District 7’s forests and mountains. I had never left my district until now. It didn’t matter how beautiful the views were, or even the mountain of delicious food the Capitol had left us on the table of the train, the only thing I had on my mind was what had happened this afternoon...

The sky was a bit cloudy but there was no rain, and the temperature was mild.

"Rea!" my friend Violet shouted to me when they finished pricking my finger. "Come with me" she smiled at me with a sad look on her face. Since our first reaping, when we were twelve years old, we have always been together on this day, holding hands to neutralize each other's fears, and this was the last year. Never again.

I saw how Vi held her sister's shoulder, who was in front of her. I understood her pain, knowing next year her little sister Lilly would not have someone to care for and protect her on this day. I never had the chance to do the same with my brother, even if I wanted to, I could not volunteer for him. I couldn't help myself from looking at Vi in these moments, she was a strong girl who loved with all her heart. I tried to be like her as much as I could.

When the old lady on the stage with her flowy dress and her short green wig started talking, Vi held my hand more tightly. If I was chosen, she would volunteer. that thought crossed my mind. District 9 was characterized by its strong sense of community, and Vi was the representation of that.

The place was calm, but when we heard Snow shout that the 76th Hunger Games had begun I was as shocked as everyone else to not hear 75th instead. Everyone started to move and shout, some pushing each other. I could only cover my ears and try to look for my brother among the group of boys on the other side. But I couldn’t get even close because Vi grabbed my arm and made me stay still. I heard a shot far from us. The crowd turned silent and everyone returned to their places. Has someone just died? My body didn’t react to the news, like everyone else’s, we all knew how Panem imposed order. However, I could never reconcile that. I refused to look back, because I would probably lose it if I saw what had happened or who it had happened to.

The old lady didn’t hesitate and continued talking. "Let’s go then and continue with the choosing of District 9’s female tribute." With all the movement I did not even realise all the other Districts had already elected their tributes. Vi tightened her grip on my hand unconsciously and I could only try to breathe normally to avoid throwing up from the anxiety.

"Liliana Demet." It felt like time slowed down when I heard the name of my friend’s little sister called out. I felt how Vi let go of my hand and hugged her sister the moment Lilly started crying. Vi was opening her mouth when my body moved on its own: I covered her mouth and shouted "I volunteer!"

My head felt heavy just remembering that. When I closed my eyes I could still see Vi’s horrified eyes looking at me. I looked to the other side of the table and saw him eating calmly a piece of chocolate cake. I had always feared I would end up volunteering if one of the kids I looked after, or one of my cousins, were selected, but I guess it was always within me. I tried not to think much about that possibility because the thought of the Games made me sick to my stomach. That made me think about how I had never really tolerated watching the Games for long, and that, plus my poor physical strength, made me afraid. I didn’t stand a chance in the Games. It was known that districts like 9 didn’t produce many winners. No one was afraid of 9. Although I knew people who would definitely do well, I wasn’t one of them.

That track of thought overwhelmed me, so I looked again through the window to distract myself, although that led me back into my memories...

I went up the stage slowly, shaking, and gave a worried look to the crowd. I knew that wouldn’t give me a good image, but I couldn’t help it. I was horrified as I felt the weight of my actions settle on my shoulders. I’m actually going to the Games. I thought while trying not to run away.

"Well, who do I have the honor of meeting? We don’t get a volunteer from District 9 at every reaping," the old woman said jokingly, but I couldn’t answer. I looked at my district again, then at the camera that focused on my face. I knew I had to say something.

"Eh… I-I’m Rea... Taur," I stammered. She gave me a weird look because of my hesitation, then continued with her speech.

"Okay… let’s move on to the male tribute." She got closer to the urn and took a paper from the bottom. "Let’s see…" she sang. She opened it slowly, and I felt my hands go suddenly sweaty. She opened the paper, and her eyes widened. "Oh…"

Everyone was expectant. I felt the urge to vomit all over again. "Al Taur." The crowd went so silent you could hear a mosquito fly. We all turned to look at the boy. He was quiet and glanced around, maybe hoping someone would volunteer, or just looking for someone to reassure him this was real. He walked to the stage, and we could hear his footsteps echoing. My heart broke when he came close to me and looked me in the eyes, his eyes shining with unshed tears. I didn’t know what to do, so I knelt to his level and hugged him, whispering in his ear "Everything will be okay..."

The woman didn’t know what to say anymore. Everyone remained silent, looking at their feet.

She finally collected herself and looked at the camera. "It looks like this year we will have something never seen before in the history of the Hunger Games." I clenched my fist, dreading how she was going to sell us to the audience. "Two siblings together in the same Games," she paused, "what a tragedy."

The crowd stayed silent out of respect, but I could almost hear the Capitol cheering over the news. Savages.

~ Zeb’s POV

The train passed through District 9, making it harder for me not to think about what had happened earlier. I saw the beauty of the district’s yellow-green fields, but that feeling faded when the factories and mills appeared. Get away from 9, get away from 9.

The door opened suddenly, revealing Nita, who had just turned into my partner at The Games. "Are you going to come in sometime, or what?" the black-haired girl said dryly.

I looked at her seriously, debating whether to respond sharply or keep my manners intact for a while longer. "Yes," I said, quickly deciding it was better not to make more enemies than necessary.

I followed her to some blue sofas arranged around a large table full of all kinds of food. I forced my stomach to stay quiet and stood still, watching a man seated on the floor. Nita sat down and started devouring food with her hands, without any thought. The man seemed oblivious to my stare as he sat with his face gaunt, messy hair, and dark eye bags.

"Don’t bother, he’s high as fuck," Nita said.

I rolled my eyes, "fuck." Morphling.

I looked at him again, then back at Nita. "Have you even asked him to say anything?" She just shrugged, not caring. I huffed, approaching the remote of the big screen on the wall.

"What are you doing?" Nita asked, still chewing a piece of pork.

"Well," I said, while trying to figure out how the controls worked, "it seems like our addicted mentor here isn’t going to be much help, so I won’t waste any more time waiting for him to say something useful, or eating like a mindless animal." I think she took that badly because she grabbed a napkin and wiped her face a little.

"Grr…" We both looked at the man when he growled, finally breaking out of his self-absorption. His eyes were red. "I’m sorry, this day overwhelms me," he said, now addressing Nita. "I’m Pictor."

"Tanner," Nita added. Of course we knew one of the few victors from our district, though not necessarily for good things. I looked at him, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t.

"That’s it? Aren’t you supposed to give us advice or something?" He didn’t even look at me, which was frustrating. "Unbelievable." Nita seemed annoyed by my attitude, probably wishing I would shut up and let her eat.

I started searching for the reaping broadcast. Nita seemed more interested now, watching shyly as she picked up a cupcake. I skipped through Districts 1 to 5 since we had already seen them, though I would probably review them later. But now my mind was set on another district. I also skipped 7 and 8, and this time Nita furrowed her eyebrows. I stopped when I saw the old woman on the screen and the large number 9.

"Nine?" she asked skeptically. "Why?"

I didn’t answer, too focused on figuring out what had disturbed my father so much. We watched as a dark-skinned girl, maybe fifteen or fourteen years old, was chosen. We didn’t get too emotional -it was the Games, after all-, thouse things happen. What was a bit surprising was how another girl about my age suddenly volunteered, screaming more than what someone would spect.

"That’s some enthusiasm for dying," Nita laughed, shaking her head. It was true. Apart from Districts 1, 2, or 4, it wasn’t common for people to volunteer, especially in disadvantaged districts like 9 or 6, where most of us died in the bloodbath. Not me though. Even so, the reaping wasn’t that shocking, just a scared girl from District 9 with no chance of winning. What I expected was a big guy to show up for the boys explaining my father’s warning. But what happened was much more surprising.

"The siblings," Pictor whispered from the floor. When he said that, we were already watching in shock the two dark-haired siblings tearfully embracing each other.

"Poor guys," Nita murmured, putting down her food for the first time. I didn’t say a word.

We can’t get rid of emotions, Zeb, and when you go to the Games, those are your biggest flaw. If you’re weak, you work out; if you’re stupid, you study until you’re not; if you’re not skilled, you train. But if you’re emotionally weak... you lose. So get away from emotions, and you won’t have to deal with that. My father’s words echoed in my mind. He always talked to me like I was destined for the Games, and now, it was true. Now I understood why he wanted to keep me away from District 9.

The screen kept playing, showing the girl hugging her brother as if he might disappear, both still crying. I smiled. "Ugh," Nita said, "that’s creepy. Don’t smile at that." She threw a piece of bread at me, but I ignored it. Sorry, dad. I have an idea.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Six

When we finally arrived at The Capitol, the sun was almost down. Al had finished eating more food than we had probably both seen at once on a single table in our life. He had tried sleeping during the trip, but he couldn’t. Eventually, he came to my side and rested his head on my shoulder, probably trying to calm himself down. However, I could sense he still couldn’t fall asleep.

I wonder if he was thinking about the desperate face of our mother, or about how we hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to our cousins, uncles, or friends. What if the last time they saw us face to face was while we cried on a stage after being chosen?

I signaled for him to follow after me when he stayed sitting on the pink couches of the train, but he looked at me with a worried expression and didn’t move.

“Sitting there forever won’t keep us safe, Al,” I said honestly.

“I’m scared,” he confessed in a low voice. My heart broke a little more at his statement.

“I’m scared as well, Al.”

Maybe he understood the silent meaning behind those words – I’m scared, but this is our reality now. If we stay scared, we’ve already died. He stood up and followed closely behind me through the train cars.

Al can be a frightened child (as any other child chosen for The Games would be), but he is clever above all else. That knowledge gave me a bit of the bravery we so desperately needed.

When we finally reached the door we had entered through early in the day, a peacekeeper gestured for us to get off. I went out first.

We were at a station – one much fancier than ours. The walls looked like they hadn’t seen mold in ages, every corridor was decorated with gold trimming, and to make it all even more surreal, there was no ceiling, leaving me staring at the clear sky with no traces of heavy factories or pollution.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” a woman's voice broke through my stargazing.

I looked at her slightly wrinkled skin; she must be around my parents' age. Everything about her screamed Capitol citizen – who else could afford hair and makeup done professionally? Not to mention her perfectly tailored suit and gold-like watch. However, the freckles on her skin – the ones only we from the district with the most sunlight had from working on the fields – gave her away. She was a victor from district nine.

That was strange; I couldn’t recall ever hearing about many victories from our district. I suppose this was the answer. She had waited for us here because she was already here. She lives in the Capitol. Our Victors’ Village had always been quiet – the few victors we’d had usually chose to leave and work for the Capitol. For some reason, that knowledge made me less receptive to her.

She continued, understanding I wasn’t going to answer. “You don’t usually see buildings like this in Nine. You’ll fall over when you see where you’ll be staying. The bad thing is, they don’t have the good weather we do”.

The use of the word we made me feel a little sick to my stomach.

“How would you know?” I asked dryly. Considering her age, she might not have set a foot in the district for thirty years.

Her gentle smile faltered, but her tone stayed calm when she answered, “I reckon I haven’t been around much, but once a seed, always a seed, you know?” She was referring to a common saying in our district.

I couldn’t bring myself to smile at her yet, but I started to lower my guard. Even if I didn’t like that she had left our land, she was still a victor. I can’t be mad at one of them for the choices they made after the Games. I didn’t even know what I would do if I lived through all of that myself. If.

She turned her gaze to Al and smiled again. “I’m Sylva Mayleaf. I’ll be your mentor.”

Al frowned at her. I knew he didn’t mean to be rude – he was just trying to look angry so she wouldn’t notice his shaking hands. Sylva’s eyes showed her tiredness now, and I could tell she probably hadn’t slept.

“Well,” she clapped her hands once, “we should go to the Training Center now. All the dorms for tributes are there, and I suppose you’re really tired…” She didn’t finish the sentence, probably unsure whether to end with from the trip or from everything. Either way, we let her take us wherever she wanted.

~ Zeb’s POV

I took a moment to look at the huge building from the street. I’d always thought the thing that would surprise me the most about coming to the Capitol would be finally riding the machines I’d spent my whole life fixing and altering – only to end up dying without them ever taking me anywhere.

However, looking up at the pale green building with enormous white crystal windows and dark green finishes, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

“Quit staring and get in already, yez,” my partner's annoyed voice sounded behind me. I didn’t answer, just followed after her, with our creepy, zoned-out mentor behind us, still trying to sober up by drinking from a bottle of water he’d grabbed from the train.

The inside of the building was just as amazing as the outside. But as someone who appreciated architecture and machinery above all else, I didn’t get too caught up in the luxurious emerald curtains or the fine cutlery in the entrance – unlike my partner, who kept glancing around when she thought I wasn't looking. Does she still care if I think she’s less intimidating for liking fancy things? What a stupid thing to care about when you could be just days away from dying in cold blood.

We entered the elevator and waited as the doors closed. Soft music started playing, but no one moved a finger while we remained on the ground floor. I looked at Nita; she gave me a side-eye before we both turned toward Pictor.

He was pouring what was left of water in the bottle over his head when he noticed our stares. “Oh, yes! Sorry,” he said, rushing to press button number six. Well, that was intuitive.

We got to our dorm, it was way larger than any house I’d ever been in. It probably occupied the entire floor just for us. At a glance, you could see the living room connected to the kitchen, separated by a massive dining table. Nita dropped onto the couch like she hadn't already been sprawled on another one just an hour ago.

From where I stood in the door, I could see three rooms – two on the left, one on the right. They were probably for each of us, and judging by the luxury of it all, each must have its own bathroom too.

The color scheme was mostly gray, with black and white tones, making me realize that every floor probably had the same layout – one per district, each with its own color palette. For some reason, the Capitol always associated us with gray. It must be for the metallic color of the trains and trucks we worked on.

I decided to look around the apartment. I wanted to gather all the information I could – it seemed more useful than sleeping on the sofa. Always be one step ahead. When others are enjoying themselves, you train, you scout, you figure out all the ways your plans could go sideways.

I remembered my father’s words, always reminding me of that when I told him I didn’t want to train because my friends asked me to go play after a long day at the factory – I think I was ten when they stopped asking.

He was very serious about resting, but he was more serious about not overresting.

I checked one of the bedrooms on the left – it had, in fact, a private bathroom with a big bathtub, toilet, and washing products I had never heard of, plus a queen-sized bed and the largest dresser I’d ever seen, fully stocked with clothes of every form and shape.

When I stepped out, Nita’s harsh voice ambushed me. “That’s your room now. Don’t even think about checking mine like some kind of weird elite spy, freak”.

I crossed my arms and looked her in the eyes from across the room. She was at least a head shorter than me. I didn’t know how that much rudeness and attitude could fit into such a small head.

Just when I thought my efforts of trying to keep peace with my district partner were going out the window,  the morphling addict in the corner decided to talk.

“Look,” his voice was much steadier now, “I know being picked is the worst moment of your life – truly, I understand.” Nita and I stared at each other while he spoke. “Being thrown into a place you don’t know, full of people you don’t know, is definitely unsettling…” He paused. “And I know meeting the person supposed to help you while he’s intoxicated isn’t exactly comforting… I’m sorry about that. But right now, you’re the only thing from home you have. Technically, the only thing you know here is each other. So please, don’t let them take your humanity so early.”

Hearing his last words match the ones my grandma told me before I left finally made my gaze falter.

Nita grunted, rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Alrigth…” She passed by me and entered what had now become her room.

~ Rea’s POV

I zip up the back of my black training suit to my neck as the elevator rises.

Sylva had shown us our rooms – separate ones – although I’m sure Al and I will end up sharing either way by the end of the day. The entire dorm is covered in yellow and orange tones. I find it a strange color choice, but I don’t have time to think much about it because Sylva quickly advised us to go to the training floor. Which is strange because the official training doesn’t start until tomorrow. There will probably only be a few of us at the training room at this late hour.

She argued it would give the other groups the impression that we are actually committed to training and working hard for the win. She didn’t say it outright, but I sensed another reason behind it: we won’t stand out tomorrow when we are surrounded by all the other districts.

A girl who’s only ever worked planting and harvesting grain – not to mention that I spend most of my days feeding the chickens, weaving straw baskets or taking care of the children around, none of those activities giving me any strength that could compete with the lumberjacks and agricultors of other districts, much less the careers, – and a thirteen-year-old boy who hasn’t even even finished growing. Things aren’t looking good.

So, maybe it was a good idea after all to try and get to know whoever is here before the more appealing districts get to them.

We are the first to arrive, almost at the same time as District Seven, according to the numbers boarded on their suits. The pair reminds me of us somehow: a little girl not older than Al, and a boy about my age. At first glance, they both look leaner and stronger than we do, though I like to think you wouldn’t notice from afar.

They go to the area for throwing knives and axes, just across from the fire-making station Al and I are. The little girl looks me directly in the eyes, then nudges her partner's leg, and he leans in as she whispers something to him, like it’s a secret.

I don’t know why, but I instantly assume they’re looking at us with pity. Poor brother and sister, both in the Games. I understand now: that’s our title. That's what makes us stand out.

My first thought is that we should try to look like we can put up a fight or at least offer something useful for survival if we want people to see us as more than two doomed siblings. My second thought is that maybe we could use that morbid interest we provoke to our advantage. I just need to figure out how.

The elevator doors open, and I decide quickly to approach the pair before more people arrive and we lose their attention.

“Hi. I’m Rea,” I say.

The boy looks at me a bit suspiciously. The girl with the ponytails, however, greets me with a half-smile and a missing tooth.

“I’m Hacha. This is Leef.”

“You must be good with axes – you went straight for them,” I comment.

Leef looks around, and I worry I might’ve said something wrong.

“I guess. It’s what everyone in our district goes for,” Hacha says firmly.

“What are you guys good at?” Leef asks dryly.

I struggle to think of something and look at him for a few seconds.

“Rea is the best craftswoman,” Al says proudly as he appears on my side. “I’m Al.”

“Ha, ha. In our district we’re usually good with scythes too,” I add quietly, trying to sound more dangerous, because I think that's what he wants to hear.

Finally, Leef looks at Hacha with a small smirk and giggles. “That craft skill might come in handy to make a place to sleep,” he says.

That finally makes me smile, and I hug Al’s side gratefully.

The small conversation continues between Al and Hacha. However, I get distracted because I suddenly feel strange – like someone’s watching me. Actually, I think I’ve been feeling it for a while, but it’s only now that I let go of my nervousness about meeting new people that I truly notice it.

I look slightly around and don’t see anything. But, when I look over my shoulder I find some tall boy with messy hair staring directly at me. At first, I think he must be looking elsewhere, but when his lips lift slightly in a smirk, I know I’m wrong.

The dark-haired boy is reprimanded by his district partner, who elbows him and mutters – not quietly enough for me to miss – “I told you, quit staring like a creep. Now she’s noticed…”

I can’t help but frown slightly as my eyes drop to his suit.

Six.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Still Seeds

“You need seven.” Mayleaf’s instructions start before the sun has even risen.

Al is yawning while I pour myself a glass of milk. I admit it’s a bit overwhelming to have a mentor like Sylva –in the short time we‘ve known her, she’s only talked about strategy and how to win. Still, I know I should be grateful that after everything she still cares. How long has it been since one of the tributes she prepared won? Had there been any? I can't remember. Living on the outskirts of the district, we’ve always been somewhat distant from everything related to Panem, the Games or the other districts.

I’m grateful to my family for trying to give us a life away from the horrors of the Games, but I definitely wish I had known a bit more about all of this now.

So, I suppose I’m lucky that the poor performances of District nine in the Games haven't ruined Sylva Maylef’s determination to make us as prepared as possible for what’s to come. Despite this, when I realize she’s staring at me, I know she’s annoyed that I stopped listening to her after the first sentence.

“I am sorry. What?” She sighs briefly but answers me without much exasperation.

“I was saying–” she starts, but Al cuts her off.

“She said we need to form an alliance with either strong districts or a biiig–” he makes an exaggerated motion with his hands “--alliance with weak districts like us.” He says it like it’s nothing and keeps eating his bun.

“I-I didn’t say it like that,” Sylva tries to defend herself.

“It’s okay, Sylva, you don’t need to sweeten it for us,” I assure her. “So, you think we should ally with Seven since we got to know them?” She nods. “But, why would they want to ally with us?”.

“You may think they won’t be interested, but you already know each other, you are of similar ages and you are trustworthy –a girl who tries to care for her little brother. That’s the kind of profile you can be sure won’t stab you in the back. That´s what you offer,” she argues with conviction.

“And we need Leef, because he’s rock-strong,” Al says while chewing scrambled eggs.

“Eat some fruit, Al,” I remind him. He rolls his eyes but puts a pear on his plate.

“I understand. Seven may be the strongest district we can afford to ally with. But I was thinking that maybe we could also ally with all the weaker districts. We’re stronger together.” I refer to a common District Nine saying.

Mayleaf looks at me like she’s carefully analyzing my idea.

“That’s a very District-Nine way of thinking. And I like it. It could work. However, I have to warn you that that strategy has already been used before. I’m afraid to tell you it usually ends with half the team dying in the bloodbath. If you’re not lucky enough to find each other quickly, the Careers will hunt you down.” I am left speechless at her reasoning.

She seems to have forgotten for a second that she’s still trying to sugarcoat our reality, because she glances at Al after saying that and mutters, “Sorry”.

“Don’t be. I’m not a kid.” Al tries to act tough. I know that’s not true, but right now, it feels like he is –he has to be. And so do I.

“Well, I say we try to go for both –strong and weak districts. If they’re reasonable, they’ll see the advantages of our offer.”

I set my fork down, finishing my breakfast and starting to get up to change into my training clothes.

“Wait!” Sylva’s voice makes me pause. She quickly regains her composed tone.  “There’s one more thing I have to mention. I’ve noticed District Six has unusually strong tributes this year. However, I don’t think you should try to recruit them. I sense they can’t be trusted.”

I was afraid she’d say that. I‘d tried not to think about the way that guy stared at me during last night's training. It made me feel… unsettled.

“You sense?” I ask, intrigued. I admit I’m not particularly fond of the idea of having them on my team, much less of the fact he seemed to have noticed me. But that guy is strong –undeniably so– and that’s exactly what we need.

“You might think District Six is an ally of the weak districts, but these people… that boy. He doesn’t seem trustworthy.”

I stare at her. I can’t help but question her way of thinking. Can we even trust any tribute at all? I wonder, but I repress the thought and just nod. She’s my mentor, after all. If I can’t trust her, then I definitely can’t trust anyone.

~Zeb’s POV

Nita yawns heavily in my face. I wish the elevator were bigger so I wouldn’t have to stand right in front of her. She’s been so annoying today –whining about how late we went to sleep yesterday and how she’s still sore from last night's training. I couldn’t believe it; we’d been on the training floor for barely an hour. We only practised fist-fighting for twenty minutes straight before she asked for a break. Does she think the other tributes will give her a break in the arena?

I couldn’t be happier when the doors finally open and she walks out. I scan the room while walking out myself in the other direction. We’re late –obviously– because someone wanted to take her time eating her two pieces of cake, half a melon and three drinks (one peach juice, one black coffee, and one milk). My god, we don’t even drink coffee at Six. What is she on about?

Keeping my mind away from Nita Hest’s eating habits I identify the districts I’d been looking up information on last night, while Pictor’s snoring told me it was already midnight. I went over the footage of the reaping again and marked which tributes seemed most dangerous and suitable to team up with. I can’t be sure until I meet them, but it’s not like I plan to stick with anyone for the whole Games –I just need strong companions to watch my back while there’re still big alliances formed. Once people start falling and betrayal becomes more likely, I’ll go solo.

As expected, District One’s tributes are already talking with District Two’s. They look as trained as everyone knows they are. They’re in the fighting room, watching as the smallest of them moves with impressive agility against the holograms that simulate warriors carrying axes and machetes. They stand their ground, taking up more space than needed, intimidating anyone who might want to train –or show– their own fighting skills.

I walk closer, ready to pass by quietly –I’ll make them want me on their team with my skills, not my words. But then, a braid of copper hair appears at my side just as I’m getting close.

“Are we recruiting them to our alliance?” Nita asks. I stop and look at her.

“Firstly, who do you think we are? Secondly, our alliance?”. I ask flatly.

“You heard Mr. Stoned-dude –we’re a team,” she says in a singsong tone. I cross my arms. And stop walking.

“Fuck, you never stop being infuriating, do you? Okay, we’re together, for now. But we’re not talking to them. We’ll prove our value. When they see what we’re capable of, they’ll come to us.”  I leave out the part where I doubt her ability to impress the Careers — though honestly, I don’t think she’d give a fuck if I said it. I kind of like that about her.

“Fine. Follow me, then.” She commanded. I follow, seeing no point in arguing.

As we walk, I notice the girl from Nine. She's talking with District Eight –a pair of children that don’t seem older than her sibling– I quickly guess that her idea is to gather allies from the weaker districts. She’s not with her partner of district — they probably separated to cover more tributes to recruit. I wonder if Nita and I are on their list of possible allies.

When we pass by, she locks eyes with me and frowns. I smile and wink.

“What are you doing?” Nita asks, almost angrily. Though honestly, she’s always almost angry.

“Doesn’t matter. Where are we headed?” I say, stopping in front of a door.

“No hologram crap. We’re not fighting ghosts in the arena. Come on, I saw this yesterday while I was taking a break.” The way she pronounces the last word makes it sound like resting wasn’t the only thing she was doing, more like wandering around the place to get to know it –maybe I judged her too soon.

She walks into a room lined with mats. Although that won’t stop the pain of being slammed into a wall, that’s for sure. There are also a good number of weapons scattered around. One wall is entirely glass, letting everyone outside watch what goes on inside.

“So, what are we fig-” The air leaves my lungs before I can finish, and I double over. Nita stands proudly, having just kicked me in the stomach, and checks her nails. I can almost feel the interested eyes of several tributes on us.

“Not…” I gasp, “not quite surprising for a bully to hit someone unprepared.”

She rolls her eyes. “You deserve it, prick. And I’m not a bully. I just take `an eye for an eye´ more like `an eye for a fucking skull.´ I’m a bully of bullies, really.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” I don’t let her answer. I grab a metal bar from the floor, move behind her, and lower it across her neck. Before she can react, I push it toward me, trapping her against my chest.

“What the fuck,” she spits. We’ve gathered a crowd by now. Districts Ten and Twelve watch from afar, while Nine’s little boy presses against the glass, excited. I smirk at him, and he laughs. District Eight edges closer as Nita struggles.

She tries to break free but her attempts don’t work, until suddenly she kicks me in the crotch. It’s weak, but strong enough to make me lose my grip, setting her free.

“You play dirty.” She sticks out her tongue and swings a punch. I block it, grab her wrist and elbow, and spin her around into the wall.

She lets go a groan. Before I can celebrate, pain shoots through my ribs — she’s hit me with a wrench.

“Fuck.” I grunt. She uses the moment to shove me hard against the wall. The mats do nothing to dull the impact.

When I glance at the glass, I see everyone watching — even the Careers. That makes me determined. I meet Nita’s eyes, who looks more pissed off than usual. She throws another punch at my face, stronger than before. I look down and spot a silver chain on the ground.

I knee her in the stomach. She doubles over despite trying to block it. “Owed you that one.”

I duck another one of her blows. I grab the chain, push her away, and fling it toward her leg. She loses balance, and with one shove, she’s on the ground with a loud thud –that must have hurt.

I crouch and pick up the same metal bar that started it all. Looking down at her, I say, “You’re smart.” I tilt my head slightly toward the glass wall where every district is staring. “And I guess you weren’t so sore after all.” She smiles weakly, panting, and giggles. “But your fighting style’s too messy.”

I stand and offer her my hand.

“That’s because I don’t have one, dickhead. I just punch things –it’s always worked for me.”

She takes my hand. We both stand — she slower than me — and leave the fighting room while the others still watch.

From afar, I see the boy from Seven… and, more interestingly, the girl from Nine. When most tributes drift away, only One and Two remain.

When the room finally clears, the boy from Two steps forward and extends his hand.

“Name’s Phastus Hef,” he says proudly. I stare for a moment. Nita elbows me sharply. I give her a side-eye before shaking his hand. He grips firmly, trying to establish dominance. I match his strength.

“I’m Zeb.”  I can feel Nita’s judgmental look even without turning.

Phastus studies me with a smile on his face. I feel like I am being evaluated by him. I clench my jaw.

Finally, he giggles and lets go of my hand. “Cool. Zeb,” he repeats, like my name’s simple — like I’m simple.

He gestures to his companions. “These are Connie Telum, my district partner, and Emerald Sain and Bright Mill —they’re from One.” I remember Connie as the youngest but most agile of the group. Emerald waves, batting her eyes. Bright just nods.

“We think you could fit in our group,” Phastus says. There’s an edge in his tone, like he expects gratitude. When I don’t answer right away, he adds, “Also your friend.” He nods toward Nita.

“Cool…” I reply, not sounding nearly excited enough, because she immediately steps on my foot.

~Rea’s POV

When we finally get to our dorm, we both collapse onto the couch, exhausted. Sylva appears from her room in an instant.

“How did it go?” she asks expectantly. Thankfully, Al saves me from answering.

“I learned to throw knives with Hacha. But I got distracted because the tributes from District Six started fighting each other. It was really cool. I didn’t think district partners fought each other, even for practice,” he says, imitating his knife-throwing.

“They usually don’t –that’s what holograms are for… Doesn’t matter. How did you do, Rea? How did the recruiting go?”

Now the attention’s on me.  I run my hands over my face to clear my head.

“I looked for ways to craft, make shelters, and set traps. I know you said to focus on new abilities, but…”

“It’s okay,” she cuts me off gently. “It wasn't an irreversible statement. How about the team building?” She asks what she wanted to know from the start.

“I don’t know, Sylva. They don’t seem very interested in a big alliance. Most prefer to stick with people they already know. Eight and Twelve said they’d think about it, but Five shut me down immediately. And I’m not sure about Leef… he doesn’t seem to trust us.” I mutter the last sentence.

“Hacha said they’d be in,” Al blurts.

I look at him, eyes wide open. “She did?”

“Yeah. She said Leef isn’t sure but thinks it’s the only chance against the Careers if we can form a big group.”

I sit, processing that.

“That’s amazing. That could be a great start. If you tell the others about the possibility of District Seven being in the alliance they might be more willing to join,” Sylva says with a smile.

“YES!” A feminine voice suddenly exclaims, bursting through the main doors so loudly I almost jump. “I told you it was this one –my eye never fails me! It was the yellow door!”

The woman who enters looks taller than all of us, mostly thanks to heels the size of Al’s head. She stands proudly in all-pink clothes –reminding me of the pink from the little pigs on our farm– that somehow match her skin tone. How can they even change their skin color like that?

“You said that about the last three doors,” a young man mutters, struggling under a pile of suitcases and hangers. He looks far more natural than her, though his green mustache doesn’t quite match his brown hair, and his polka dot suit makes him stand out either way.

“Shut up, Julius. Remember, you’re only here because my cotton-brained brother stood me up.”

Al and I exchange confused glances. The pink lady notices and flashes all her teeth — even two that glint silver when the light hits them.

“Hello, tributes from District Nine! My name is Rhaenbow Lys, and I’ll be in charge of your clothing designs for the 76th Games!”

There’s an awkward silence before Julius fills it with weak applause.

The man smiles weakly. “And I’m Julius Lys —her nephew.”

That surprises me;  he’s definitely older than me, which would make Rhaenbow much older than I thought at first glance.

“He’s just my assistant. He was fired from his previous job,” she says with a flick of her jeweled hand.

“Aunt Rhae!” he scolds.

Sylva steps in, making the chaotic duo pause. With her usual calm smile –which makes her look like a caring mother– she explains, “They’re here to prepare you for the Tribute Parade. We need to leave in two hours.”

“Two hours?!” Rhaenbow shrieks, making me almost cover my ears — Al actually does.

Julius rushes to steady her.

“Two hours, Julius! You said four! How are we going to get these…” she takes a moment to scan us before continuing, “...not-so-hygienic people ready in two hours?!”

Al glares at her. I just cross my arms, unimpressed.

“I knew it. You’re a moron –just like your father.”

“I told you the Parade begins in four hours, not that we had four,” he mutters, barely audible. “Plus, you spent one just looking for a yellow door…”

Then I notice something. Over her heart-shaped wig and heavy makeup, she’s missing an eye — hidden behind a glittery pink patch. Her heels, though identical in shape, aren’t the same color — one is gray. A clothing designer who mistakes colors and has one eye? That must have been the reason why they were so supposedly late, if she was as stubborn as she seems I could just imagine how difficult it must have been for Julius to convince her she was on the wrong door before they got here.

It is strange, but the knowledge of our fashionista’s condition makes me feel… something.

Maybe it’s empathy. Maybe it’s because our cousin Betty also struggles to tell colors apart — a problem when feeding the chickens back home, since we sort their food by color. Or maybe it’s because, as someone from the Grain District, I can’t help but put myself in her shoes. That instinct to care takes over me. Maybe that’s why I keep pushing to form a group — a pack of people to protect, especially the weak.

Our district’s sayings echoes in my mind:

Share your harvest with the one whose fields have dried; he'll share when the floods reach yours.

Treat the seeds with the same respect you give the crops, for one day they'll all be grain.

Gray, small, or broken — we are all seeds still.

Under sun, rain, or wind, we always care for the seeds.

A sad thought crosses my mind –that maybe those sayings are exactly the reason we lack so many victors.

“Well, don’t look at me with that sad face, darling. And don’t waste another second of my time. You two — into the showers! Julius, get my notebooks. And Sylva… just stay there and don’t distract them. It’s time for fashion!”

Al looks at me with worried eyes. He’s clearly overwhelmed by these strangers — people who want to change us to please the Capitol, the ones responsible for all our suffering.

I grab his hand and squeeze it tightly before they separate us.

Once a seed, always a seed. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Endurance

“Turn around,” the man said in a bored, monotone voice.

That was strange, because the first thing he had said when he entered our dorm was, “By the light of Panem, thank Snow! It wasn’t a joke—you really exist, and you actually look like you might have some potential.” So, you would have supposed he was at least happy to see us to some extent.

He wasn’t as over the top as most Capitol citizens, but he had seemed far more enthusiastic when he first saw us. I didn’t even understand what he meant by that sentence.

Pictor explained that he was our costume designer for the Parade, and the woman who followed him was his assistant. That much I understood—my father had told me about the Parade, along with every other detail he’d gathered about the Games over the years.

But I had to admit, I didn’t really know how this part worked. I hate feeling like I don’t have things under control—and right now, having a stranger (who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, despite claiming the opposite) telling me to spray myself with some strange purple product, while he mumbled about cutting my hair, changing my clothes, and “saving my face,” I was definitely not feeling in control.

Plus, having Pictor sitting on my bed while I was half-naked didn’t exactly help me relax. I was sure I looked like I might punch anyone who dared to get too close.

“Why do you have to be here?” I spat, crossing my arms—only for the man, who hadn’t even introduced himself before barking orders, to tell me to put them back down.

Pictor met my eyes. Normally, his gaze was unfocused, wandering somewhere far from the present. I was fairly sure by now that he had hallucinations. Morphling probably amplified them, but at the same time, it was likely the only thing that could quiet them for a few hours. Even then, I didn’t think he’d taken any since we arrived.

I wasn’t sure which version of him was worse: the morphling one, or the sober one. When he wasn’t high, he became a sad man who spoke in a low voice and scribbled constantly, like drawing was the only thing keeping his demons at bay.

At least now we actually had a mentor—one whose advice fit people with low physical ability, who preferred to hide and wait for danger to pass. People like most of District Six. But this year, we weren’t the norm, and it was clear he didn’t really know how to handle that.

That was probably how he’d won his Games. I remembered my father telling me about him: Pictor Trio Tanner, the last male victor from District Six—not too long ago. He couldn’t be much older than thirty. Supposedly, he’d relied on camouflage and stealth to win –district Six was good at that, hiding–, and now that I knew him, I was certain it was true.

His advice came from experience, I couldn’t blame him for it. But I still thought it was dangerous to not plan ahead for the other threats waiting in the arena. You could never know where the Games would take place—sometimes hiding wasn’t even an option.

When he answered, I had already forgotten what I’d asked.

“I’m here because it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be with Nita and her stylist, don’t you think?”

“Well, you could just wait outside,” I mumbled.

“Okay…” he whispered, starting to rise slowly.

“Wait. Stay,” I stopped him. “But tell me who this weird guy is.” I demanded my mentor, even though the man was right in front of me measuring my abdomen and leg length.

If he noticed I was talking about him, he didn’t care.

Pictor sat back down. “He’s Arce Lys. He doesn’t usually work for Six—that’s why he’s taking all your measurements. He’s designing you new costumes this year.”

That sounded like a good thing. Dad always said the Parade was a great chance to attract sponsors, but our old gray overalls and tool belts never made us stand out next to the richer districts, so he would quickly go on about other ways to get this advantage. Now I was curious about this sudden change.

“Why? Who did he work for before? What happened to the people who used to make our costumes?”

Pictor looked overwhelmed yet ready to answer, but Arce laughed dryly before he could.

“I wouldn’t call that making,” he said. “That old fool got fired. He had you wearing the same thing for almost thirty years. Seems like someone finally realized his incompetence.”

He laughed again—coldly—and kept working.

“But—” I began, but he cut me off.

“I was Nine’s stylist for the last three Games—or rather, their assistant. My empty-headed sister never let me decide between two hats. That blind moron—she can’t even tell beige from salmon.” He muttered a few more insults before continuing. “When I was offered this job—plus the rumors that you might actually stand a good chance this year—my answer was obvious.” He explained with boredom.

“Yeah, you look thrilled,” I said sarcastically.

He met my eyes. “I’m never excited. That would make me look like my sister. And I am not a childish moron.”

I gritted my teeth. This man is fucking weird.

He stepped back and looked me over from head to toe, brushing a hand over his sky-blue toupee and adjusting his tiny round glasses—which I was sure were purely aesthetic.

“Now, if you’re done being noisy, get in the bath and do what I told you. Fifteen minutes. We don’t have much time.”

~~

I felt bald. That thing had stripped away all my body hair. It smelled like chemicals—something you’d use to kill rats. That glittery, neon-purple bottle reminded me of the Capitol itself: shiny, toxic, and wrapped in lies and glitter.

The fact he shaved the little beard I had didn’t help to make me feel less uncomfortable. And when he trimmed my hair, I finally stopped recognizing myself.

The man in the mirror didn’t look like someone who spent mornings at the factory, evenings doing chores, and nights training with his father. When the assistant applied makeup, I even looked like I’d slept more than five hours for once in my life.

“You look so handsome!” she said proudly.

I just stared at my own reflection.

“This one,” Arce said, holding up a hanger. I turned to look—and couldn’t even tell what the clothing was supposed to be.

“And the top?” Pictor asked.

Arce laughed.

~~

When I finally stepped out, Nita was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. She must’ve just finished getting ready herself –not having the time to open the fridge and eat some blackberries, as I had noticed she did every time she could. When she saw me, her eyes scanned me up and down before locking on mine.

“You look like a whore,” she said flatly.

“Have you looked in the mirror?” I shot back.

We both glanced toward our reflections. We barely looked like ourselves. Wrapped in gray fabric that shimmered silver under the light, covered in decorative gears of all sizes, crowned with matching silver headpieces—we were the machinery this year, not the ones who built it. It was original, I had to admit.

Even with the somewhat beautifulness of our costumes, for the most part, we were skin. Nita’s top barely covered anything; mine didn’t cover anything at all.

I wonder if the budget was really that tight that they couldn’t afford a few more centimeters of fabric.

“Did you run out of fabric?” Nita asked, glaring at Arce.

Maybe the reason she was crossing her arms wasn’t out of annoyance but shame.

“They’ll like it,” he said flatly.

Pictor gently draped a maroon jacket over her shoulders. “You can wear this until you have to go out.”

By that action I knew it hadn’t been his idea. But he wasn’t going to fight it either.

I didn’t say anything.

I wouldn’t say I was modest. I would gladly stand naked in front of the Capitol if that meant more sponsors and chances of winning. However, I hadn't yet decided if this was a good strategy or not. Something in me said these choices would have consequences—but I didn’t know which ones yet.

As we stepped into the elevator, Nita’s brows were still furrowed. And although I wasn’t certain about this, I tried to sound like I was for the both of us.

“Embrace it, Hest. This will give us an advantage. Then we’ll come back here and never have to do this again. It’s a good trade.”

She looked at me in a way she hadn’t ever before-–sadly. “I’m not so sure about that part,” she whispered.

And although she was still wearing Pictor’s maroon jacket, I realised maybe wearing something revealing was not her actual issue, but the deeper meaning behind all of these –still, I don’t think we understood it yet.

~~ Rea’s POV

We stand at the back doors of the coliseum, the one we’ll have to stroll through — standing on a quadriga, of all things — while the whole stadium shouts at us and judges our appearance for the first time.

Al’s calmness startles me. He’s accepted what we’re about to face—what we’ll become. It makes him look older, steadier, like a little man.  I feel relieved by that, but at the same time, it makes the role I had acquired — the role of protecting my brother at all costs and not thinking about anything else — falter.

At this moment, standing surrounded by twenty-three tributes all dressed in extravagant and dazzling outfits, hearing the neighs of the horses (also dressed according to their district quadriga’s theme) echoing through the compound, and the distant roar of a crowd waiting to see us and make their bets on who will die first— I can only see myself from another person’s view, like this isn’t real, or at least it isn’t really happening to me.

I try to distract myself by studying the outfits of the other tributes. They’re all scattered around, most near their own district partner. Everyone is on theme.

Hacha and Leef are covered in brown fabric while leaves fall from their heads like waterfalls. I find it kind of disturbing to see a twelve-year-old girl holding an axe with such mastery –as an accessory. But taking into account no one has mentioned it, I might be the only one who thinks so.

I look at the kids from Twelve I met today — Liliana and Benjie Ash, if I remember their names correctly — whose girl was called the same as my friend Vi’s little sister. I volunteered for her, I remember thinking when I heard the little girl's name. My mind went over a lot of memories in an instant. My best friend’s little sister, Vi, my mom, my cousins, the farm, my home. My whole life. It all seems so far away right now. I felt like I had forgotten everything that used to make me who I am since I had souted for them to make me come here instead of Lilly.

I brush the memories away and get my thoughts back to the Twelve kids.  I think their outfits try to resemble their latest winners. Of course, I had heard the story of how two tributes had won last year’s Games together — I remember when Vi told me after a day working in the fields. In the back of my mind I think I still holded on to the hope that that could happen again. She also mentioned something about how they had caught on fire during the Parade and looked absolutely mesmerizing.

However, Liliana’s and Benjie Ash’s clothes didn’t look fitting on them: two little kids dressed in tight black leather and surrounded by fire sparks — which, I believe, weren’t supposed to flicker the way they did right now. Benjie Ash caught my eye and I quickly looked away, embarrassed that I had been caught staring.

I tried to focus on the other people in the room; we all looked alike in some way. Ten wore cowboy-like costumes with cow print. Eight was a ball of textures, colors, and patterns that didn’t seem to make sense. I couldn’t tell what Five and Three were supposed to be, but they both looked like something out of a futuristic movie. And I suppose our closest doppelganger was Eleven. The pair was themed around flowers and agriculture: the tall girl — who might as well be one of the biggest and strongest tributes — wore a beautiful flowered dress that made her look like a powerful, thorny rosebush. Although, the big flower on her head kind of threw it a little over the top for me. Her little district partner matched her with the same pattern, though on him it looked like a small poppy bucket. His flower was much smaller — thankfully for him. I noticed his skirt was longer on one side and realised it was trying to cover his wood leg that compensated for the missing real one.

Taking in all these costumes, I remembered the episode I had lived with Rhaenbow just an hour before and tensed. Had these people also gone through similar things today? Had they done the same as me? A few of them looked revealing and tempting, others fragile and cute, some strong and fearsome. Were those aesthetic decisions made by them or their designers?

I slowly drift into my thoughts…

I had already bathed and followed all her instructions when she said, “I’ll start now.” I looked around the room for a dress, a suit, even an orange bow to wrap myself in. Instead, I only saw a bunch of red paint in a bucket on the desk.

“What am I supposed to be?” I asked, confused, as she started to dip a brush in it.

“I decided to make you guys stand out the most this year so I can get back at my brother for standing me up. So, I investigated your culture and found out about your, like… mud and stick rituals. So vintage! We’re settling for a lawbreaker look — but more chic than dirt and sand. You won’t be wearing anything! Something never seen before!”

I looked at her, scared, as she came closer with the brush in hand.

I immediately knew what she meant by “investigated” was more like seeing a few pictures, because the rituals she was talking about were so old no one had practiced them in hundreds of years, and even then, they had never really been a big thing for our people.

“What do you mean? We can’t go out wearing only body paint,” I said, anger starting to rise as she approached.

“This won’t let them see you that much. It’ll be a fashion trend for next year’s Parade!”

She then pressed the pencil to my face and I burst out in anger.

“You will not make us stand there naked like animals for your enjoyment! You can’t use our culture to ridicule us!” I pushed the brush so far it splattered the wall with red paint. Rhaenbow let out a sharp shout as if she had been physically attacked. When I didn’t react violently, as she probably expected, she just went to pick up the brush again.

“Fine. Then you’re stuck with last year's customs. Hope you like grain straws!”

Said and done.

Now I stand wearing a short skirt made out of straws and a top of the same material that starts above my belly button and reaches my chin. Al is wearing something similar, but his top is more of a neck piece, and his skirt is longer — or at least it looks longer on him.

Even with Rhaenbow’s threat, she did make some changes to our costumes. We let her paint some red patterns on our limbs and stomachs. Al’s face was covered in red on the sides, mine on my forehead and nose. She obviously didn’t know what that meant — nor did she know anything about the supposed culture she had “investigated.”

It wasn’t common for people to paint their faces nowadays — and we didn’t usually do it in red. Although, knowing Rhaenbow, she was probably trying to go for orange and missed. Red means war. So, thinking about it, maybe the color wasn’t so wrong. Covering your forehead could mean many things: confrontation, preparation, or, more simply and most often, asking for rain for the crops.

Almost only older, superstitious people paint their faces like this nowadays. Another mistake was using paint in general — it should be done with mud and dirt from the soil, but I suppose that would be too wild and uncivilized for the people hosting children’s death games. I obviously didn’t say that to Rhae; she already saw us like animals, no need to worsen it.

Al’s paint on the sides of his face, however, was for death. That was probably the only face painting we still did consistently. I had painted myself like that when my dad died. We all did, but it had to be done with the earth where the body of the dead resided. It was respect, sadness, a promise to always carry a part of that person with you. Mourning.

That meaning, only we knew about, made me unsettled. I didn’t like Al wearing it. I wouldn’t say I was too superstitious, but even the least traditional person from Nine could tell this was pure blasphemy.

“She waved at me,” Al whispered, astonished.

I looked at him and then in the direction he was staring. The girl from Six had waved at him and returned to her group’s chatter when One’s girl seemed to have commented something that made her irritated.

Wait. One's girl.

For the first time, I noticed the group that had formed in one corner of the room. The mere sight of them frightened me. The professionals had already formed a group. A big group. Too big for any of the other districts’ tributes not to be afraid.

One looked like gods, both their blond hair falling gracefully in perfect curls, framing their elegant gold costumes decorated with jewelry and simple shiny headbands. Two complemented them with their own red and white uniforms that made them look fearless but still beautiful, with their slicked-back hair and weapons worn as silver jewelry. Four almost broke me out of my astonished staring because of the kid who looked out of place among the other fighters. However, taking into account he was matching his companion with turquoise blue nets surrounding them like a night wound, and the beautiful pink starfish accessories, you could tell he was raised for this.

Although Four wasn’t as rich as One or Two, they were still professionals most of the time — and this year, you could definitely tell.

Because of this, the ones who stood out the most were Six, because although their clothes were definitely on the theme of boldness and temptation, they had lived lives like the rest of us — and that was something you couldn’t hide with expensive attires and looks of superiority.

The careers’ team was bigger and stronger than anticipated. It had been formed quickly, and although they didn’t look exactly cooperative — as currently Six’s and One’s girls were arguing — they were probably one of the biggest threats right now.

And we haven’t even entered the arena yet.

“FIRE!”

A desperate scream came from across the room. I looked back and saw something terrifying. Benjie Ash was fully covered in flames. His district partner screamed for help as a trail of fire also climbed up her calf. However, she shouted for someone to help him.

All the tributes started running in the opposite direction as he stumbled upon a table, making the fire spread across the room. Chaos exploded. The horses started to neigh and jump in fear. The Peacekeepers guarding us began to gather the tributes, trying to stop them from fleeing, as more entered the room carrying fire extinguishers.

I grabbed Al’s shoulder firmly without taking my eyes off Liliana and Benjie Ash. The Peacekeepers stopped the fire on the walls first — especially on the doors that connected to the spectators. Yet no one helped the burning children.

I don’t recall what happened next. I just know I got my hands on a heavy wooden plank, swung it through the air, and slammed it onto a Peacekeeper’s head. The man stumbled, and I took the chance to grab his extinguisher and head toward the kids.

“Help him! Help us! Please, please, please…” she shouted, even when I was right beside her.

I didn’t know how to use the instrument, but I aimed the top at the boy whose body couldn’t be seen through the flames. I pressed the biggest handle I could find, and thankfully, a white substance emerged from it. It looked like a mixture of water and foam but smelled chemical.

In a few seconds, his body was no longer burning. Then I directed the handle toward Liliana’s legs and torso. Just when the fire around her had stopped, big hands pushed me by the shoulders, dragging me away from the kids. I looked back to see the Peacekeeper I had attacked. He was pissed and the force with which he grabbed me showed it.

I tried to look toward Liliana but only saw her kneeling beside Benjie Ash’s body, both covered in white substance and crying.

When the Peacekeeper let me go, we were already back with the other tributes. They all looked scared and surprised at me. I got up and ran back to Al.

“I’m sorry I left you,” I said quietly, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“You did the right thing,” he said with a proud smile.

The back doors suddenly opened and people in uniforms of all kinds burst in. Nurses surrounded Twelve while a few others came to check on the rest of us. What surprised me was seeing the man who had been in charge of preparing the whole Parade looking at us with a wide smile.

“What a show you’ve put on. We’ll need to delay the Parade fifteen minutes now.”

He made it sound so unimportant my blood boiled.

“Come on, men, we don’t have all evening. Get these people ready and in order to start entering.”

He turned his back on us and started talking to a woman with a notebook.

“It was Twelve’s costumes — some malfunction made them explode. The costumes are fireproof, but taking into account the gravity of the fire, the kid—” she was cut off by him, who didn’t seem to care about the last part of her sentence.

“That bastard. I told him the new designer couldn’t pull off Cinna's work. Tell him about this, and then tell him to report it to President Snow. Next year I want Cinna, I don’t want to hear anything else.”

After that, he just left the room, like he had just taken care of an insignificant setback.

All kinds of assistant designers came in and started surrounding their own tributes — including Rhaenbow and Julius — fixing our costumes and appearances at such a rate that I felt dizzy. Rhaenbow whispered to herself half-cut insults and sentences like “you had to be the hero,” or “damn me for always putting so much effort into this…” and “you’re lucky you’re ninth to walk out with how much you’ve ruined your hair…”

But I didn’t pay attention to her. I could only look over her pink wig toward the kids whose bodies now looked reddish and black for reasons that had nothing to do with their district’s costumes.

The tributes around me, all staring in the same direction, as Liliana started to get up with difficulty and Benjie Ash’s eyes opened vaguely. As if only us were worried by the image —I realised we probably were.

Only one question lingered in my mind: How much could we endure?