Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

We are the demons beyond salvation.

I am the bruise deeply buried in your godless soul,

The inextricable manacle clinging to your heart.

Her life restarts, alongside the countdown.

—— Reaping Day

Tick tock, tick tock.......

This is a good day, truly. Sunshine pours onto our shoulders like the golden grace from Panem, blinding my eyes and setting my blood seething . But beneath all the cheering and pride, there is something else --

“Any volunteers?”

Tick tock, tick tock. Only my breath echoes back.

“I volunteer!”

All the heads in this crowded square turn around to that voice, including me. My gaze follows the current to find who it is, and there, a boy lunges forward. Tall, muscular, some might even call him monstrous.

Cato Hadley, I know him -- literally the name and have seen him in the Academy. Nothing else. He is the greatest one in his grade, older than us -- maybe one, two or even three years old? I’m not sure.

We did train and even practice to fight with older children from upper grade, but just like the fate, the lottery never assigned us together.

Even so, the best class is not that crowded to miss someone’s name, yet with a vague impression -- at least, I am one of the youngers who passed the elementary training, then survived from the scary and violent fighting of older children. Because I was neither excellent in public training nor charming enough to catch his attention. Unnecessary to do that, or I can say that’s the most dangerous thing I could imagine -- attracting attention. Who else would want to let everyone know what they are capable of before the arena? I am the mid-upper students -- enough to get good training, but not letting people know me too much. If that’s a private training, I will run out of myself to show how far I can go.

Cato Hadley is one hundred percent the best, not only praised by trainers, but also girls. We were asked to observe his practice matches a thousand times -- every movement you can see how trained he was, You could hear the sound of his blade cutting through the air as it tore toward his opponent. Sadistic, vicious, even glacial intent. And what was worse, he never minded being observed -- he is the savage soldier and the glorious symbol of District two.

By the way, how girls depict him -- masculine.

That’s why I said I know him. Heard too much gossip about him, and the representative word -- masculine, endless time. Wow, to be honest, he was one of my source of amusement during lunch time. In this aspect, knowing him too much! There were so many juicy stories I heard about him, made me laugh so hard. However, not now.

Now, he is still as popular as before. People in the square are cheering, greeting and even hugging him to celebrate his magnificent feat, like he has already won this game before it starts.

A kind of unfamiliar feeling, curling beneath my proud smile, twisting my stomach like thread-like seaweed, which makes me feel a little sick. So weird. Although I stand under this burning sunshine in July, the cold -- if it could even be called that. It’s like in the end of the winter, you are wrapped in damp quilt, wind sneaking from a crevice, sinking into your keest. Then attaches on, until eternity.

Before he mounts up to the stage, I tried my best to look through all the vocabulary stored in my brain, trying to name it. What was that odd feeling!

All the praise from the reaper become to buzz integrated in to the background. What was that!

Until I get my mind back, it’s nearly to the end. The sticky-sweet voice hits my eardrum, “Now, shake hands to each other, my brave and glorious heroes!”

I turn to him and give my hand, while pretending to be calm even cold. But, why do I pretend? I should be --

The moment, his tough and layered hand touches my palm, something or a part of me sunk into sleep for a long time starts to wake up. All those memories at the beginning we admitted into the upper training class are reviving. The beat, crack and bruises on my back, forehead and lips, even those kind of dull pain from being beaten on the stomach.

That’s a proper shaking, suddenly, a the word emerges -- scared.

Even in just a blink, I feel a surge of hate, for Hadley and for all the girls in the legal age. Why does he volunteer? Why isn’t  there any other girl?

I desire the glory for me, but I am not that fool to suppose there is a great chance for me when he stands in front of me. I don’t think so.

“So, I guess, nice to meet you, Kentwell.” He raises the corner of his lips, showing a facial expression that could be grouped in smile. Unreadable, but sharp. I can see the coldness and cruelty blade under the mask.

Narrowing my eyes, I can say this is like a test -- testing my place in the hierarchy I should be, a pitiful slave or an equal co-worker.

Then I give back a similar sarcastic smile back to him, “Pleasure, Hadley.” I say, staring straight into his eyes -- like a provocation.

This is not the right time pretending to be mild, not now, otherwise he will utilize or even enslave me until I die.

However, he wishes.

Marched by peacekeepers, I pass that long and decorated hallway, wall on the side hanging the sparkling medals and photo frames, where a place to engrave the honour of all the victors from District 2, also to inspire the fighting spirit of the new generation --

Die for glory, Live for District 2.

At the end of the hallway, they separate and conduct us in two different rooms.

The large steel emblem of District 2 is hung on the wall facing the door, two sharp swords crossing under it like guardians. And a bunch of flowers silently placed in a crystal vase, beneath the emblem.

On the marble floor in black and white, the rust red arm chairs made by velvet are set in the corner, behind the window, which is blocked by elegant iron art guardrail. Under the sill, is a short end table cast by the same material of the guardrail. On the glass surface, there is a cup of tea and pieces of cookies placing on bone porcelain tableware.

I walk directly to the armchair, sitting down , nearly laying into it. The soft fabric touches my skin, I am already feeling tired, even I don’t want to admit. The cookie tastes too sweet for me, but I still sitting there, nibbling it until finishing all of that piece. Otherwise, I have nothing could do, but wait in this awkward silence.

It becomes more weird, while hearing the noise from the street outside the window. Everything just works like any other day. But no, not in this way.

Tick tock, tick tock ...

A faint sound attracts my attention. It is so easy to be distracted in this kind of quiet place, no voice, and the sound of steps -- the hallway is like the dead place.

Well, seems like also no one coming for the superstar. Hey, wait, ALSO?

Actually, I do have friends. At least, all of us call this kind of relationship as friendship. As I mentioned before, there were other students having lunch, spending spare time, training, even sharing snacks with me sometimes. However, we never talked about ourselves deeply, the personal stuff, like family, and our future. Those conversation is meaningless for us, aimless, useless, and people? Careless. I should have expected this earlier --

Picked up as a tribute is the greatest honour you could ever have, if there is an excess? Must be becoming the winner of the hunger game.

All of them may already start their first celebration together, to cheering for the new champion born from District 2 of this year. No matter is me or him.

Not sure either the window isn’t closed too tightly or the more sensitive instinct of human being in this quite place, the noise comes from the window and the silence from the hallway starts to get close, compressing me. When I stand up, wiping my dress, and walk closer to the clock which is pinned on the wall, the door is opened.

Tick tock, tick tock ...

The coming one is my little brother, Oakem, an extreme unfitting name -- how would someone give a short, thin, fragile and mild boy this strong name?

Of course he fought back for himself, we fought fiercely, and the result? Obviously, I taught him how to behave and talk properly to his older sister. Yet, he still declared firmly, “I will grow taller and stronger, and that day would be the end of your pride!”

I lifted my eyebrows, shrugging carelessly, “Hum, we will see.”

But now, he still is a mid-high boy, while his shoulder grows wider. Thirteen years old, as tall as I am, maybe a little bit higher than me, don’t know the standard of boys.

He pushes back his hand, closing the door. The first time he enters this room, his eyesight starting to flow to the cookies on end table. Forced by my eyes, he stands still.

“ You’ll win, right? Then bring tons of money back and buy all the Coke we want. So I don’t need to get up early to that damn Academy.”

I staring at his face, when did he grow up like this? When did the teen period start? Does he start it? The most deep memory of him is about coke. I like it, either him. But trained as a career tribute, I have to control my diet to keep my physic flesh in the greatest state, the rate of fat, blood glucose, and blood pressure. Every time I wanted to have some, the rest was for him. I left the bottle in my room, or behind the door in back yard, in case my parents found out. He kept it every time. I knew it.

“ So, you will win, right?” he asks again, “ you will win and bring your glory.”

I think for a while, “ I will. But you have to keep going to the Academy.”

He nods, a tangle of curly brown hair breaking free from the constraint of hair gel flowing to his forehead, while bouncing as his action.

Like a squirrel. That kind of fat one always eats nuts before winter, and bury some of nuts.

“Fine. When will you be back?”

“ Few weeks.”

“ Ok.”

“ You have your last one minutes.” we are interrupted by the peacekeeper.

Tick tock, tick tock ...

“ Here, take it.” he grabs something from his pocket, placing a brand new coin in my hand, “ Take it. You can buy a coke on your way, or after get to the capitol. ” while speeding up his pace unconsciously. “ All of them said Capitol is the metro and fashion place, remember to bring me a gift!”

Gift? I pause, thinking about that word, gift? The next moment, I launch to that desk setting beside the armchair, grabbing all the cookies from the plate although part of them becomes crumbs under the hardness.

“ Take this Oak -- ”

Suddenly the door opening, peacekeepers yank him and slam the door.

“Goodbye!”

This words slip off my mouth. Yes, Goodbye.

The splendid room returns to the silence it had before, and only me and the untidy crumbs scattered in a mess.

Minutes later, we get into the shuttle. And after a short ride, it is the station.

Panem drew up extremely strict rules to limit the transaction between districts. I have ridden trains several times, but never been this kind of train. The compartment looks like a luxury hotel -- crystal chandelier, mirror-like floor, velvet curtains and silk-covered sofa . The glasses on the table are in different kinds of shapes and color, and the red one -- I once heard only the gold dust, calcined at high heat,can create this blood-red hue.

Light, Gorgeous and Expensive.

All the flash and noise from cameras are blocked up by the closing door.

Then, the space beside entrance and the doorway darkening, while I hear the elegant voice,

“Welcome, Ms. Kentwell and Mr. Hadley.”

Chapter Text

We reunite in the dining compartment hours later, after a brief and peaceful break -- minus Hadley.

The door opens in front of me. I see Cato and Ms. Lyme sitting at the opposite side of the dining table. The sound of the door attracts their attention as I step into the compartment. Hadley says,

“Oh, here you are. You always have dinner at this late time?”

“Not that late.” I take a second to think about which side I should take, eventually, pull out the chair next to Hadley with quiet resignation. “It’s only 6:30 pm. I think, it is on time.”

I’m not sure whether he hears my voice or not. Hadley raises his eyebrows, and leans back carelessly against the back of the chair.

Whatever. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly to smooth my mood, try my best not to roll my eyes, and sit beside him, pretending to behave calmly. Giving a quick look at Ms. Lyme’s face, there is nothing I can read on her face or in her eyes yet.

Clueless. My lips press into a line. I hate this unpredictable feeling.

However, I appreciate her. Not only for her respectful and calm attitude, but for her foresight -- to take a break separately before dinner, and wait for our other mentor, Brutus, who was too excited to sleep before the reaping day and went to bed directly after reaping.

That might’ve been the only tolerable time since boarding the train with Hadley.

The golden light of sunset slants through the windows, hitting the floor, one can see the beams of light, and in a unique angle, a small rainbow appears. My mind drifts away from this dull table to the horizon of the sky, where the sun sets, where the ground melts like surging lava.

Once, I learned this in our history class, if I remember it correctly. There is a kind of crystal red glass, which is made with gold powder, real metal gold, and burned into it at a thousand degrees, molten and scalding. If I remember correctly, from some old textbook, a city named Venice, where this kind of glass is produced.

If gold could forge that searing red, like blood, what if blood itself were gold?

Well ... What a feast that would be? Not bloodbath. This should be something more poetic-like verses from literature class. Something grand enough to match the glory tied to my name.

Golden Rain? Or, maybe the Sun Sets.

Hadley rumbles on with endless topics, trying to start his precious mentoring time as soon as possible. But I have no interest listening to him.

He unconsciously enjoys the partial highlight too much.

“Welcome, Ms. Kentwell and Mr. Hadley.”

That’s unexpected, especially for Hadley. I catch a flicker of disappointment in his expression, in the corner of my eyesight -- seems he was looking forward to a warmer welcome. Maybe Enobaria will fit his expectation, but Lyme is here.

We keep standing there, like being stoned by a Gorgon, also the atmosphere in the whole doorway. Cold, stiff and distant. Everyone stays in that ridiculous silence, but I can feel the dissatisfaction from Lyme. Her gray eyes narrow slightly ... ...

“Thank you, Ms. Lyme. Nice to meet you.”

The blank noise fills the space quietly, when we finally pass the tunnel, eventually this sentence sneaking from my mouth.

She nods and smiles, while stepping back a bit to make a way for us.

It only took a few seconds, but it felt like a century.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Lyme.” Hadley says stiffly behind me, with that strong and unignorable disappointment.

Click. The door locks behind us. She approaches slowly, with her polite but unapprochable smile.

“So, when do we start?” Hadley rotates his wrists, the mood in his voice is higher than before, sounds like being ready to enter fight in the arena ... ... Or? I cross my arms, changing into a more comfortable gesture to gaze at him furtively. When I see his straight back, tilting-up chin and excitement expression on the corner of his lips, or he’s just trying to find a chance to show off.

However, he still doesn’t realize this is Lyme. This woman is so elegant, that makes her being antipathetic in this kind of competitive game. Her head tilts slightly as she shifts her gaze landing on Hadley’s face,

“Start for what? My dear.” Her voice is so light, reminding me of the breeze before the rainstorm brushing leaves in a summer afternoon. Under that gray and waxy sky.

And, my dear? For, wow, Hadley? This is the most impossible call for him. I can see the same feeling from his readable face -- like a shifting sky.

“Strategies, your suggestions! How to fight and kill efficiently! How to improve us before the arena -- you’re the previous victors who must know more than our normal trainer! That’s your work, your job! Right?”

I can feel his tone raising, and just I guess what he really meant is, obligation.

“Too eager, Cato.” She calls his name. I don’t see the point, she called our surname before and now changes it to the given name? Did I miss something? “Brutus, the other mentor, goes to take a nap before everything. You should too. A real winner wouldn’t be an exhausted person.”

“But I’m not tired. I’m ready!” His eyes widens, arguing. “This is totally wasting our time, even chances!”

That kind of polite smile deepening, yet in the core of her dark gray pupils, there is nothing joyful or warm. Like a swirling on the sea, you never recognize it on the surface of ocean, while you get closer, the power will drag you down in a way that couldn’t be ignored.

Reasonable. She should be like this. A victor of hunger game, you shouldn’t expect her being a lady. Whatever how much she looks like on actions and appearance.

This kind of strong power forces Hadley to close his mouth silently. Her facial expression softens a bit, with the silk like voice, “Have a rest first, we can talk about this later when Brutus is ready too. And you two sincerely need to take a break, just for your flesh.”

Only now does the tiredness raise like a tide and overwhelms me physically. I don’t know whether it is caused by emotional exhaustion or just I didn’t sleep well for being so excited about reaping day. Without any patience to check out what Hadley is doing, the only thing I can do is follow her, stepping to the compartment for me. To seize the day to have a break, before we arrive capitol at the dawn tomorrow.

Before the door closes behind, I hear her voice again.

“This is your first class, Cato. Care yourself first.”

“Go to have a break, just like Clove.”

Clove? Well, I am not Ms. Kentwell now.

“Clove?” Someone is calling my name, again, “Clove?”

Ms. Lyme’s voice pulls me back to the real world, pressing my lips with embarrassment, I reply, “Yes. I am listening.”

A faint glimmer blinks in her gray eyes, “ We are talking about the record of reaping through Panem. I suppose you have seen it during the break time, have you?”

“Yeah.”I nod, and lean in to put my arms on the table, being more serious about her topic, “I have.”

“And how do you feel about the other tributes?”

What does this question mean? Why is the question first? I try to keep my facial expression being calm and unsurprised, when Hadley’s voice happens too quick.

“Weak and harmless.” A proud smirk showing on his face - mouth corner lifting up to a little angle, disdainful amusement floating in his sarcastic eyes - he leans back to the chair, “If we must point someone? The boy from District one, he is the only one who could be counted as a career. What’s his name? Marlin or Marcel or Marvel, whatever it is. We can out him after the bloodbath.”

Wait, “What do you mean, ‘WE’?” I question him. “Who says you make the decisions?”

He throws the unbelievable eyesight back to me, indicating that I should follow his stupid command obediently, without any doubt.

“Well, what’s next Cato? After you out him.” Ms. Lyme interrupts the potential conflict, but I can’t say how effective it is, or how long will it work to constrain the situation.

After all, she gave a good question. That question keeps Hadley in rare silence.

“I know both of you may have your private plans, but I have to mention two of you, normally careers set up alliance in the first week to keep a higher rate of being alive. Don’t be too eager to retort me. Just a notice, Marvel is another career tribute, just LIKE YOU.” She sharpens her tone on the last two words, forcing Hadley kept his mouth shut for at least a minute.

“And don’t underestimate anyone in this game. Even you didn’t count Glimmer as an opponent, she could conceal her capability before the arena. Not all the people like to show themselves. If out Marvel is your plan, she would be an obstacle - loss on both sides at the beginning of the game isn’t a good result.”

“Anything is possible until the end.”

Hadley doesn’t argue directly, but his gaze lingers on me for a second, loaded up with unspoken meaning. I couldn’t help furrowing my eyebrows, since his view was more like: if she could work in an efficient way, then I could do it effortlessly.

Excuse me?

“What’s the point of this alliance. We have to face each other finally -- wouldn’t you wish us become ... friends?” Again, even before I could stand up from my chair and explode up. He takes up the chance to continue.

Wicked, Hadley. Seems like I have to figure out my private plan earlier to prevent being killed for his foolish.

“I believe you watched previous games, and your trainers must analyze the strategies in it. Especially, the Second Quarter Quell -- double tributes, and alliance worked.”

“What was the result? That breed from Seam of District twelve won the super game. Was that glorious? Maybe, at least super glorious and impressive enough to curve on the monument of District 12.”

Arrogant. However, I have to acknowledge that here is one of his points making sense -- that was the shame of District 2 for letting a tribute from District 12 won the Quarter Quell. Yet, in another aspect, Haymitch - the only tribute being alive from District 12 has his own advantages -- handy with knife, evidenced by when he killed two Career tributes, even he pretended to be so weak and useless, besides, being smart calculatedly.

I have watched that games times before, even though it makes me feel uncomfortable by the damn result, there are still something valuable for me to refer. My fingertip taps my chin lightly, while I see Ms. Lyme takes a great deep breath.

“Well, Cato. If you don’t believe me and insist on making assumption this kind of strategies are my private idea. We can talk about this later until Brutus join us.”

He shrugs, muttering under his breath, something we can’t hear clearly. He gulps his drink like it’s proof of defiance, though his mouth stays shut afterwards.

“Except your fighting skills, here are something else you have to know -- how to survive.” She changes the topic, trying to keep the situation peaceful before the another haughty mentor shows up.

“Surviving? That’s a bad name -- we fight for honor.”

“Fighting and killing isn’t the only thing that threats your life in arena. Starving, dehydrate, cold, heat, even beasts and mutts would be another important part before you start your fight. May I assume that you watched the desert arena? Or do you remember that? How to find clean water or how to distinct venomous snakes?”

“They did it once in ten years, it won’t happen again.”

Weak defense.

“I know it. But how.”

I lose the chance again. Because before I barely open my mouth, he has already started his harangue like an endless Gatling gun.

“Well, first water always goes downhill, like valleys, ravines, any low ground. If there’s a mountain, go for the bottom. If there’s forest, look where the trees grow thickest, that means roots have water to drink. Then, if you see birds circling low, or animal tracks heading the same way, they’re going to water. Even insects - more bugs, more water. And once you find water, you need fire. Dry wood near rocks works best, or drill fast with sticks until the dust smokes. I can do it faster than anyone. Then you trap animals - snares, pits, sharpened stakes. Easy kills if you know where to place them. That’s how you stay on top, how you win ... ”

Hard to say whether I should feel happy at least he has basic common sense, or surprising by his attitude changes this quick. Now completely forgets he was sulking in one minutes, combining with vivid gestures to convince everyone he knows it and he is correct.

My lips twist. I just can’t believe it, what he is doing? Trying to show off to impress... our mentor? If that’s his goal, he made it. At least there is a pale gratification in her eyes. But I’m not sure if it’s for his knowledge, or simply because he finally answered something properly.

“Not bad, Cato.” Ms. Lyme gives a mild commendation. “What do you think, Clove? You’ve been quiet for a while.”

That unreconciled look shows on his face again. Hadley turns his head to me, like — let’s see what you can do.

I straighten my back a little. “I think he is right.” His satisfaction is immediate — until I speak again. “But it’s better to do it at the beginning.”

Confusion flickers across his face, ready to argue, but I don’t give him the chance.

“I think that might be one of the Capitol’s unspoken rules — they never state it clearly, but in several Games they’ve changed the climate to affect the environment: floods, wildfires, shifting rivers. After a fire, the soil’s moisture changes, most plants are destroyed. That’s why exploring the basic terrain early is ideal. They’ll never change the entire map, but they always twist parts of it to drive tributes where they want.” I pause for a few seconds, checking Ms. Lyme’s reaction. When I get a flicker of approval, I continue.

“That’s why I believe the smartest move is to map the ground early. The map itself won’t shift, but the conditions will. And if you already know the ground, you can adapt faster than the others.”

“And for the water resources, I’d be more cautious about minerals. Capitol won’t poison us directly at the start, but streams from the mountains could carry excessive minerals or metals. Some of them are toxic. If we have the chance, we should distill the water first or --”

“Distill?” Hadley cuts off my words, in a suspicious expression.

“That’s not your lab. Miss Kentwell.” He stares at me, “We don’t have that much time for your precise analysis before action -- time is equal to life. Don’t you expect we have reports and data sheets every time, right?”

“Yup.” I set up my elbow on the table to support my chin in a lazy gesture, give him a glance in charity with a fake smile. I press my temple by a knuckle, and prolong my voice, “Yeah -- totally -- literally-- practically --”

At the end of the fourth adverbial, Hadley couldn’t stand longer. He leans forward to me with a tightened chin and impatient, narrowing eyes. Even his arm reaches to the back of my chair, turning the whole chair with me to his direction a little bit. Curling up his lips, his pair of ivory-white canines expose as a bloodthirsty wolf.

“What do you mean?”

I stare back, shrugging my shoulders to mock what he did before.

“Nothing, agree with your proposal, while wandering about how to spell polite. Have such a long time never been to school, never using brain to think. Rusty, you know?” Pointing my head lightly with a fingertip.

“You are such an idiot.” He laughs, like giving me a mercy, “S P E, wait, not this one, ‘P O L I T E’.”

He finished his performance in a high and proud mood, which is too pure to show him the cruel reality.

After at least five seconds of staying in that embarrassing and extremely awkward silence of my sight, he eventually realizes something going wrong.

“Wait. Are you laughing at me, Freckles?”

“Not before you call me Freckles.” I grab my glass for a sip, tilting my head, pretending to be innocent. “But now, I’d prefer to regard it as an insulting.”

With a harsh sound, his chair is pushed back to the wall, while Hadley jumps up like startled dog. His fist shoots toward me, “How dare you --”

“Stop! Put down your fist!” A hand cuts between us peremptorily, yet Hadley’s hand is already frozen halfway in the air, “Put your fist down and sit back to your chair! Don’t make me say it again! Mr. Hadley!”

Good boy, I ridicule in my mind.

My body leans forward and tightens to be ready for a real fight, but not in that obvious movement. I force myself to sit in the chair, like as if pinned on my seat -- not now, I know. Not in front of mentor. They won’t invest too much in a property that easily loses self-control or misreads the situation. I stare straightly into Hadley’s eyes, facing his shame with anger.

Her shoulder leans forward to us across the table, one hand against Hadley’s fist -- stable and unmovable. She stands just as tall as Hadley -- fit and strong. Hadley’s fist is trembling, trying to force stepping, but lost. Finally, the fist unwillingly drop off to the side of his body.

His chest raises and falls quickly with each ragged breath, trying to smooth his mood. Like a bellows, I mock in my mind.

How typical, I think.

God, he is those kind of boy who matches all the stereotypes, arrogant, proud, overconfident. Only in minutes you talking with him would be enough to handle his pea-sized brain without a wrinkle in sight. Intolerable.

“We will see in the arena, Freckles.”

I give him a pure fake smile, just tug at the corner of my mouth, flashing a toothy smile, “ Agree. We will see.”

Couldn’t wait, in my imagination I added this sentence.

Under the pressure from Ms. Lyme, he finally pulls up his chair and sets it on the floor with a loud and clear ‘bang’, which draws a sharp complaint from the escort, “God, careful! That’s mahogany!”

I scoff at with a frown, mocking silently, God! Careful ~

Yet, Ms. Lyme throws me a sharp glare, warning me, ‘No more provocation’. I even can imagine her tone.

“And you, Cato, SIT DOWN!”

Hadley obeys her command, sitting down so hard that I suspect either he has a grudge against his chair or his hips. I have no idea which one is worse to him. But according to Newton's third law of motion, which states that if two bodies exert forces on each other, these forces have the same magnitude but opposite directions, both his hips and chair earn the same accusation.

Crossing his arms, and hunching his shoulders, Hadley’s head nearly buries into his chest.

Pretending to behave at my seat, I glance him in the corner of my eye -- some memory resurfaces from the old school time.

He always was the PROBLEM in school, always. Those blurry and bygone views go through my mind, which still make me furrow my eyebrows.

After all my thoughts, Hadley still keeps his funny posture and refuses to change it as a kind of contumacious attitude. God, this kind of dumb pride and childishness, and not a single change since school time. I almost burst out a laugh.

What would he do if he were not in this situation? I’m wondering.

To be a sweet baker boy just like the coward from District 12? Makes sense. Strong enough to carry countless flour, and not smart enough to remember anything else but the bread and cookie recipe.

The corner of my mouth raises a small curve, as a muttering slips out of my mouth,

“You know? Maybe you can try ‘intelligent’ next time, might suit you better in next level.”

My voice is low enough to avoid Ms. Lyme who sits diagonally across from me, but definitely caught by him. How do I know? Because I see veins bulge on his temples, and his face turning into red quickly.

Fortunately, the other mentor, Brutus, shows up on time. Stops another war before it really starts.

Chapter Text

I know I am dreaming, clearly and consciously. Yes, even in the dream.

The special angle of sunlight hitting the back of my neck is the most recognizable signal that I’m in chemistry classroom at my academic school.

A mild, warm breeze stirs the loose strands of hair at my forehead as I watch the curtain sway gently. That always happened in a drowsy afternoon, but it was my favorite part -- most students hung their head in drowsy half-sleep, pretending to concentrate on whatever Ms. Brown was talking about. Except for the teacher’s voice, the classroom was silent.

Whiteboard, covered in reaction formulas: saponification and its acidic vs. basic hydrolysis pathways.

I focus on the ester bond, where the equations end with H⁺ or OH⁻ written above the arrow. I hesitate, then erase the OH⁻ I just scribbled — I still prefer a little “+” sign. Totally personal preference. Even when the conditions and reactants were already marked clearly, I liked adding it.

“Who can explain why the hydrolysis of esters is faster and more complete under basic conditions than under acidic ones?”

“Because under acidic conditions, the hydrogen ion itself doesn’t react directly. It’s water that participates, splitting into H⁺ and OH⁻ to form carboxylic acid and alcohol. But here the strong interaction between H⁺ and OH⁻ remains, and since carboxylic acid is a weak acid, it can ionize back in water. The process is reversible, so hydrolysis remains slower and incomplete.”

My pen spins between my fingers. Ms. Brown nods approvingly, so I continue:

“But under basic conditions, hydrolysis tends toward completion. We get a carboxylate salt and alcohol, and the OH⁻ in solution reacts with the acid product, neutralizing it. This step breaks the reversibility of hydrolysis, driving the reaction forward. That’s why base hydrolysis is faster and more complete.”

I tilt my chin up just a little — but quickly rest my jaw on my palm. Don’t look too smug, Clove.

“Excellent, Clove.” She smiles. “Then, if hydrolysis must be done under acidic conditions, how can we accelerate the breakdown of methyl formate or ethyl acetate?”

“We can use a strong acid as a so-called catalyst,” I tap my chin with one finger, “for example, concentrated sulfuric acid, as both the reaction medium and a dehydrating agent. In industrial settings, removing water during the process would also shift equilibrium.”

“Well done.” She nods again, then continues: “Now, about basic carboxylic acids—”

“They’re organic acids, a type of weak acid, weakly ionizing and reversible. They can neutralize with bases. They can also be formed by oxidation of the corresponding alcohol, but the reaction conditions matter — incomplete oxidation risks aldehyde byproducts, which need further extraction to purify.”

“What if I want to oxidize the middle carbon in propane, the secondary one?”

“Even under full oxidation, it can only yield acetone. That carbon is bonded already, leaving just two hydrogens to replace. Once the carbonyl forms, there’s no spare bond for further oxidation. So for the secondary carbon in propane, the limit is—”

Before I finish my sentence, a giggle from the back of the classroom interrupts us. I turn my head with the sight from Ms. Brown to check what’s going on.

A familiar blonde head, his deep voice regaling girls, and his shoulders obviously trembling with his new girlfriend who is the ones I’d already heard during lunch time earlier today. They still think that they pretend so well and won’t be aware by Ms. Brown. Narrowing my eyes, I can see his arm rounds the girl’s shoulder.

If there is something smaller than his brain that I bet one hundred percent similar to phytoplankton? That must be his manner.

“Mr. Hadley and Ms. Williams, if you really want to do this, after class -- you have enough time. I’ve made the restatement on this rule times, so at least behave on the class.”

It’s more like a prank, dourly laughing at the powerlessness of academic courses in District 2, the bell ringing as her last voice fall away.

I can see the emotion nearly to be resign in her eyes, and then is Hadley’s listless words,

“You’re the boss.” He gives a mock salute, “So now, is it legal?”

Rolling my eyes so badly, I turn my head back to not to see that arrogant blond guy -- brainless.

At this time, Ms. Brown has already collected her stuff and ready to head back to her office. I grab my notes immediately, following her steps to get out of the classroom.

“Excuse me, Ms. Brown.” I catch up to her in the hallway. She stops, and looks at me patiently, “ Yes, Clove. How can I help you.”

My finger curls around the spine of my notebook, “I mean, did you get a chance to review my TA application? The silver mirror reaction.”

While she giving me a smile, my hope raises a little bit at that moment, yet damp down so quickly as her words, “ I am sorry Clove. I know, I always know you are the most outstanding one on my class. But that’s the rule -- you are only allowed to become a TA after you get to 17.”

“But!” The retort rushes from my lips, “I might be in Academy at 17.”

At this time, we arrive the office, she pulls out the rolling chair and sits down.

“This is what I am wondering, Clove, even you are only 14, I know going to 15 really fast.” She looks at me — and something in her gaze lingers, not piercing, but settling. Like time pausing between us, in the space behind my eyes. A thought I still can’t fully explain, even now I can’t understand, rotating in her eyes.

“Before you submit your specialization form, you still have a year to think about your future plan.” I know what she means, but I keep quiet letting her finish her words. “ You are intelligent Clove. Just for me, I hope you can stay -- I shouldn’t say this, but I do. Personally.”

The sincerity in her eyes floats like a marshmallow in warm silky hot chocolate, which touches a deeper place in my heart gently. Like a drop, like a leaf falls from the tree. I can hear the echo and feel the ripple.

“Well.” She straightens her back, pressing her hand on knees, “ You’d better talk to your parents about this serious topics. Because I know you also perform well in Academy, do you?”

“Thank you. Yes.” I wrinkle my nose with embarrassment for a moment, “ Yes, I mean but not that good. I think around maybe 90% or maybe 95%, I don’t want to flatter myself. So ... yeah, around this ranking.”

She doesn’t say a word, just give me a deeper smile.

“Talk with your parents Clove, and time to go girl.” Pausing for one second, she continues, “Oh, tomorrow is Friday right, day for Academy. I hope all your training courses go smoothly.”

“I think so.” While she is packaging all things, I use the remaining time to finish my sentence, “ I’ve mastered knife-throwing, my mom taught me before. And now, I can hit the target accurately every time.”

“That’s a good news Clove.” She hands me a notebook, slipping it under my nose, I take it from her hand -- that’s my hand-drawing map on geography class, including monsoon and its seasonal changes, and ocean currents. I even pointed out different climate in different color.

“Mr. Taylor asked me for a favor to pass you this one, he has some personal thing to deal.”

“Thank you Ms. Brown.” I roll up my map carefully, and take off my hair tie to constrain it. “See you next week.”

At the moment I passing by the table of our grade leader, I see a score sheet lying open on the desk -- every letter on that paper is too hard to ignore. Barely readable handwriting. Misspelled words. A math test that looked like it had been graded with pure pity. It honestly was, impressive. In the worst way, possible.

I shouldn’t be surprised, or at least shouldn’t be like this. Since, I have known him for a time long enough to predict what he would do.

If I remember correctly, the last time I saw him in staff office, was the time he summoned for his poor grades which might be the obstacle between him and his graduation license.

This thought made me furrow my brows unconsciously -- a complete disaster. However, he looked like being chilled without any pressure, shrugging shoulders and titling his head being innocent, “I tried, but well, call my mom, you can call my mom.”

Even the headmaster looked like she was debating whether to call his parents or just accept the loss of brain cells as part of the curriculum. Since the expression on headmaster’s face was super impressive, curved on my nerve.

A faint, lighthearted laughter, flowing with the breeze quietly, gets into my ears, when my mind is pulled back. While on the way heading to my classroom slowly, where I left all my backpack and stuff, I blank my mind for a while.

Actually, this is what District 2 is really like -- not as scared and depressive as other districts suppose. We never really worry about The Hunger Games -- that’s a kind of glory that not everyone deserves. If you’re not good for the game, there is no chance for you to engage. There is always someone else waiting for the valuable opportunity, to volunteer. It’s not only about private thing, that’s the glory for District 2.

As the constitution, every child born in District 2 has obligation to start full time academic school until 12, for a common compulsory education, to build the basic knowledge and concept of the world.

What if someone were reaped at 12 or 13? Oh, no worries, no one in District 2 would waste an invaluable chance to bet a 13 years-old child could win the Game. Some older and stronger children in 17 or 18 years old may volunteer to take the replacement. It’s not just personal glory -- it belongs to District 2. Every loss would be engraved as a mark of shame in history.

After graduating from elementary school, students get an evaluation, including academic score, skill and physical score, then they are divided into two different parts -- technician backup or continue their education.

In the next three years, academic courses will be taken commonly, meanwhile they are allowed to access to the real Academy for training courses -- stamina, weapon, wrestle, hunting, trap, ability of distinction, and basic concept of surviving in wild.

For example, myself. I have odd and even week in semester -- odd week, we trained on Monday, Wednesday afternoon and Friday morning. And in even week, only on Tuesday and Friday morning.

This is my second year in middle school, only one year later I will have my second evaluation and submit the form of my preference.

Students will be scored and ranked by both academic and training performance: the lower 50% will go to the normal training center directly as the peacekeepers. Then the zone between 50% to 75%, depends on the higher weight in their score to keep on purely academic education assisted with training or enter the common class in Academy. And the top 25%, you have a choice, since this part of students always standing out both in academic and training part. They will be the functionaries or get a higher probability to engage in the Games.

I am nearly certain I would land in the top 5 to 10 percent, still thinking about my future.

Perplexed and uncertain.

Because after you are admitted into the Academy, there’s still evaluations to test your capability and potential which will decide whether you can join the advanced class. Two small amount of students in that class -- perhaps 25 people or maximum, 30? In total, probably only 50 to 60 students district-wide. Besides, the probability also depends on how many students graduate in this year. So, really hard.

“Clove!” A hand reaches my shoulder abruptly, which startles me for a second, then I realize who there is --

“Oakem, how many times I have told you, if you want to save your life, just behave.” I grab my little brother’s ear, “Otherwise, one day I will break you neck.”

He pats my hand heavily to shake it off, “Take your hand off Clove! Being demure --”

“Oh, trying to show off your fancy neologism? Absurdly! When did you learn this baby boy? Morning or afternoon literacy class?”

“Shut up Clove, you’re so annoying” He throws the backpack over his shoulder with big rolling eyes.

“ You’d better keep your mind even when I have coke.”

“ Ha ~” He makes a prank face, “ What would you do if I don’t take the rest?”

“ There is a place for some abandon stuff, named sewer.”

“ Illegal to waste food.”

“ Wow, I can’t see the difference between dropping it or giving it to you.” I press my elbow on his skinny shoulder, tilt my chin up with a provocative smile. “ Wait until you are taller than me, dwarf.”

“ Hey!” He reacts immediately and badly, trying to shake me off, “ Don’t call me that, you’re the dwarf! I’m still growing up and you are already, or nearly 15!”

In next second, I wrapped my arm around his throat, “ Say sorry!”

“No!”

“Say it!”

I cage him harder, until, “Fine, fine, fine! I am sorry!”

“ Good boy.” I tease him carelessly.

He gets rid of my constrain, turning back and saying sharply, “I will grow taller and stronger, and that day” He takes these two words as a hiss, “ would be the end of your pride!”

Seeing his face flushed, dark brown eyes flickering with embarrassed fury, like a frizzy but literally harmless and fluffy kitten, I couldn’t help laugh out.

“ Hum, we will see.”

Ready for his next round defend, a loud and annoying laugh interprets our fight.

“ Is that Hadley?” Oakem asks, pointing that dazzling blonde head by his finger. My eyesight goes with the direction he pointing, seeing a bunch of guys leaning on the fences. Hadley stands in the central part saying something that must’ve been hilarious to his friends, one arm around his girlfriend who I saw on the chemistry class.

The golden light of sunset sketching the outline of his shoulders and arms, wide, strong as he can break a trunk effortlessly. Lines of muscles show directly even covered by his uniform shirt.

It is too far to hearing clearly what they are talking about, but I am sure that must be some nonsense.

“ The famous masculine boy, the favorite one in Training Center, and the king of gossip? He is in the same class with you, right?”

Totally losing control to raise one of my eyebrow and my face ruffling, “ Wait, you really spend your spare time talking about him? He is older than you 3 or 4 years, how the hell did you hear about this?”

“Why you are being crazy about this?” He give me a glance with the corner of eyes, “ Being afraid of him -- he might take your place? Yeah, I know that, everyone talks about this, the boy who was admitted with his privilege, meanwhile broke the best record of Academy?”

“ Wow.” I say it with a deadpan face and an utterly flat tone, “ Impressive.”

Actually, as I know, where I knew it from my father, Hadley comes from a further and poorer zones in District 2. With a chaotic and philistine family -- a stonemason father in bad temper and violence, a household mother with endless complaining, a group of siblings but no one has a good manner and reasonable score sheet -- he shouldn’t have right to enter this school.

However, the leader of our zone, gave him a privilege for his gifted talent in wrestling and mastering sword and spear with mercy, also aiming to increase his reputation by fostering a victor on purpose.

No wander he’ll enter the Academy directly, this is the only way he can take.

“ Amy told me that he might be the next victor when he gets to 18.”

I raise my cheeks for a fake smile, “ Ha, with with brain as smooth as glass? Seems like you would be so pleasure if you were in the same class with him. Or your sweet Amy.”

“ I hope you volunteer to participate the game different from him.”

Even though I have that strong impulsion to ask Oakem ‘ What do you mean?’ .

Yet, I never do that. I keep that words silently in my mind. Because in the deepest part of my mind, I know, whatever how strong I don’t want to admit this, the fact is, Hadley is literally a perfect weapon and next victor in the Hunger Games. It’s my luck to be younger than him, which means I still have a chance to be the victor, to bring the sovereign glory to myself, even my family and District 2.

“ Let’s go Oak.” I grab my brother’s arm, heading to a different direction. “ If you want the rest of coke, we have to reach to grocery store before it closes.”

“ Wait, Cloye, why this way?” He pulls me back.

“ They are the source of problems.” I pull him back again to walk beside me, “ Better for us to avoid them. And turn your head back, nevertheless, I will punch you.”

We finished the whole bottle of coke before we step in the block where our house is located in, even rinsing our mouths by water, just in case there are some clues that might cause the suspiciousness from my mom. Also protect us from her natter while having dinner. She is always trying to control our glucose in a wonderful range, to keep us away from having a negative record on physical exam. That’s part of variables being assessed before admitted by Academy.

“ OMG, dad is home today! Come on Cloye!”

That enormous armored truck parking in the garage indicating that my dad who went to District 4 as a peacekeeper manager is already come back. Maybe he is sitting in our large couch, watching the classic talk show channel, well just grouped by my mom, hosted by Caesar Flickerman.

Before I aware what I am doing, my feet pick their own choice, following Oakem quickly, rushing to the front door.

“Dad!”

A strong man with the dark chestnut hair that is similar to mine, shows up behind the opened door, embracing us by his strong arms.

“ How was your school days baby beasts?”

“ Good!” I take up the chance to speak before Oakem, “ I got two A plus in chemistry and geography, three A in math, biology and physics. And --” I last my voice on purpose, which causes my dad laughing so hard.

“ Stop being around the bush Cloye, you know every time this makes me so nervous! Your mom kept your little secret for this whole afternoon, and now you wanna play the same game again?” He kisses my cheek, “ Ok, don’t torture your poor and tired dad now.”

“ And the trainer appreciated me for the accuracy of throwing knife, and the improvement of stamina and strength in wrestling.”

“ Fantastico.” I can see the pride shining like stars in his eye, “ Fantastico, Cloye.” He hugs me again, while Oakem saying something less emotionally, “ I think you forget your A minus in literacy and politics, fantastico Cloye ~”

“ Oh well, at least I am not those kind of person how can’t distinct what difference between Inoic and Covalent Bonding, hesitating for over ten minutes to decide whether alumina is a covalent compound or an ionic compound. You --”

“Cloye, you’ve already given us sufficient demonstrative. And Oak.” My dad’s voice interprets mine, “ Don’t be so mean to your sister. She is intelligent. And so are you. Now, your turn, how was your school days?”

He pats my back silently as a comfort, and points the delicate boxes placed on dining table -- that’s my present from District 4.

A pair of elegant pearl ear studs lying on the navy velvet in the first box, bright and smooth, shimmering with a faint glimmers. The next box is larger and longer, I open it with curiousness. That’s a complete set of decoration crafted from mother-of-pearl inlays: small shell, waves, mermaid, mobula etc, totally sixteen items.

“ Oh, that’s amazing, thank you --” My cheering voice stops when I turn around and see what Oakem gets, a trident, reflecting a band of cold, sharp light on the edges.

“ Hey, that’s unfair!” I complaining loudly, “ Why did he get a real weapon, but I only got some decorations?!”

“ Maybe because I am good at some larger weapons.” Oakem shrugs, curling his lips with those annoying expression, while he is trying to wield unskillfully the trident at the first time.

“ Stop showing off, Oak, that’s stupid.” I say sourly, and try to take the trident from his hands, “ Let me try this.”

He avoids me with a deft movement in my surprised eyesight, “ No, Cloey. This is MINE. So ask nicely, maybe I will consider to lend it to you for ten minutes.”

“ Ha? Such a big joke I have ever heard from you --” I take my action before he even could realize, however it’s stiffly stopped when my mom’s voice existing from the end of the hallway.

“ Dinner is ready!” I can hear the steps getting closer to the living room, “ Oak, put your precious trident down and stop provoking your sister before she really beats you. Both of you, go to wash your hands first and come to dinner, NOW.”

While I carry my indignant mind walking in the dining room, I forget and even forgive all of bad mood before when I see the dinner on table: medium-well cooked steak with perfect caramel color on the outside, and pink, soft juicy inner side parts. You can smell those irresistible scent from carefully roasted quality beef fat. On the side of the steak, is mushed potato exuding a pleasant aroma of cream and black pepper. A large bowl is full of brill vegetables and a pot contains steaming stew chicken soup.

“ Don’t drink your juice too fast, I can see your hand Oak.” Adding by my mom, before we sit down, “ In case a glass of iced juice ruins all your appetite. Although I added oranges, grapefruits and a little bit decaf green tea in it. Perfectly healthy.”

“ Well Cloye, what’s your preference for next year differentiation?” My dad asks while dividing grilled vegetables into our plates. “ I know you are in the top five percent of comprehensive ranking, so you will have a choice. I’d like to know your idea first.”

“ Still figuring out.” I take a sip from my juice, really good taste, light and unsweet for summer. “ I don’t want to enter a place where it may lower my ranking.”

“ You mean the Academy?” My mom pats Oakem’s hand that tries to stowaway some carrots and celery in to my plate. “ Why would you have this thought honey? You always are our pride, and really out standing.”

“ I suppose Hadley is one of the reason.” Oakem, addicting to have his food so much, suddenly cuts off into our conversation with a still chewing mouth.

“ That’s not your business!” I give him a quick look, “ Just focus on eating.”

He isn’t bothered by me, “ What’s special about those students pick up by training center?”

“ They are only evaluated by their physical and training exams, and have no choice, but get into Academy when they pass it. However, I don’t think that’s a kind of fostering, that’s a kind of gamble.” My dad explains calmly. “ If they don’t, they will be exiled back to where they come, even don’t have chance to take a place in basic peacekeepers.”

“ That’s totally a kind of strategy from the leader of our zone, the core zone, aims to accumulate the achievements in his official careers, preparing for next selection.” He pauses for a moment, then continues, “ Or if I think in a correct way, those kids are not the ones picked to become victors. They are your shield before the final round, if you know how to rein them.”

“ Your father is right, Cloye.” Mom slightly rub my shoulder to comfy me silently, “ They are not your threat -- you won’t be beaten by someone doesn’t know how to think and analyze.”

“ Is that bad?” Oakem keeps asking, “ But they get a higher probability to volunteer, that’s the honor that the later 50% never has!”

“ Well.” My dad swallows a bit of steak, “ See in this way, the war doesn’t only indicate wrestle or fight in face to face. There are other factors, climate, surviving, even traps and intrigues. So, being reckless might drive them to death directly. So learn how to thinking my son.”

“ But you can utilize them as your weapons at the beginning.” The gentle smile even leaks from her eyes while my mom staring us, “ Use them to eliminate all your obstacles, then kill them after they’re used up. Meanwhile, always keep an eye on them, because some of them don’t know what means loyalty and honor.”

“ You meant sacrifice?” Oakem asks with a bit hesitation.

“ No! My honey!” My mom does a surprised expression, “ That’s how it works! Part of Your Glory.”

“ Agree.” Taking another bite of mushed potato, he tries the juice, “ Well done, Cecilia, this is delicious!”

“ But, hum, personally, I still don’t agree with admitting those children into academic school, taking courses with Cloye and Oak.”

“ What?” The fork dropped from my mom’s fingers, “ What do you mean taking courses WITH Cloye and Oak?”

“ Dad meant, Hadley gets in the same chemistry, geography even maybe the math, literacy and all the classes with Cloye.”

Suddenly, a dead silence eventually makes Oakem realize he did a really bad job. That unbelievable shocked expression exists on my mom’s face, causing my dad glaring Oakem with a sincerely mad mood.

“ Why didn’t you tell me they are in the same class?! I’ve supposed for years those kids are collected in an individual and special course until they enter the Academy!”

“ Don’t you want to call the headmaster right now, Cecilia?”

“ Of course immediately!” She stares at my father in disbelief, as if he had said something astonishingly amazing. “ What are you thinking -- that’s your daughter! How could you endure she having classes with that kind of kids -- fool, underbred, only knows how to fight without any strategies?”

“ Calm down first, Ceci.” My dad raises his two hands, “ We tried before, but it seemed like the proposal didn’t got pass. And we should believe the government, they must have their reasonable thinking.”

“ Ha, I can’t see it.” Rolling her eye, mom sits down, grabbing her fork fiercely, “ The only thing I can see is how he could enriches himself in some illegal way, especially from our tax.”

“ Easy, Ceci.” I can recognize how effortful my dad is trying to comfy my mom’s nerves, “ They won’t have private training courses in Academy time, you know this. Only the children whose parents are managements can get that.”

“ That’s what means obligations!” My mom insists on.

I quietly finish all my food, also including carrots and celery brought from Oakem while my parents took their argument, without participating in the war on dining table.

But, their argument didn’t solve the question that is still haunting me, which way should I take. And this kind of thoughts keeps filling my mind until bedtime.

“ May I come in Cloye?” I hear my mom’s voice happens behind the door. Climbing into my bed, I say it lightly, “ Of course mom.”

She opens the door just a little bit, and stuck her head in. “Still being mad at your dad?”

Couldn’t help to raise the corner of my mouth, I ask her, “ For what, mom?”

Having a reply, she finally walks into my room, and takes a seat at the edge of bed while placing a pack beside her.

“ For the present.”

“ No, mom.” I shake my head to deny her conclusion, “ It wasn’t that serious, just a gift.”

Her glance soften down, like warm spring wrapping me, “ Don’t blame him sweetie, I had a conversation with him before his business travel, that was my plan, not his.”

“ Your plan?” I am confused, “ What plan?”

“ Your fifteen birthday gift.” She unwraps the pack, showing me fifteen delicate knives lying orderly by size, sharp blades shining like diamonds under the lamp light in silence. “I used to keep them as my unique weapons when I was young.”

“ And I asked him to get some proper and shinning decorations for your blades. So he picked the mother-of-pearl inlays, really fitful.”

Slowly, I look up my mom’s face with disbelief and care. I couldn’t believe this is true, she really gave to me this invaluable present.

I know my mom was the best when she was in Academy, however fate never treated her fairly. Once she broke her wrists accidentally in training time, which caused her losing the opportunity to volunteer. That’s her implacable regrets for years.

She guides my fingers, running through the cold metal, feeling the stories and glories refined into the blades by times.

“Now, they are yours. With all my skills and honor.”

Scarlet enthusiasm burning like fire in her faint blue pupils, “ I believe you, one day, ultimately, you will earn your own glorious moment.”

“How could you know that?”

“ I can see the omens in the glimmer of your fritillary bulb decorations.” She winks with a cheerful smile. “ Tomorrow I will find the best technician to embed those decorations on your blades -- you will be the most beautiful and elegant victor in history.”

“ What?” I nearly burst out laughing, “ What victor?”

“ The most beautiful and elegant, well, with your pretty blades.” Her look full of confidence and pride, as vines growing under my skin, twining my vessel, curving into my joints of my bones.

“ Sounds like you are going to dress me for a grand event.” I support my chin by palms, “ Will you cut my hair, mom, to dress me as a knight?”

“ No! Of course not, my dear!” Her voice raises up, “ I never expect you become a boy after you join the Academy. ”

“You're stronger and better than any of them. Being a girl never made you weaker — not once.”

“ Never underestimate yourself my girl.” I look into her eyes. Our bones seem to echo the same song -- passed down in blood.

“You will inherit everything from me, my precious daughter. My speed, strength, skills, awakening, bravery, as well as the championship and glory that rightfully belong to me.”

“ Never lower your voice or drown out yourself, screaming and yelling if you feel painful or angry.”

Staring my mom for a while, I give her a big smile and say, “ Stay with me tonight?”

She doesn’t reply by words, but by actions. Getting into my bed, she lies beside me. I can feel the warmth from her flesh.

“ What would you do, if I were reaped?” I ask her while being covered in that soft and warm darkness.

“ I will open a champagne for you at the reaping day. ” Her voice lower down, as if afraid to disturb my good dream. “ Whatever who is the another tribute, I will open a bottle of champagne for you.”

“ Won’t you come say goodbye?” A little yawn fuzzes up my words, sounding like a weird curse.

“ Oh, sweetie, of course you’ll return as a victor, wrapped in glory.”

As bury my face into the curve of her neck, inhale deeply, I can smell those kind of similar scent she wearing since I could remember around the room gradually. Her fingers thread in my untied hair with gentle movements, like a lullaby ease my mind. “ Have a good night, my savage little witch.”

Before I drift into a dream, I can feel a soft kiss swirling with flowery scent falling on the top of my head.

I will, mom. I promise.