The forest breathed an aching sigh, full of unease, full of impatience for that morning's announcement.

"What's out there?" Eren whispered.

Armin looked up at the brunette, staring off into the distance at the giant walls.

"Concrete," he supplied, grinning slightly.

Eren rolled his eyes, shoving the other boy into the grass.

They always met up in the forest, where Armin could read, and Eren could explore. They'd exchange goods here too. Eren would provide Armin's grandfather with medical supplies they couldn't afford, and Armin would bring Eren odd trinkets and valuables from his grandfather's travels to the Capital.

Eren could sell the objects to the Hob, 12's black market, so as not to put Armin and his family in any kind of danger.

It worked, barely.

But there was no such thing as a satisfied stomach. Or a quenched thirst.

"Someday, we're getting out, Armin. Just you wait," Eren said.

"Someday, you're going to get thrown in prison for talking like that," Armin replied, flipping another page in his book. "They'll hear you saying something stupid, and you'll disappear. Or worse…you'll get chosen for the reaping."

The smile on the blonde's face disappeared, and he met Eren's eyes in fear.

"Don't worry, Armin," Eren said. "We're going to be fine."

"Eren you know how probability works, right? Our names…both of us are signed up for tesserae. Compared to the others…"

Eren sighed, stealing the book out of Armin's hands. He needed a distraction.

"Hey! I was in the middle of that paragraph!"

Eren thumbed through the crumbling novel, finding the picture he loved the most. He held it up so Armin could see.

"Remember this?"

"Yes, Eren, I do."

"What is it?"

Armin crossed his arms. "It's the ocean."

"Right. And what did we say? What did we promise?"

"That one day we'd see it with our own eyes."

"That's right." Eren lowered the book so he could look into his friend's eyes. "Armin, a promise is a promise. No stupid peacekeepers are going to take this away from us."

OoO

Eren stood in the back with the other boys his age, a dull throbbing in his head.

He could still smell the scent of his mother's hair, pressed against his cheek as she hugged him. Her eyes that told him it might not be okay, but the voice that said otherwise.

Eren spotted Armin a few rows down, hands fidgeting with nerves.

Then the microphone on stage was tapped—too loudly—and screeched from feedback.

"Welcome, welcome," the woman began, the same one as every year. She wore these large goggle-glasses, and she had this crazy glint in her eyes. Hanji, District 12's Escort. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds, be ever in your favor."

Eren's mind wandered as the Captial's promotional video played, trying to convince its citizens that sending their children off for publicized execution was justified. This annual event was just punishment for the rebellion against the dynasty, past generations' mistakes. Now one boy and girl from every district were sent to kill each other in a televised broadcast.

Eren hated the system. He hated living in a cage. He hated the Hunger Games.

But they all did, he just wasn't afraid of saying so.

"And now, ladies first…"

Hanji, in her wacky military uniform, placed her hand in the glass box, drawing out a name as the entire population of District 12 drew in a breath.

"Our first tribute, Miss Mikasa Ackerman! Please come forward!"

The girls tensed, heads turning towards the one who would be sent to die, sent to kill.

Slowly, the girl moved, making her way to the platform.

She had black, silky hair—not a common trait in 12. She was thin, pale, and she wore a red scarf over her faded reaping clothes.

She turned to face the crowd, standing solemnly next to Hanji.

Eren's mouth opened slightly, and he couldn't find it in him to stop gaping.

He…knew her.

A cold storm. Two lost kids. His favorite red scarf.

How…where had she been all this time? He hadn't seen her in years. And 12 wasn't that big.

"Armin Arlert!"

Eren snapped out of it. He tunneled in on his best friend, his stiff back, clenched fists. Terrified features.

No.

Hanji hadn't just read his name, had she? She hadn't just…chosen Armin?

Soft-spoken, timid Armin? The bookworm? The boy who couldn't hurt a fly?

Eren moved toward his friend. No way. They wouldn't take him, not Armin. Give them the district bully, give them someone tall, someone strong. Not his best friend.

The Peacekeepers tried to hold him back. He felt hard hands on his chest, pushing, holding, restraining.

No.

"No!" he yelled, elbowing one and stumbling out into the pathway. He was in hysterics, he knew.

"Eren!" someone reprimanded. His mother?

"I volunteer!" Eren bellowed, silencing the crowd. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Stone. Cold. Silence.

The district looked at him like some sort of alien creature. And Armin stood across from him, eyes wide, swollen with tears.

"Eren…" Armin got out, broken.

Eren nodded at him, a brotherly acceptance of responsibility, and in an out-of-body state, he stepped forward towards the platform.

"Ho-ohhh! A volunteer?!" Hanji cried. "I believe we have our first ever volunteer! What's your name, son?"

Eren felt sick, and numb, and kind of dizzy, as cameras flashed and he saw that girl from his past—Mikasa—and forgot where he was.

She was staring at him, and her eyes were full of sorrow. Why was that expression so familiar?

Hanji chuckled as she patted him on the arm. "Your name?"

"Eren," he sighed. He could hear his mother sobbing in the distance. "Eren Jaeger."

"Very well. Let's have a round of applause for our two marvelous tributes!"

Hanji raised her arms in celebration, but the crowd just gave a blank series of stares. Then Armin, that shy, goody-two-shoes, raised his hand in a three finger salute.

And the rest of District 12 followed.

Goodbye, it meant. Thank you. We admire your courage.

Goodbye.

OoO

"Eren!"

Carla Jaeger crashed against her son, face wet with tears.

"Mom," he said, voice barely cracking. "I'm sorry." Over her shoulder he saw his father.

"You're going to make it," Carla whispered, cupping Eren's face. "If anyone can, I know you can. You were born in this world, Eren. Now promise me you'll survive it, okay?"

Eren nodded, and she kissed his forehead, leaving the room before she cried in front of him.

Grisha Jaeger looked down at his sixteen-year-old son and gave a watery smile.

Eren inhaled, trying not to break down.

"You're the key, Eren."

He frowned at his father's unexpected words. "What?"

There was an urgent knocking at the door, and Eren glanced at it before turning back around. "What are you talking about?"

"Just remember what you're capable of. You're the key to all of this."

"Dad…"

"Times up!"

"Wait!"

But his father was already ushered out of the room, and Eren was left standing by himself.

He collapsed on the nearest seat, trying not to hyperventilate. The reality of his situation was dawning on him. He'd just…thrown away his life. How dense. How foolish.

"Eren?"

"Armin!"

Eren turned to greet his friend, but the blonde merely tackled him in a hug. He was already speaking into his ear, hurriedly, tactically.

"You have a real chance, Eren. If it had been me, I'd be a goner. But you…you might actually be able to win this thing."

Eren's throat was closing up; he could feel the tears coming. "Armin, how could I win? I'm a doctor. I don't know how to fight."

Armin pulled back. "You can use a knife, right? Learn to fight with it—they provide you with a mentor." He smiled slightly, tight, but hopeful. "I know you're going to come back home after all this."

"How can you have so much confidence in me?"

"Because. You're the most stubborn guy I've ever met. There's no way you'll give up. It's physically impossible."

Eren nodded, and he felt something prickle his hand. Armin's solid gaze slipped away as he was dragged out of the room by the peacekeepers.

Once he was alone, Eren opened his palm.

There was a pin. A Mockingjay pin.

A bird with the wings of freedom.

OoO

Heeeeyyyy look who's back.

Let me know if you want me to keep going! I've got some ideas up my sleeves.