Hay guys!

I was thinking how Kiera Cass never elaorated on Shalom being a Northern Rebel, so this idea popped into my head, and voila, here it is.

Reviews:

EruditeAbnegationMockinjay: Thanks!

HorseGalFangil9: Thanks!

Happy reading!


•Shalom's Story•

"Paz! Wake up!" I yell.

"Nooooooooooooo," he grumbles.

"Yesssssssssss!" I scream.

"I'm NOT gonna wake up!" He yells, then into his pillow, he mumbles, "little five-year-old brothers can be so annoying."

"Am not!" I exclaim, jumping up and down on the bed.

"How am I supposed to sleep when you're being a nuisance?" he growls. When I continuing jumping, he groans. "Oh, fine. I'm going to wake yup, I'm going to wake up." He slowly gets out of bed and puts on his clothes. Suddenly, a single gunshot fills the air. Paz drops down on the floor, dead. The man holding the gun puts some more ammo in.

"He took too long to wake up," he says. "This is his punishment. And," a wicked smile forms on his face, "you're next." Then he pulls the trigger.

I shoot up, gasping. It was just a dream. But it seemed so real. So, so real. It felt like it could've actually happened. Except that I'm fourteen, not five.

My older brother, Paz, sticks his head into the room he and I share. "Hey, Shalom, the Commander wants to talk to us. Chop chop, kid. Hurry!" he says. I throw on some clothes and follow my sixteen year old brother to the Meeting room.

"Hello, Paz, Shalom," he says, turning to face us. "I you boys both are on a very important mission. Go back to your hometown and try to find as many people as you can who also believe the same things we do. Find them, see if they are worthy of joining us. If they are, bring them to me, or tell me where they live, who their names are. Et cetera. Am I clear so far?"

We nod.

"Good. This is a difficult job, because the chances of people opening up to strangers are slim. Very slim. This will be a life-long job, and to make it more convincing, both of you, get a job, marry, whatever. Just don't forget why you're there in the first place. You were Fives before, correct?"

We nod once more.

"Go back to your Caste and do whatever you need to do. I expect a report from each of you every two months. And also, see if maybe your children can also become Northern Rebels. It may help. But first, we'll have your last training session now before you leave tomorrow."

Paz and I follow the Commander to the Training room. We step him. I practice my aim, my brother works on his sprinting. I do push-ups, he punches a bag. I run, he lifts weights.

When we are done, we go to our room and start packing. It doesn't take long. We barely have anything with us.

Then we leave.


I do what the Commander says. Paz and I split ways, promising the other that we won't forget why we are here. I begin to sculpt and paint, Paz … I don't know what he does. I didn't ask. I just concentrate on finding people to join us. Most of those I find are willing, they firmly believe what we believe. They just needed a little push in the right direction. Most of them didn't hesitate to join us.

This is very hard work. I have to make sure they actually do believe. Or else, we will give our location away and get killed. Now, I understand what the Commander said that we had to be very careful.

I wonder how Paz is doing. I haven't seen him in a while.


Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn into years. Twelve years have passed the day I left the Northern Rebel Bases. I am still doing the work the Commander assigned me, although, last time I went there, apparently, we now have a new Commander. Of course, the official Headquarters are too far for me to travel to within a night, so I go to the smaller bases. There are small, unimportant bases situated everywhere in Illéa.

And I still haven't seen my brother.


Another year passes. This time, I am ordered to go the slightly larger base in Carolina. I need to speak to the Commander in person. I hope I can see Paz again.

I arrive and the guards at the gate let me in. I go into the Meeting room and see two men here. They lift their head at the sound of my footsteps. I recognize one of them. It is the former Commander. The other face, I don't know. "Shalom Singer," the older Commander says, "This is Maxwell Illéa. He is our new Commander. Well, he isn't new anymore, as he has been our Commander for a year already." He corrects himself. "He will soon be the one carrying out all the duties. I will retire soon after."

I nod at Maxwell. I acknowledges me. "Sirs," I ask, "have you had news of my brother?"

They nod, their faces grave. "Yes, Shalom. Paz married too early, before we told him to, and he recently died because there was a problem with his heart."

I sink to my knees. My brother, my kind and loving brother, is dead. I think the heart problem is a hereditary disease. Which means I will soon get that and die from it, too.

"We are here, Shalom," Maxwell says, breaking me out of my thoughts, "is to inform you that you have done your duty. You can marry now, but remember to raise at least one child that will follow our beliefs. Perhaps, he will join us one day."

I bow. "Thank you, sirs." I salute them one last time. "I will not forget my mission, sirs." I walk out.


I smile at my wife, Magda. I see our children, Kenna and Kota, playing. They are not the children I will choose to pass on my beliefs. They are not strong enough. I need a fighter, a stubborn one, a strong child. Maybe our next one will be the One I choose. Maybe.


I see our third child, our daughter. She is everything I need for the Northern rebels. Even though she is just a baby, I can tell. She is a fighter; she fought her way out of my wife's womb. She is strong, she doesn't cry easily. Of course, I can't tell if she is stubborn yet, but I know it. She is the One I choose. I will guide her to follow my footsteps. She will join the Northern rebels someday. She will hate the Castes. She will make her dad proud.

"What's her name?" Magda asks me, exhausted.

I smile. I know the perfect name for her. "America Singer." A name of defiance to the Castes, a strong name for a fighter, and a name that fits this little baby.

I know that my heart problem will come soon. In a year, maybe a decade—who knows? But I intend on teaching her everything I can and making sure her beliefs are strong, and her hate for the Castes even stronger.

I know she will succeed. I know she will make her dad proud.

Because she is America Singer, a fighter.


Thanks for reading!

-Kiren