Chapter 1

I lived the first five years of my life in a world that was on fire with rebellion. I was born into the revolution, and the fighting and animosity was all I'd known. My dad had taught me about things like safe spots and mockingjays and hideouts. At two years old I learned that when you heard the airplanes flying overhead, you ran. You hid. You waited for them to be over before you came out.

But the rebellion was over. We were on the losing side. The Capitol figured out that we were using mockingjays to communicate between districts, and it was over. I hardly remember the revolution years that I was born into, but they surely made me who I am. I have vivid memories of the war, and I was taught how to hold a gun on my third birthday. Most parents sheltered their children from the fighting, sang them songs, read them stories or covered their ears when the planes came. My father wanted me to be fighter. And a fighter he got. No one hated the Capitol more than me. Besides my dad, maybe.

Other kids were afraid of me in school. I was never the victim of any bullying because every child knew that I could kill them with my pinkie if I needed to. My father made sure of that. I was the kid that the parents warned their kids to stay away from. Maybe it was because they feared my dad, but they weren't wrong to tell their kids to steer clear. All the hatred and anger I felt running through my veins came from him. I liked it better this way, I knew truths about the rebellion that most kids were sheltered from.

But I'm seventeen now, and the world is a new kind of horror. We didn't only lose the war, we were now given the cruelest form of punishment. President Grant didn't want to just kill us all. In all honesty, he couldn't. Not unless he wanted to wipe out 90% of Panem. The rebels had the numbers, by far. We just didn't have the weapons or connections to win the war. And since we lost, Grant wanted us to pay for going against him and the Capitol.

He needed a way that would punish every district, every citizen of the nation, constantly. And so The Hunger Games were born. For the past eight years, one boy and one girl had been chosen from each of the twelve districts and sent to various arenas to fight to the death. Only one child could win, and twenty three others died. Twenty three deaths each year, all because of the generation before us. It was the perfect punishment. Instead of making our parents suffer for their mistakes, Grant makes their children pay. Only a psychopath could think of something so disgusting.

And now we were at the ninth reaping. I stood with my section as we waited for the silly looking Capitol woman to pull out the names. She always gave the same speech, explaining why we were there. I'd been zoning her out since I was ten. You only had to be told that it was all your dad's fault once before you started getting tired of hearing it. I didn't blame him. It wasn't his fault, and it was foolish to think that any of us kids would resent our parents for fighting for our freedom. We knew why we were here.

"Magara Lyons!" I glanced up from the spot on the ground I'd been staring at. It took me a while to realize who had called my name, since everyone was staring at me. People usually cried for the other children before me, or shouted curse words at the Capitol. Today they were silent. I stepped out from the crowd and made my way to the stage. I wasn't feeling that nervous, but that might just be because my nerves hadn't kicked in yet.

"Milo Rhodes!" Shit, I'd missed it again. My eyes darted around the crowd, searching through my grade and the one above me for Milo Rhodes. And then I saw a little boy step out from the younger section. He looked no more than seven years old. He was even small compared to the other kids in his age group. He was out of the crowd and everyone was looking at him, but he just stood there with his hands behind his back, staring right at me.

"Come on, sweetheart, come on up here." The escort waved her hands at him, like he should be excited to have this chance, like he'd just won a fucking vacation or something. I stood up as the little boy kicked the dirt under his shoes. I wasn't sure why I was standing, and then I was even more confused when I started taking steps towards the boy. When I reached the stairs, he looked up at me and took a step backwards.

I held out my hands in surrender, offering him a friendly smile. The last thing I was known for was being friendly. Clearly this kid knew my reputation. I continued my slow walk towards the little boy and he wasn't running and screaming, so when I reached him I kneeled down. "Hi, my name is Magara, but you can call me Mags if you want."

I was horrible with kids. And animals, and people in general. But kids especially seemed to hate me. I had a hard time not talking to them like they were adults. I guess I just couldn't grasp their immaturity, it irritated me.

But not this little boy. He was all innocence and I pitied him for his misfortune. "I'm Milo." His voice was high and he pronounced his name like "Miyo". I pushed back the tears welling behind my eyes. No one had ever seen me cry, but they might be about to.

"Hi Milo, you don't need to be afraid of me. I promise I'm not going to hurt you." I was speaking so quietly to him that I knew even the people standing near us couldn't hear me. No one seemed to know how to react, not even the escort. "Now Milo, I need you to be very brave for me and come up on the stage with me. Can you do that?" Milo nodded his head. I stood up and started walking back towards the stage, but when I glanced down, Milo was nowhere to be found.

I looked back and saw that he was still in his spot, hands behind his back. I could feel my tears falling down my cheeks and swiped them away for him, not them. I wanted him to see that I was being brave, and he could too. I waved him forward, but he didn't come. Then I did what my mom always did for me when I was young. I kneeled back down and opened my arms for him.

Milo ran right for them and flung himself into me. I wrapped my arms around him quickly and put a protective hand over the back of his head as I stood up. I didn't want to look at anyone who'd just seen me in this very vulnerable moment. I knew the eyes would contain pity I didn't want, tears I didn't need, or anger that was already bubbling behind my own eyes. I walked Milo up the stairs, keeping my gaze solely on the escort, for I knew that she couldn't reveal whatever emotion she felt or Grant might have her head. The line between Capitol side and Rebel side was very clear, and escorts were on the Capitol side.

I reached the stage and Milo clenched his arms and legs even tighter around me. I wanted to put him down for this, but it clearly wasn't going to happen. The escort cleared her throat, "District Four, I give you your tributes for the ninth annual Hunger Games, Magara Lyons and Milo Rhodes." Her voice cracked when she said his name, and her voice was not enthusiastic like it'd been in the years before. I truly hoped that she wouldn't be punished for it. I hated Grant and the Capitol and the Games with a passion, but I didn't want anyone else to die, not even a shallow Capitolite. Besides, her emotion was understandable. In eight years, no one over the age of twelve had ever been reaped for the Games, but this boy was clearly younger than that. He spoke and looked like a six year old, but I prayed he was older than that. I glanced at Milo, who stared at the crowd with a quivering lip. "Hey," I whispered in his ear, "How old are you, Milo?" he looked back at me and whispered "seben" back.

I nodded, "Okay," so not six. Just a year older. I finally let my eyes roam the crowd, and fists were waving in the air, people were riled. And the ones who weren't hollering for a recast, were sobbing. Milo buried his head in my hair to hide from the yelling and rage the crowd had manifested. A seven year old boy was about to play the game to the death. And I was about to risk my life for him.

A/N: Let me know what y'all think! Thanks for reading:)