This AU came to me during class on a Thursday afternoon so six pages of prior planning on Google Docs and nine pages of Amaya's background later, here we are. This chapter is a prologue of sorts and doesn't need to be read in order to understand the coming chapters. It just provides some insight into Callum's family's past, as well as some extra emotions.

I'm very excited to start working on the main storyline. It'll be pairing Rayla and Callum but many of The Dragon Prince characters will be main/very important characters in this series. Ambition fail me not, I couldn't be more thrilled to start this cliché AU! Hope you enjoy!


Nobody anticipated her victory.

From her childhood it was evident that she was to be a victor, but never a Victor of the Games. So when her name was drawn at the fragile age of nine, her district - District 9 - only expected an unfair death. The killing of a child who could not hear and could not speak.

This girl had covert plans, though.

Disregarding her deafness, Amaya had grown up naturally reserved. Discreet. Never one to purposefully call attention to herself. In her district this only guaranteed bad luck. By the time she began training under the watchful eyes of mentors and gamemakers, not a single person had witnessed what she was capable of.

Amaya played on everyone's lack of awareness. She chose to work with weapons she had never seen before, allowing her to obtain more knowledge of what might be in store for the Games, while also showing people that she was seemingly unfamiliar with everything she touched. Lowering their expectations for her.

None of the other tributes, not even the boy summoned from her own district, so much as glanced in her direction throughout their weeks of training, though. When the countdown ended and the Games officially started, everyone gauged that it would only be a matter of moments before Amaya was taken out.

Gamemakers viewed her only hope as Lujanne, the Victor assigned to be the young girl's mentor. Lujanne had won her Game through tricks and traps. Gathering fatal herbs that feigned fruits and placing them in the hands of Careers, fabricating herself as an ally only to double-cross her alliances, refusing to sleep until the moon crowned the sky and offered enough light for her to prepare traps and ambush the remaining tributes.

Everyone had underestimated her. Even in the process of killing what she saw as prey, Lujanne radiated a type of bemused elation that caused people to view her as far less mature than she truly was. If so many had underestimated one of the most astute Victors, even more would surely underestimate those in the future. Lujanne believed that this nine-year-old girl could be one of them. One of the clever ones. In spite of gamemakers' dissatisfaction, Lujanne took Amaya under her wing within hours of watching her train.

A week passed before Amaya trusted Lujanne enough to show her her real strengths and weaknesses. Crucial time was wasted, but Lujanne's keenness to save Amaya held fast. Together they ran drills with weapons that Amaya adapted to quickly. Old-fashioned swords and shields, bows and arrows, daggers and poison. Amaya was swift and agile. Knowing beyond her years. Confidence shimmered in her eyes whenever she grasped the notion of what she was doing, of how it would help her survive.

Lujanne trained her away from the rest of the tributes. Another trick on her mentor's part, as nobody but the gamemakers knew what Amaya was capable of by the time her training concluded.

Undeterred by Lujanne's orders when the Games began, Amaya ran into the cornucopia. Inside the heart of this bloodbath were teenagers - kids - already fighting to the death. Spurred on by desperation and enmity and horror, tributes that hadn't yet acquired a weapon tried to tear each other from the limbs. Those who did have weapons neglected to put their weeks of training to use. Amaya saw someone use the back of what looked like a hammer to strike a girl far bigger than herself. Another girl caught a boy in a snare that was simply her bow. She yanked it back and the boy fell with a sickening thud, only to be met with frantic stabs from arrows that were meant to soar, not to be plunged into someone's back.

Mere seconds into the Games had stalled and people's ears were already pulsing because of the countless canons sounding.

Amaya was the youngest tribute by two or three years. Her frame was small but sturdy so once again, nobody paid her any mind while she ducked and weaved past bodies and brawls. She didn't go for the backpacks (she could see that others were already aiming for those). Instead she went for a shield and sword nearly half her size. While she sprinted away, she wrenched out a dagger that had been skewered into a lifeless teen's leg.

This was the first thing to catch the attention of people watching at home.

But there was no hesitation in her movements as she fled the scene, no regret in her actions. Never once did she look back. Not until the sun began to set. Not until she could see the moon rising above the horizon.

The girl recalled Lujanne's unusual fascination with the moon. During her mentor's run in the Games, Lujanne had only worked at night. Maybe it was because the other tributes were sleeping or letting their guards fall with the shadows, but when the sky was dark, Lujanne performed best. Still not understanding exactly why this was, Amaya decided to follow in her mentor's footsteps. That night she calculated her plans for every tribute still alive.

After a sheer three hours of sleep, Amaya rose the next day and made her way to those who strayed from their groups or figured their best chance of survival was alone. Endurance and adrenaline kept her on her toes, kept her mind sharper than those around her. When morning had passed Amaya came across a boy who was two heads taller than her, but posed as no real threat. Her sword was tucked under her arm and her shield remained thrust out in front of her. Amaya's fingers curled around the handle of her dagger until her knuckles turned white, giving away her current motive.

The boy turned around with a pitiful gaze when he heard Amaya approaching. Obviously miscalculating what Amaya was qualified of doing, he failed to run away or fight back. He simply stood there, watching her.

In a flash so fast that people at home had to replay the scene in slow motion in order to properly perceive what had happened, Amaya leaped forward and sunk her dagger into the boy's stomach. Once he fell to his knees, she used her sword to force him onto his back before stabbing the side of his neck.

It took lengthy seconds for his breath to fail and enough blood to pump out, but Amaya stayed with him until he was dead. Before backing away, people in every district watched as the girl closed his eyes and signed something that no one in the arena would be able to understand.

She killed two other kids that day, using more or less the same method. Always closing their eyes after their last breath left them.

That night the canon blared five times.

When Amaya gazed at the stars it was evident that the wheels in her mind were spinning. There were barely ten souls still standing. The next morning would mark only the second day.

People at home who watched Amaya's kills realized that day how dangerous she was. Everyone in every district was able to fathom how threatening she was.

Yet nobody in the arena had a clue.

Sponsors then began to make themselves known. When Amaya woke the next morning, her eyes went wide at the sight of two canteens. One was filled with bread and jerky. The other revealed a vial that had yet to be filled. Preceding her departure, Amaya wrote "thank you" in the dirt and waited a few moments, unsure of whether or not the cameras had had enough time to display this to her sponsors. She ran her hands through the dirt and effectively rid the terrain of her evidence before starting the second day.

There was a creek a couple of miles away from Amaya's hideout. In the process of filling her vial, the girl failed to notice two tributes approaching. Both were on opposite sides in the sense of the Games, but this was still bad news. Amaya bustled to the other side of the stream and sized them up with a glare.

One - a girl - was a distinct Career. In her hands was a weapon mirroring the structure of a harpoon. The other one was a boy. He was a loner but Amaya saw how dangerous he really was. The Career girl saw this, too. Her eyes kept flitting from the Amaya to the boy.

This loner was tall but lanky. Scars crisscrossed his exposed skin and three of his fingers had been cut down to nubs. His clothes were worn and ratty, but the array of knives on his belt were clean enough to gleam. His eyes rested on Amaya for the better of two seconds, then settled on the Career girl.

Promptly deciding that the Career was more of a threat, the boy lunged for her with his teeth bared. Amaya shrank back, but made no move to run away. He wasn't attacking her yet.

Some people watching their televisions alluded that Amaya wasn't watching the dispute for entertainment. She was taking mental notes.

Like a wild animal, the boy attacked the Career with untrained skill and raw defiance. Amaya noted that this Career couldn't have been more different from her opponent. Where the girl used her brute strength and skill, the boy dodged her attacks and whirled back and forth from her grab, anticipating his next move on the fly.

There were trees all around them. The loner used this to his advantage, knocking the Career to a corner and forcing her backwards into the creek. Amaya shuffled farther away.

Before the Career could compose herself, the boy dived into the water, taking one of his knives and slashing her arm parallel to her bone. If that wasn't enough, he then went on to whip out another knife, pressing it to her throat to keep her from fighting back. In a matter of seconds the stream began to run red with blood. The Career died warily, wordlessly, and without struggle.

Once her body had stopped moving, the boy plunged her head under the water. A satisfied look crossed his face when he discerned that she was truly dead. A canon blared in the distance. Then he looked to Amaya.

Amaya's first instinct was to hold her ground. However, her mind was telling her to flee, to drop her gear so she could run away even faster. This boy's eyes were dark. His expression wasn't bloodthirsty but it was fierce enough to hold Amaya in place. Weighing her options carefully, the girl lowered her head and slit her eyes to glare daggers at him.

This roused a chuckle from the stranger. He bent down quickly, causing Amaya to draw her sword and raise her shield. But the boy was merely washing off his blades and putting them back in his belt.

"Today I will protect you," he said. "My name is Farrell."

Feral? Amaya signed.

"Farrell," the boy said a bit more slowly.

Amaya shook her head. Only when she signed the letters F-E-R-A-L did the boy realize what she meant. He counted the number of times her hand changed motions and compared the number to the amount of letters in the word "feral," understanding that even a girl who couldn't hear thought his name resembled the idea of a wild animal. People had made this mistake many times before. Another chuckle split from him and Amaya backed away while he waded to the bank of the stream.

He wrote "Farrell" in the sand, then the word "feral," and drew a slash through the latter. He pointed at his name as he said it again. With mindfulness that she didn't know he had, Farrell watched her sign his name in response. He looked enthralled, eager to learn. Three feet lengthened between them but Amaya didn't falter when showing the boy how to sign his own name. There was even the trace of a smile on her lips when he was able to sign it without aid.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Amaya crept closer to the shore, positioning her shield in Farrell's direction and writing her name in the sand with her dagger.

"Amaya," he read. He looked up at her and tilted his head. "How do you say it?"

So the girl taught him how to sign her name, too. Maybe if this wasn't the Games, maybe if they both knew that at least one of them would be dead in a week's time, Amaya would have taken the time to show him how to sign the entire alphabet. Maybe, in another life, they could have even been friends.

But this was her life now. There was no disdaining this. No more dwelling on what could have been.

Amaya never got close enough to let the boy touch her, even if he had a knife in his hand, but Farrell sought to prove himself to the girl. To show her that for that day, he really would protect her. There was no time to write in the sand that she didn't need protecting, nor was there enough time to teach him the sign language that told him this. At this point though, everyone watching at home knew that she was smart enough to survive anything Farrell might throw at her. Even if this included his trust.

On the way to Farrell's camp they stumbled across two more tributes. One ran away within the first glimpse of Farrell and Amaya thought she saw his chest swell at the sight of this. The other, a boy who looked to be about eighteen, held his ground.

Farrell started towards him with a single goal in mind, but Amaya threw her dagger into the ground with such force that it pierced the forest floor with sound, garnering her partner's attention.

"What?" he hissed. Farrell's eyebrows were pressed together and both of his hands were clutching the handles of his knives.

Struggling to sign things that Farrell could comprehend, Amaya pointed behind the eighteen-year-old, then at herself. She crept backward quietly, measuring each step in a careful, soundless fashion.

Farrell frowned even more at this, but there was no denying the curiosity that glinted in his face. A curt nod later, Amaya was darting behind the trees and making her way to the eighteen-year-old's blind spot.

She didn't think anything gave her position away, albeit the new tribute did glance behind himself a few times. As she settled into place, Farrell came barreling towards the eighteen-year-old. He drove him back and Amaya readied her sword just in time for the tribute to collide into it. Such desperation and force were behind his movements that Amaya found her sword actually impaling the male before her. Although his muscles were tensed and his feet were continuing to move, like he was still trying to get away.

"You're stuck," Amaya saw Farrell say as he approached the tribute. In a lively motion that Amaya could hardly see, Farrell drew one of his knives and slit his foe's throat.

From behind the eighteen-year-old's shoulder, Amaya saw Farrell show his face to her.

"Do you want help?" questioned her partner, pointing to the girl's sword.

Amaya shook her head and pushed the body away from herself, pulling her sword from the flesh shrouding it and backing away from Farrell. Her partner was awed at the fact that a nine-year-old could wrench her sword back with such nerve, though.

At that moment he realized that this was not her first kill.

But Amaya could sense this, too. When Farrell led her back to his camp, she plunged her shield into the ground against a tree, no longer allowing herself to trust Farrell. There she curled up within the ninety-degree angle and kicked her sword to the only opening of her makeshift shelter with the blade pointed outwards. Her eyes remained open until the moon cast light on the forest floor, her dagger clasped tightly in her hand for the rest of the night. More than one canon went off before she fell into a half-hearted slumber.

Without words shared with her, Amaya knew that Farrell had discovered her secret. She couldn't let him live with this knowledge.

That morning before the sun had risen, Amaya leaped from her shelter and threw her dagger straight into Farrell's chest. He woke up groaning violently, grabbing the handle and peering up at Amaya in a sort of heated allure. Amaya wasted no time, tightening her hold on her sword and aiming to the left of his chest. She crashed down on him with a clanging thud, managing to press her dagger deeper into her partner's body.

Farrell died slowly. The more he fought back, the more pain thundered through his body. Even he knew that it was no use, that fighting back wasn't worth it. Yet Amaya never relented. As he was spitting curses into her face, she blanked her gaze and focused on applying more strength to the blades embedded inside him.

Once he stilled, the girl jerked her weapons back one at a time, hoping Farrell's satisfied expression didn't cross her face when she found him to be truly dead. She closed his eyes and turned around to find two canteens sitting in the clearing. They had been left there by sponsors overnight. Neither tribute had noticed. One had bread and jerky again, but the other had a slimmer, sharper knife that didn't compare to the quality of any knives strung up on Farrell's belt.

This time there was trace hesitation in her movements when she seized the knife and slid it into the waistline of her pants for safe keeping. Amaya took the canteen meant for herself and made her way back to her own camp, stopping at the creek to fill up her vial. She made sure to go upstream before collecting any water.

The third day was spent solely in Amaya's hideout. She ate and drank periodically throughout the day. She practiced battle moves that Lujanne had taught her. That night after she fell asleep, the canon sounded three times.

Unbeknownst to the tributes, the Games would only last two more days. The fourth day would include Amaya sneaking to the Careers' camp. It was located in the cornucopia.

When Amaya got within yards of the camp she saw that there were no more loners left. The Careers were talking frenetically, their mouth movings almost too fast for Amaya to see what they were saying. Their hand motions were jerky and choppy. Frustrated. They were trying to figure out who was left, who had killed all of the loners. Whose signature move was apparently shutting their eyes.

You, Amaya told herself.

From her position near the base of a tree, she saw two Careers split off from the group. One started pacing around the left of the cornucopia, the other taking the right side. Distance was somewhat great between the guards and the other Careers.

Amaya approached the guard on the right, walking up to the teenager slowly, not trying to startle her.

"Woah," the Career girl gasped when she saw Amaya. Something flickered in her eyes. Pity clashing with ferocity. Giving the Career no time to decide if she should spare Amaya or not, the nine-year-old lunged. There was thankfully no shouting or screaming as Amaya killed the Career. Once she fell to the ground, Amaya closed her eyes and worked her way to the left of the cornucopia, doing the same to the other guard.

This left only three Careers standing. Lujanne's tactics flashed in Amaya's mind and she receded back into the trees until the moon began to climb. She felt something sinking in her stomach and pumping her heart faster as she saw the curses and bellows that escaped the remaining Careers' mouths when they discovered their two guards with still heartbeats and closed eyes.

That same night, after two canons had sounded, Amaya attacked. Only one guard was positioned in the entrance of the cornucopia now. He was a hard kill. By the time Amaya found the last Careers there was dried blood on her hands and face. One Career jumped out from his spot and the other - a girl no older than fourteen - shadowed him. Amaya slipped her hand low enough to grab the knife meant for Farrell and chucked it at the Career boy. It did no damage. He dodged it and came running towards Amaya, the Career girl close behind.

Amaya turned around and fled, circling the cornucopia and making her way onto boxes of supplies that were set up around the structure, pulling herself up onto the low roof. Vibrations resounded in the air as the boy shouted something to the girl Career. Shaky hands began scratching at the roof.

The girl was trying to climb after her. Amaya started towards her and let instinct take over, stomping on whatever fingers she was able to see. Bones crunching beneath her feet made Amaya's blood run hot, but the Career didn't give up. She clambered onto the roof and adjusted her stance, fighting to balance herself but to little avail. Doubt was not seen in Amaya's actions as she hurtled in the Career's direction, bracing her shield in front of her and knocking her off the roof. The fourteen-year-old landed on the ground and fell still.

Amaya's last Career took her by surprise, landing a blow to the side of her head that made darkness push the edges of her vision. Another blow made her footing fail and the next moment Amaya found herself sprawled out on the boxes that led up to the roof. Her arm was bent at an unnatural angle below her back.

Amaya couldn't dwell, though. She slid down the boxes and grimaced as their corners scratched at her arms and legs. Night was still heavy in the air, making it hard for both tributes to see clearly, but Amaya turned on her heel the moment she felt the ground beneath her feet.

The Career and the girl met in battle and people at home jumped to their feet, believing Amaya truly had a chance.

Gamemakers were not thrilled to see that she had become the fan favorite.

While the Career relied on acrimony and triumph, Amaya relied on the survival methods Lujanne had taught her. Once the boy jumped off the roof, Amaya ran at him with her shield and forced him back against the boxes. It was a deadly fight. All the Career had was a baseball bat and a dagger. Desperation to win drove him on and he switched the bat and the blade in his hands, swinging at the girl with an alarming amount of hostility. Although Amaya was small and quick, the Career's dagger did come in contact with her.

One moment she was bending her knees to evade the bat and the next moment she felt an acute pain erupt too close to her eye.

Maybe the Career thought that he had blinded her, that now all he had to do was land the final blow. Maybe he realized that he had undoubtedly just scarred a child, and that that still wasn't enough. Either way, his movements slowed for a fleeting moment, and Amaya used that opening to thrust her own dagger into his neck. Their height difference made for a sloppy jab but everyone could see that that damage had been done.

Amaya backed away slowly, then turned to run into the night.

She waited in the shelter of the trees, praying that the Career would stay by the faint glow of the fire near the cornucopia. It took much longer than anyone had expected, but ultimately the Career died. His face stilled furiously, contorted in a medley of pain and hatred.

A sickening stillness still found its way over the arena, though. Amaya looked up at the sky and waited for the helicopters to come to her, to save her.

But hours past and nothing happened.

There must be one more, Amaya thought. The sun would be rising soon. Yet Amaya found that it was an absurd idea to try and sleep. Only one more enemy remained. She had to take them out. She had to get out of this.

Both tributes found each other in the light of dawn. Somehow Amaya was not surprised to see that her final competitor was the boy from her own district. How he had made it this far, Amaya never found out.

Their eyes met but their expressions revealed nothing. They stood paces away from each other for a long while, both wordlessly understanding what needed to be done.

This boy was around fifteen. Amaya knew his name was Tien and that he knew her language, but that was it. He had greasy brown hair. There were scuff marks on his shoes and tears in his clothes. Something about him seemed to be dwindling.

Let's make this fight good, he signed to her. We need to give them a dramatic ending.

Amaya felt herself exhale. She nodded once. Good luck, Tien.

They charged each other and he knocked Amaya to the ground. It nearly looted the breath from her lungs but she hastily refocused her attention to the boy's hands, recoiling at the pain that began to burn in her bad arm.

Victor, he signed. He raised one of his hands in the air and tried to strike the girl's cheek. She turned her head at the last moment, causing Tien to slam his fist into the forest floor. One heartbeat later and he had recovered, looming over Amaya with his hands in her line of sight.

You will be Victor.

His eyes bored into hers, willing her to understand. Back in the districts, people wondered what Tien had signed to make Amaya's expression become so solemn and pained. But the visage was gone a moment later.

Amaya took out her dagger and curled her fingers around it steadily. In a quick motion, she sliced the boy's throat. He died quickly, his lifeless body falling onto her the moment she took her weapon back. Amaya pushed him off herself and laid him on his back.

As she shut his eyes, the force of descending helicopters began to make the trees tremble. Amaya looked up and saw Peacekeepers throwing a rolled-up ladder out of the chopper. The leaves around her whirled into the wind currents, whipping at her face and dominating her attention.

"Come on!" she saw one of the Peacekeepers shout. They did not offer her aid while she made her way to the suspended ladder and climbed into the machine. Everyone knew that she was not badly injured. She'd won with flying colors.

The youngest tribute to ever survive.

Amaya's right arm was broken and the gash below her eye would scar. There were no more visible injuries that would endure, though. No important ones, anyway.

Amaya returned to her district as Victor, gifting her people with much-needed supplies. Riches, too.

Sarai was the only one to greet her with a jubilant smile and outstretched arms. Amaya fell into her sister's grasp with tears running down her cheeks. She would tell her everything within the first night back home. She would turn to her when everyone in their district deemed her as nothing less than a monster.

In the years to come, Amaya would leave her district to become a mentor at the age of thirteen. A handful of people in every district would learn sign language in hopes of getting the chance to talk with the Games's youngest Victor. Gamemakers would refuse to be seen in the same room as her. Other Victors regarded her with a deep sense of respect, though. Mentors that taught alongside Amaya formed a family made up of survivors. The only people who truly understood each other.

Over the course of seven years, two of her tributes would become Victors. Five would perish in the Games.

Amaya returned home when she was nineteen, claiming that she had done enough. From the moment her name had been drawn, the following ten years of her life had been devoted to the Games. Gamemakers did not try to stop her from leaving.

When she arrived home there was little talk about her in the other districts. Game hosts wouldn't dare bring up her name in interviews. An unplanned, unapproved Victor was never remembered. But Amaya was alright with this. She asked her district to forget about her past. She never wanted to be Victor, she only wanted to survive.

The next few years in her home passed peacefully. People in her district learned to trust her again, that they could always trust her. Like the mentors she'd said goodbye to in the Capitol, her district formed a close bond with her when she returned home for the final time.

There was still a large sum of money left over that she used to take care of her family. No more winters were spent shivering in drafty shelters, no more days were spent starving until her vision blurred. Everything was as near perfect as the world would allow. For Amaya and her family, anyway.

About the time Amaya was habituated enough to see the things awry with her district, Sarai revealed that she was pregnant, and some months later gave birth to a son: Callum. Amaya knew then that she wanted a better place for her kin to grow up in. If she could not make his world better, she would at least make his district a better, safer place.

She asked Sarai to never tell Callum or any other children in their district of her participation in the Games, to help urge their people to sincerely never talk about her past again. Amaya knew she could not bear seeing any auspicious youths following in her footsteps, thinking they could carry out the same victories and murders as her.

I have already killed enough children, she explained to her sister.

Further motivated by Callum's arrival, Amaya focused on the things that could be amended in her district. Implementing changes was far harder than envisioning them, though. Just because she was Victor did not mean she wielded a high enough title in the districts' societies. More years fared and Amaya found herself getting nowhere. Something more had to be done. There was no doubt that lingered in her mind when she recognized that it was her who had to make a difference. The time to rely on others had diminished.

During this occasion Sarai had spent the past months talking to someone from District 8. A promising young man named Harrow would meet Sarai on the border between their districts and when she would come home well into evening, Amaya discovered an alighted air about her sister she had never witnessed before. Within months, Harrow joined Sarai in District 9 and they were wed.

Amaya confided in Harrow, revealing her struggles to better their district. New outlooks could help, and Harrow was a smart man. Together he, Amaya, and Sarai began constructing notions for a better future. They formed an ambiguous coalition within their district as a support system for their brainstorms and plans.

Despite her victory, Amaya's district had since returned to its original state. There was not enough food and medicine to go around, leaving many starving and sick in the streets of their town. Water was never sterile enough to clearly see through, but people couldn't afford to be fastidious. More homes were being dismantled each year due to ruffians and storms. Families sought out solace only to be met with more calamities.

Amaya's coalition offered aid to anyone in need.

They set up their quarters on the outskirts of District 9's most populated town. Even though Amaya, Sarai, and Harrow were its leaders, they lived in shanties like everyone else. Amaya, who the people revered most, lived in the smallest dwelling of them all.

Townsfolk flocked to the outskirts of this town and pledged their loyalty to the coalition. With the help of the coalition's new affiliates, this new community built excess amounts of homes for people who no longer had a place to rest their heads at night. Families were able to unite under one roof, orphans were taken in, the sick and elderly were tended to, and those who believed in what the coalition stood for protected its people with a devotion so passionate Amaya couldn't compare it to the tributes who fought in the Games each year.

District 9's former Victor was in charge of providing people with food three days out of the week (though she most always put in another day of hunting for good measure). Amaya's residual days were spent overseeing other needs in the neighborhood of shanties the nearest town called "Hoovervilles." Taking part in diplomatic matters and representing her district's coalition was what people believed Amaya to do more admirably than anyone else.

Time prolonged into a state of peace and soon Sarai and Harrow brought a new life into the world.

"Ezran," Harrow told Amaya when he handed her the bundle of blankets shrouding his newborn son. Amaya felt her heart swell at the sight of her nephew's precious face. If she hadn't known better, Amaya would have guessed that Ezran had been born smiling. She cradled him for the better of an hour, rocking him gently while Harrow and Callum tended to Sarai.

When Sarai had recovered, Callum appeared before Amaya with outstretched arms. He was nearly six now, but the memory of Amaya returning home to see Sarai's familiar smile and wide-open arms flashed in her mind at the sight of Callum asking to hold his baby brother. Amaya bent down to Callum's level and gently handed Ezran to him, smiling when her eldest nephew's expression softened into an impossibly raw display of surety and love. He disappeared into another part of the shanty, his pinkie in Ezran's hand and his mouth moving in coos.

Amaya made her way into the single bedroom that her sister's family slept in. Sarai was propped up with pillows and wool blankets on the bed, Harrow at her side, their fingers intertwined. Her smile was wearied but the gleam in her eyes was telling of how happy she really was.

Our district is becoming a better place for both of your sons, Amaya told Sarai and Harrow. I will never stop fighting for them.

Harrow beamed at his wife fondly, hope and respect dividing his expression when his eyes found Amaya. He glanced out of the room where Callum was walking with Ezran outside, pointing out every flower, animal, and person that crossed their path. Without needing to say anything, Harrow nodded his head in Amaya's direction. It was clear that to everyone in the room, these kids were their greatest reason to fight for a better future.

Neither will we, Sarai signed.