Hazel was struck with a paralyzing disbelief; a single word escaped her lips in a breathless whisper. "No." Time seemed to grind to a halt as the weight of the moment settled upon her. Her heart pounded as she watched Silus begin to extricate himself from the crowd of boys. 'How was this possible?'
Each heartbeat felt like a drum in her ears, her mind struggling to make sense of it all. She couldn't fathom how they had both been selected, the odds so astronomically against it. Yet here they were.
Hazel's eyes followed him, she wanted to cry out, to protest, to do something, anything. But the words wouldn't come.
Hazel's eyes locked onto her family, capturing the raw turmoil etched on their faces. Fern's expression was a portrait of horror, her hands clasped over her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle a scream. Beside her, Oren stood like a statue, his features painted with a profound mix of shock and deep sorrow. His eyes, usually so full of strength, now mirrored a pain so profound that it felt like Hazel could reach out and touch it.
The sight of them was like a physical blow to Hazel. The only clear thing in Hazel's world was the agony etched on the faces of those she loved most. Their pain was her pain, magnified and reflected back at her.
A composed steadiness marked Silus's approach to the stage, each step measured. His broad shoulders, usually relaxed, now appeared to carry an immense burden. As he walked, there was a noticeable rigidity in his movements, his hand with the bandage flexing ever so slightly with each stride.
In his eyes, there was a new, hardened edge. They were fixed forward, focusing on a point in the distance as if he were searching for some fragment of strength. When he finally ascended the stage, his gaze met Hazel's. A silent conversation unfolded. There was an understanding, a mutual recognition of the grim path they were now forced to walk together.
As Hazel tried to maintain a semblance of strength, the intensity of Silus's gaze unraveled her composure. The tears she had been fighting back now cascaded down her cheeks. Through the blur of her tears, she could barely make out Silus's figure on the stage. He gave a subtle nod, almost imperceptible. This small gesture from Silus only intensified the flood of emotions that overwhelmed Hazel.
Silus joined Hazel on the stage, standing side by side. They were no longer merely siblings; they had been transformed into tributes to the Hunger Games. This new reality settled over Hazel, a heavy, suffocating cloak of dread.
"What a historic day for District Seven! For the first time, siblings will represent us in the Hunger Games!" Indira's absurd announcement echoed in Hazel's ears, her voice grating against her raw nerves. 'Historic,' Hazel scoffed, bitterly turning the word over in her mind. The thought of being in the arena, not just fighting for her own life but also acutely aware of Silus's fate, was unbearable.
As Indira continued with the formalities, the reality of the situation weighed heavily on Hazel. Questions flooded her mind. How would they navigate the Games? How could she possibly protect Silus in an environment designed to pit them against each other? The cruel irony of the situation was not lost on her; the best outcome they could hope for was that only one would return to seven. And deep down, if it came down to it, it was unlikely to be her.
As Hazel and Silus were escorted away from the stage, encircled by the formidable peacekeepers, they were guided through the sea of onlookers. They were being taken to the train station – a journey she had seen many times but never imagined she would be making herself.
Behind them, Fern's sobs became a haunting soundtrack to their grim procession. The faces of the crowd melded into a sorrowful blur. Hazel couldn't bring herself to meet their eyes. Her focus was consumed by the relentless pounding of her heart and the constricting sensation in her chest, each breath feeling like a battle against the overwhelm that threatened to consume her.
Silus, walking alongside Hazel, wore a neutral facade, yet she could feel the tension coiled in his posture. As they marched towards their fate, Silus subtly shifted closer to her. Hazel felt the rough texture of the bandage on his hand brush against her fingers. His proximity offered a small measure of comfort amid their shared dread.
The train station of District Seven, more extensive than many others due to its role in distributing the hefty loads of lumber, stood as a formidable structure made of thick planks of white pine. As Hazel approached, she fixated on its familiar features, attempting to etch every detail into her memory. It struck her that this might be the last time she would ever set foot in a building of her own district. The station, usually a hub of activity with the constant comings and goings of workers and lumber, was eerily silent now, the usual bustle replaced by the subdued sounds of hushed whispers from the gathered crowd of District Seven residents, a stark contrast to its usual lively atmosphere.
Hazel and Silus, closely shadowed by Indira Lovegood, were escorted into the train station, their every move watched by the vigilant Peacekeepers guarding the entrance. Ensuring no one else entered or exited, the Peacekeepers stood firm and silent. Maintaining her professional demeanor, Indira chose a bench nearby and sat down quietly, making no attempt to engage in conversation with either Hazel or Silus.
Hazel recalled that tributes were herded onto cattle cars for transportation to the Capitol in years past. But recently, the Capitol had adopted a slightly more humane approach, perhaps to maintain a facade of civility or to comfort the Capitol's emissaries. She mused that no Capitol escort would ever deign to travel in such primitive conditions.
Hazel turned towards Silus, her voice quivering with emotion. "This can’t be happening," she whispered, her eyes searching his.
Silus met her gaze, his voice barely audible in the heavy silence. "I know. It's unbelievable." Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.
She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "Silus, how can we...?"
He took another deep breath, steadying himself. "We stick together, remember? No matter what happens, we're a team."
"But Silus, what if...? I can't... I can't bear the thought of......" her voice wavering. "You have to make it back home to them, Silus. They need you."
Silus's grip on her shoulders tightened. "Hey, look at me," he said gently. His eyes, usually so full of warmth, now held a fierce determination. "We're going to figure this out together. We're not going to let them win."
Hazel nodded, her heart aching. She leaned into Silus, finding a moment of comfort in his embrace.
"We're in this together. We stick together, Hazel. Always."
Embracing him tightly, "Always," she echoed.
The creak of the train station door broke their moment of sorrowful embrace. Hazel and Silus pulled apart, turning towards the sound. The door swung open, allowing a sliver of daylight to pierce the dim interior. Hazel watched as the forms of her family emerged, escorted by the Peacekeepers.
The allowance of final farewells between tributes and their families was a mere token gesture, a superficial nod to compassion in a system devoid of it. It was a small concession, a fleeting comfort in the face of the irrevocable fate awaiting them.
Hazel's gaze latched onto her family as they approached. Hazel's eyes locked with Fern's tear-streaked face, her mother's blue eyes rimmed with red from crying. Fern was the first to reach Hazel, her arms wrapping around her daughter tightly. As they embraced, Fern's hold was tight, desperate. The strength of her mother's grip was almost suffocating, yet Hazel reciprocated with equal fervor, acknowledging the painful reality that this might be their final embrace.
"I can't believe it; I didn't think they would go this far," Fern whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She clung to Fern, trying to memorize the feeling of her mother's arms around her.
Fern pulled back, unwilling to let go, "I love you more than life itself, darling. If I could, I would take your place."
The sincerity in Fern's eyes was overwhelming. Hazel nodded, fighting back tears. "I love you too, Mom," she managed, her voice barely a whisper.
Oren and the younger children followed, their steps hesitant and faces etched with grief. Rowan, with his head bowed, seemed to be studying his shoes.
Hazel felt a surge of love and regret as she looked at each of them. Her heart ached with the knowledge that she might never see them grow up or be there for their triumphs and challenges.
Oren approached and pulled Silus into his chest, wrapping his large arms around him, whispering in his ear. As Oren drew back, his hands cradled Silus's face, drinking in the sight of his oldest son. "Don't let them break you, my son. You are your own, not theirs, understand me?"
Silus closed his eyes, shaking his head while his father's hands rubbed the tears from his face.
As Fern tenderly kissed Hazel's head, Oren shifted his attention to Hazel. His eyes shimmering with unshed tears, he stepped forward, encircling Hazel in a strong, protective embrace. This rare show of affection from Oren was comforting and surreal for Hazel. Hazel reciprocated the embrace, her arms clinging to him, the reality of potentially never seeing him again weighing heavily on her heart. "Stay strong, my girl," Oren whispered into her hair.
Releasing Hazel, Oren then placed a hand on each of their shoulders, addressing both Silus and her with a solemn yet empowering directive. "Protect each other. You are not theirs to control. And above all else, remember who you are and that, no matter what happens, they cannot take that from you."
Both Hazel and Silus stood silently, nodding. After a long, heartfelt embrace with Silus, Fern turned her attention to the younger children. Her voice was soft yet urgent: "Come on, kids, it's time to say goodbye to your brother and sister before they go."
Linden and Lily, their faces etched with worry and sadness, moved hesitantly forward.
They reached out to Hazel and Silus, wrapping their tiny arms around them in a series of tight, desperate embraces.
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"Train is here; we are loading up in two minutes," the stern voice of a Peacekeeper came from behind them, his tone brooking no argument.
Hazel brushed a stray curl from Lily's forehead, her heart aching at seeing tears streaming down her little sister's face. "Sweetheart, I love you so much; you know you're my favorite sister."
Lily, her eyes brimming with tears, managed a weak chuckle, "You're mine too."
Turning to Linden, Hazel attempted to lighten the heavy mood. "I'll have to give you a rain check on that pine butter, buddy," Linden's young face, swollen and red from crying, was a mirror of his sister's sorrow. "Take care of Lily, okay? And maybe find some pickle berries for her once in a while."
Linden, struggling to process the enormity of the situation, nodded. He took Lily's hand, offering her a shaky, supportive grip. Together, they walked back towards Fern.
Hazel watched them go, each step they took feeling like a widening chasm between them.
Hazel then knelt to meet Sage's eye level. The young boy's wide eyes were filled with unspoken questions and fears.
I'll be thinking of you every day," she said, trying to infuse her words with as much confidence as she could muster.
"I don't want you to die." His simple statement struck her heart.
"I know, bug. Me neither." She kissed the top of his curly head. "You will be good for Mom, okay?"
Sage's small frame shook as he clung to Hazel. "Promise me you'll come back," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the station's noise.
"I promise I'll do everything I can," she murmured. "And while I'm gone, you need to be the brave one here. Can you do that for me?"
Sage nodded, his mahogany curls bouncing. "I'll be brave."
Hazel hugged him close, "And remember, Sage, no matter what happens, I love you. Always," she whispered into his ear.
Hazel gave him one last look as she stood up, imprinting his face in her memory – the curly hair, bright eyes, and brave little smile he tried to muster.
Fern clutched Sage's hand, her gaze following Rowan as he approached them. His usually expressive eyes now seemed hollow, clouded with anger and sadness.
Rowan's embrace with Silus was prolonged, each brother clinging to the other. Silus whispered something into Rowan's ear, words that seemed to resonate deeply. Though Rowan's response was merely a nod, he was clearly fighting to rein in his emotions.
Turning to Hazel, Rowan's demeanor softened. Hazel searched his face, realizing the full extent of what this moment meant for him. Rowan had always been resilient, but now he faced the loss of not just one but two more people in his young life.
"Guess you won't have to hear me complain about your culinary skills for a while."
Rowan's faint smile was fleeting. "I'll miss hearing you complain," he whispered. He stepped forward and gave her a strong hug.
He gave a slight smile before his face fell again, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Bye, Haze." As they parted, Rowan's eyes avoided hers. With a final squeeze of her hand, he turned and strode through the station's door.
As the peacekeepers ushered Fern, Oren, and the rest of the children away, Hazel's heart pounded against her ribcage, each beat echoing the raw surge of emotions flooding through her. The finality of their departure struck her with an almost physical force —this might be the last time she saw them. The panic rising within her was like a storm, threatening to overwhelm her.
Suddenly, a commotion at the train station's door grew louder, and Hazel's attention was drawn to the source of the disturbance. A voice, unmistakable in its slurred speech and belligerent tone, was arguing heatedly with the peacekeepers. "Just give me one second to say goodbye, goddammit."
It was a voice Hazel knew all too well – her father, Heath. His presence there surprised her. Hazel hadn't expected him to show up, but there he was. She figured he would be halfway through a fresh rum bottle by now.
The peacekeepers' response was stern, their voices firm as they addressed Heath. With a mixture of annoyance and duty, they allowed Heath to shuffle past them. They issued an unyielding reminder that he had exactly one minute before they would intervene. He nodded, a slurred acknowledgment, as he stumbled towards Hazel, his steps uneven and his mutterings about the peacekeepers barely coherent.
His face, usually clouded with the effects of alcohol, carried a more profound sadness than usual. "Hey, Hazy." His eyes, bleary, shifted towards Silus with a look that was far from friendly.
"Dad," Hazel interjected, steering his attention away from Silus. The last thing they needed right now was a confrontation.
"Life ain't fair, is it, my girl?" he muttered, his voice a mix of resignation and a rough kind of sadness.
"No, it's not," Hazel whispered.
Heath's eyes, though unfocused, held a glimmer of something more profound. "I never thought I'd be doing this again," he said, his words trailing off.
A vivid image flashed through Hazel's mind at his statement – her uncle Cedar's green eyes, filled with a similar sense of helplessness and fear. A surge of empathy washed over her. Despite everything, her father once stood in a similar position, farewelling his brother in this very station. He had been like her siblings several years ago, saying their last goodbyes in this train station.
Heath's hands, rough and weathered, delved beneath the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace that had been a constant presence throughout Hazel's childhood. She had always known it to be of great significance to him; otherwise, it would have been sold for beer money long ago. Dangling from the long, thin chain was a stone of remarkable beauty — a deep purple, blue-green hue interspersed with flecks of sunset orange and gold. It shimmered in the light; it reminded her of a forest fire at dusk.
The stone, resembling a fire opal, was often found in the mines of District One. Possessing such an item was a rarity in District Seven, making it all the more valuable. Hazel's eyes widened at the sight of it.
"Put this on, and don't take it off." Hazel accepted the necklace from Heath with a hesitancy that betrayed her surprise. The significance of the gesture wasn't lost on her. "This belonged to Cedar," Heath said, his voice tinged with a deep, unresolved sorrow. "He gave it to me the last day I saw him. Told me it would protect me. That idiot should've taken it with him."
Hazel looped the chain over her head, the gem resting against her skin, hidden beneath her shirt. She found herself moved by the gesture.
Heath's embrace was firm, almost desperate. "Now you listen to me," his tone became clearer than she had heard it in years. You come back home, Hazel. Do whatever it takes."
His eyes flicked towards Silus, a hard edge to his gaze. "Even if it means... doing what you have to do."
She struggled to find the right words, and her discomfort was evident in her response: "I'll do my best, Dad.... take care of yourself, okay? Maybe buy some food instead of just liquor."
Heath gave a noncommittal nod, his hand ruffling her hair. He then turned to leave, his departure hasty as if eager to escape the confines of the station and the reality of their parting. As he stumbled towards the exit, a peacekeeper reached out to steady him, only to be met with a snarled rebuke. "Keep your filthy hands off me," Heath growled before disappearing.
Hazel traced the outline of the gemstone hidden beneath her shirt, a small hope kindling within her. Although it was likely just a superstition, she clung to the idea of it offering some protection. In times like these, she would take anything she could get.
She glanced up to find Silus observing her, his expression concerned.
Indira Lovegood stood a few feet away, her eyes observing the scene with a dispassionate air. Hazel couldn't help but wonder how many goodbyes Indira had witnessed over the years, how many families she had seen torn apart. The thought, bitter and unbidden, crossed her mind: Indira's role required a certain distance, a detachment from the tributes. It was a survival mechanism, perhaps, for someone who was like a beautiful grim reaper, escorting children to their graves.
Hazel's gaze lingered on Indira for a moment longer, pondering the strange, isolated existence of being an escort in the Hunger Games. It was a role that demanded a facade of glamour and enthusiasm, even as it involved leading young lives to a brutal and uncertain fate.
As she turned her attention back to the train, Hazel steeled herself for what lay ahead. With their guns in their belts, peacekeepers led Hazel and Silas into the train in silence.
The interior of the sleek, modern passenger train was a revelation — ornate and exuding a sense of luxury and sophistication that was foreign. The air was infused with a delicate fragrance, possibly jasmine, a far cry from the earthy scents of pine and wood they were accustomed to.
The irony of offering a more comfortable train ride than years past did not escape her - a brief luxury before being thrust into the brutal reality of the Hunger Games. In Hazel's mind, it was the least the Capitol could do, considering they were on the brink of stripping away their lives.
They moved through the aisle, their eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings. The plush seats, the polished surfaces, and the intricate designs all spoke of a world entirely different from their own. They found a seat, settling into the soft cushions with awe and unease.
Hazel's eyes were drawn to the TVs mounted in the corners, which were showing the last reaping ceremonies. The screen showed District 12's selections, the final names being called out before their own ordeal began.
"Female Tribute: Ruby Hart," the voice announced. Hazel's heart clenched at the mention of Ruby's age — so young, so inexperienced. The girl's image appeared on screen: she was a tiny girl, probably around 12 or 13, with short dark hair and grey eyes. Her small stature made her look even younger.
Hazel shook her head, trying to disengage from the broadcast. The reality of what lay ahead was overwhelming enough without the added burden of knowing the faces of those who would be thrust into the same nightmare. She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes, trying to find peace.
As the train glided through landscapes unknown to Hazel and Silus, they remained engulfed in their thoughts, occasionally sharing glances. They had never ventured beyond the boundaries of District Seven, and the journey through unfamiliar territories was both awe-inspiring and disheartening.
Indira Lovegood, their escort, seemed content to let them be, perhaps understanding that there was little she could say to ease their minds. She stayed at the opposite end of the car, her attention occasionally flickering towards them.
The train whizzed past the ever-changing landscape outside.
Hazel broke the lingering silence, her voice tinged with hesitation. "Silus," she began, seeking his eyes. "What did you and Oren and Rowan say to each other before we left?"
Silus, gazing out the window at the blurry scenery, turned slowly towards Hazel. His face held a guarded expression. A long moment passed, the train's rhythmic hum being the only sound between them.
"He told me he loved me, and I said the same to Rowan." Silus finally said, his voice even, but Hazel could detect a hint of something unsaid, an emotion he was holding back.
Hazel studied him, sensing there was more to Oren's words than Silus was revealing. Yet, she chose not to probe further. Instead, she offered a gentle nod, acknowledging his response.
"I can't believe Heath showed up," Silus offered.
Hazel gave a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, you and me both." He glanced at her, her fingers massaging the necklace under her shirt.
As the train continued its journey, Hazel found herself lost in thought. Hours passed, and the hum of the train and the rhythmic motion lulled Hazel into a restless sleep, her head finding comfort on Silus's shoulder. The sudden slowing of the train jolted her awake, Indira's voice echoing through the car. "We are here, tributes. Welcome to the Capitol."
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Hazel gazed out the window to see the Capitol's train station approaching. The size and grandeur of the building were unlike anything she had ever seen. Its towering structure and gleaming surfaces were so different from the rustic nature of District Seven.
As the train came to a complete stop, the doors slid open, revealing the bustling metropolis of the Capitol. The air was filled with a cacophony of sounds and sights that were overwhelming in their extravagance. Peacekeepers, in their crisp uniforms, stood ready to escort them. The reality of their situation was inescapable now; they were no longer in the familiar surroundings of their district. They were in the heart of the Capitol.
Exiting the train, Hazel's gaze was immediately drawn to the figures standing amidst the Peacekeepers. The sight of them caused a flash of recognition, and an unsettling feeling swept over her.
The first was a woman, exuding an air of confident eccentricity. Dr. Gaul, recognizable to all in Panem, stood in a bright yellow lab coat, her presence commanding despite her shorter stature. Her shoes, matching the vibrancy of her jacket, added to her distinctive appearance.
Hazel's eyes widened as she took in the figure beside Dr. Gaul. The man, whose presence was both intimidating and magnetic, held her gaze with an icy sharpness that seemed to pierce right through her. She had seen him numerous times in broadcasts, but nothing could have prepared her for the unsettling reality of his physical presence.
He stood tall and commanding, draped in a deep emerald suit. A long black cloak swept gracefully around him, its fabric moving like a shadow in the light. A single white rose pinned neatly in his breast pocket drew her attention. Momentarily paralyzed, Silus bumped into her shoulder, bringing her back to the present.
Regaining her composure, Hazel realized she was face to face with Senator Coriolanus Snow himself.