Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, though I wish I did. The original trilogy rightfully belongs to Suzanne Collins. I only own the plot and the idea of this fanfiction.

Hello, and welcome to Huntress! So far, there's not much to say, other than the fact that the tributes of the 125th Hunger Games (Quarter Quell) must be the immortal Greek god and goddess of each district. I hope you like the idea and the story.

1.

I, Artemis, goddess of the moon, release a silver arrow and lower my bow, watching triumphantly as it pierces the amber eye of a soaring raven, which flails its wings uselessly before falling to the forest ground.

"Nice shot." I smile, turning my head slightly, as my twin brother Apollo praises me. The two of us are fourteen, with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. The two of us were just about evenly matched at archery, but with a little extra effort, I was usually the swifter runner.

I brush a strand of long, dark hair from my pale face as I fully face my brother. "Thanks, Apollo," I reply. "You're not so bad yourself." Apollo blinks, running a hand through his curly hair. If I wasn't his brother I might think he was cute ‒ though I'd never admit it. I'm not one for drama and love.

Apollo throws his head back and stares at the crescent moon for a long moment. "We should be getting back," he says. "Night is falling."

Nodding, I step through the tangle of trees and vines at my brother's side, after retrieving my silver arrows. The two of us walk briskly through the shadowy outlines of the forest, and toward the growing light of District 6 in the distance.

Apollo and I stay to the forest path, as the night wind whips around us. The stars gleam softly but brightly, and, for a moment, I wish I was one of them.

"It's a big day tomorrow," I say, and this is one of those rare times when my voice is not coated in its usual confidence.

"You're right." Apollo grasps my hand tighter than before. "We'll find out the new twist tonight, when Snow announces it, won't we?"

"We will," I say, shivering a little. "I'm worried. What if it involves the two of us?"

Apollo gives me a tight smile. "Then we'll make it out together." He stops in his tracks and looks into the depths of my brilliant blue eyes. "Nothing can separate us, Artemis. I promise."

As we make our way back to the gate, we hear our district's central loudspeaker crackle, signifying an incoming message from the Capitol. Probably from President Snow, considering that all of the districts are waiting for his message, which will tell us the requirements for tomorrow's Quarter Quell reaping.

I grip Apollo's hand tighter. "Let's go." He gives me a short nod, and the two of us break into a run, feet rhythmically pounding on the hard ground of District 6. Side by side, Apollo and I run, keeping our ears open as we listen to President Snow speak.

We reach the heart of our district before the president of Panem can say anything that seems of use, and the two of us stand expectantly at the base of the clock tower.

It isn't too crowded, because most of the district is listening through their screens in their respective homes; however, it would take Apollo and me too long to reach our home at the other end of District 6.

"...the Hunger Games are a wonderful opportunity for children to prove their worth to all of the districts," I hear President Snow's voice say. "They also limit unnecessary dissent among each district."

Huh! I snort. More like the Games are a valuable tool to keep the districts from uprising again and making the Capitol weak again.

Apollo nudges me, signaling that what Snow is about to say is what we've been waiting to hear. "The 125th Hunger Games are a Quarter Quell, as you know. And each Quarter Quell is special in that, it has its own requirement added to the tributes."

My brilliant blue eyes meet Apollo's for a second, and mirror the worry in my brother's eyes.

"The Capitol have decided," President Snow states, "that for this Quarter Quell, the tributes will be the immortals, with their immortality stripped from them."

My knees shake and give way, and I fall to the ground. My eyes fill with tears, but I will not let them fall. "No!" I shout, my head lifted to the night sky. "No!"

In a moment, I am staring around, eyes burning, and I fling my bow to the ground. I rip my quiver of silver arrows from my back and shoulder and hurl it to the ground beside the bow. I tear my long, dark hair from its ponytail and allow it to fall free to my knees.

Rage. That's all I feel.

Suddenly, Apollo is at my side, squeezing my shoulders, calling me to stand up. I can see anguish streaked across his face as well, but as soon as I stand, he embraces me. "Artemis, I promise, we will get out of this together."

There are only two immortals per district, so it's obvious that we are the 125th Hunger Games tributes of District 6. And now… only one of us can survive. If it comes down to my brother and me, I don't know what we'll do.

Not that either of us will make it that far.

But I will not kill Apollo, I swear it. And something tells me that Apollo will not kill me. My heart feels as though it might burst at any moment now. Apollo and I. Two fourteen-year-olds. Brother and sister. Innocent beings. We are going to our death.

I awake early the next morning, before the sun does. My usually pale face is still flushed with anger, and my dark hair is in a tangled mess. My fingers shake as they run down the full length of my dark hair, detangling it instantly, and I shiver.

Today is the day of the reaping. The last morning I will spend with District 6.

Our home is small, with only two rooms. Of course, that's all Apollo and I need to sustain the two of us. The door is simply a hole in the wall that leads outside; we don't worry about thieves, for we hardly have anything of value, anyway.

I slowly make my way over to the door and stare out into the silent district. Everyone is asleep; it must be about three in the morning. But I can't sleep. My body is wracked with fear and anxiety for today.

I can see a faint glow, where the sun is beginning to rise. As it does, my hopes sink. Still, I square my shoulders and stare out into the distance. "I will not be afraid," I tell myself, and for once since the previous evening, my voice comes out steady and confident.

There is a rustle, and I feel the presence of someone beside me. I don't need to turn my head to know that it is Apollo. He lays a hand gently on my shoulder. "Artemis," he says, and I turn to look into his eyes, "we will make it out of the Games. That's a promise."

I lean into my brother, and he embraces me. I bury my head in his shoulder, and at the sound of a mild sniff, I look up to see that Apollo, the calm figure I had grown up with, has let his tears fall.

"Whatever happens, Artemis," he tells me, and I can tell by his voice that he is struggling to keep his expression steady, "I'll always be there."

"So will I, Apollo," I reply softly, wishing I could believe it. Because only one of us can win the Hunger Games Quarter Quell. I hope with all my heart that it's either me or Apollo. But that's never going to happen.

Apollo flashes me a weak smile. "The future is clouded," he tells me, as I step back, and I recall once more than he is the god of prophecy. "I cannot tell what will happen to us."

Maybe that's a good sign, maybe it's not.

Suddenly, I feel like crying. I never do; that's not what's expected of the goddess of hunting. But the pressure suddenly overwhelms me, and my knees feel faint. I shut my eyes for a long moment, letting peace and blackness engulf me for a fleeting second. I'm exhausted; my vision is slightly blurry, and my limbs feel weak.

Apollo must have noticed this, too. "Artemis, we should rest. We… uh… have a long day ahead of us." His bright blue eyes are darker, now, and more serious. I can see pure concern shining in their depths.

"I'm not tired," I protest, but I suddenly feel as though my legs can barely hold me up any longer. Under the stern look given to me by Apollo, I sigh. "All right, I'm coming."

There's nothing left in this world, I realize. Nothing I can look to for comfort ‒ except Apollo. There is nothing in what is left of my life that really reaches out to me, except my brother.

And death, peaceful, blissful death, awaits the two of us.

After long minutes of watching my sleeping brother's chest rise and fall rhythmically, sleep crashes over me like a black wave. My last thought is that I wish I weren't immortal, so that death might greet me before the reaping.

To have my immortality stripped from me ‒ how does it feel? How does the Capitol do it? What does it mean for Apollo and me? These questions run through my mind as I stand by the door, waiting for our district escort and the designated two victors for this year's tributes to arrive.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Apollo's voice sounds behind me. "Everything you've ever known, taken from you in one night. It's hard to think I'll never see this place again."

"Neither will I," I say. My voice takes on an edge of determination. "But you will, I'll make sure of that, Apollo. You're going to win this."

Apollo scoffs. "It's probably going to be one of the Careers, this year. They usually win."

"Tell me something I don't already know," I say. I frown. "What sort of terrain is the arena going to be this year? Or, at least, what do you think it'll be?"

"I'm not quite sure," Apollo replies. "Not a desert; they did that last year." He pauses, then stares pointedly at the clothes I wear. A simple black hunting jacket, over black pants. My hair is in a long, simple braid, and black boots cover my feet. My figure bears my bow and quiver of arrows, as well. "You look… well… why all the black?"

"Does it matter what I wear?" I ask. "I'm going to die anyways. Black… in anticipation of the death in the future." I frown. "You didn't have to wear something so bright." In contrast to me, Apollo was wearing a white shirt and darker pants. I nudge him playfully. "So formal."

"Like you said, it doesn't matter," Apollo counters, matter-of-factly.

The crowd of District 6, one of the smallest districts, has already gathered near the podium. I turn, moments later, to see a flash of red hair as three shapes emerge.

"Look, it's Mara Lindell," Apollo announces, making me grimace. Great. One step closer to my death. I would recognize Mara's bright red hair and green eyes anywhere. She's the District 6 escort, and has been for the past twenty years, probably.

Mara beckons sweetly to the two others beside her ‒ two of the seven former victors. She stands to the center of the podium and waves at all of District 6, a cheerful smile etched onto her face.

"Welcome, welcome," Mara purrs, adjusting the microphone so that the crowd can hear and quiet down to her voice, "to the 125th annual Hunger Games." She nods to a nearby Peacekeeper, in the usual white uniform, and moments later, on the large screen, the general video of the Hunger Games begins playing. This is shown every year; Apollo and I have never bothered to watch it more than twice.

Apollo and I step closer to the crowd, only to find that Mara has stepped down from the podium for a minute or so. She brushes carefully past the villagers, smiling the entire way.

"I need the immortals in this district," she says softly, so that only the people closest to her can hear. As she moves about, she repeats herself, again and again. I duck my head as she nears us.

Apollo elbows me, then jerks his head toward Mara. I glare at him, but Mara is already stepping toward us. She flashes us a cheerful, polished smile, reeking of the Capitol.

"You must be Apollo and Artemis, then," she says, "the immortals of District 6. Am I right?" Apollo nods, while I remain silent. She smiles sweetly, again. "You must be honored to be two of the tributes of this year's Quarter Quell."

I grimace. "Yeah," I mutter, gritting my teeth. "Honored."

Mara tosses her red curls over her shoulder. "It should be an honor. You get to prove your extraordinary worth, Miss Artemis." Clearly, Mara is not one who takes kindly to sarcasm and dry humor. Apollo flashes me a quick glare, and Mara continues. "If you two would just step this way."

Do we have a choice? Reluctantly, I follow Mara, as the crowd continues to watch the screen. Apollo nudges me sharply. "Let's not make an enemy of our escort, Artemis," he drawls pointedly, and I roll my eyes as I follow him.

"Now, Apollo, please stand over there." Mara gestures toward a spot at the edge of the podium, a few paces behind the mentors. "And Artemis, please stand over there." She shows me to a spot opposite from Apollo. She turns to face both of us. "I want you two smiling when you are reaped. Understood?"

I don't reply, and, surprisingly, neither does Apollo. Mara doesn't really seem to care, and I grit my teeth in anger. This is unfair, simply unfair. How can the Capitol do this to the immortals?

I feel like crying, once more, but I know I can't. I am Artemis, the huntress, and I will be strong.

My face falls, my eyes darkening, as the Capitol screen turns blank, signaling the end of the video projected to the District 6 crowd. There are a few murmurs as the people of District 6, gathered below the podium, slowly turn to look up at Mara.

"Happy Hunger Games, everyone!" Mara says, by way of greeting. "And…" she says, staring uncomfortably at Apollo and me, "may the odds ever be in your favor."

I wish, I think.

"For the 125th annual Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell, our revered President Snow has chosen to have only the immortals in the districts reaped, their immortality removed, and they will fight to the death in this year's arena," Mara says. "So let's get on with the reaping. As usual, ladies first."

My heart seems to speed up at this point, my breath coming in gasps. My eyes are wide, and I clutch my bow tightly. I look over at Apollo, who smiles shakily, and turns away.

There is only one slip of paper in the usually-full glass bowl. I shudder as Mara's delicate fingers gently reach inside and pull out the folded paper.

"Artemis, goddess of the hunt and the moon," Mara calls, and a few whispers spread through the crowd below. This is it, I think, forcing a smile for the sake of the district. I know it must seem forced, but it's the best I can do right now. Slowly, slowly, I walk toward Mara, who smiles brightly at me and positions me to face District 6.

Mara doesn't call for volunteers, as President Snow was specific to mention that only immortals should be reaped. "And now, the boy tribute." Her fingers reach for the paper in the other glass bowl, and she reads out, "Apollo, god of truth and prophecy."

Apollo steps forward to Mara's side, and though his stride appears confident, his expression tells me otherwise. Mara smiles at him. "Shake hands," she murmurs to us, and we do. Together, we raise our hands, still linked, as we face District 6. "And there you have it, District 6. Your tributes for the 125th annual Hunger Games!" Mara announces.

And for once, I wish I actually have the confidence which I try to feign in front of the District.

Please review!