Author's Note: And here we are at the end. It's been quite the ride, and I've learned a lot from this story, about what I should and should not do with partial and full SYOTs. Firstly, thanks to all of my submitters, favoriters, and followers. Special thanks to the following reviewers: Kate, Celtic, Jess, Gentle Alouette, Strangling, Annabeth-TheTributeThatLived, taylur/singtothsky, MyleyHxox, flowerninja34, TillTheLoveRunsOut, youngpatriot, nevergone4ever, Guests, Red Roses1000, and I'm from Ravenclaw. Each and every one of the reviews means so much to me.

For those who may be wondering about a victory tour, I decided not to have one, as they probably didn't come about until later years.

Also, I'm sorry if your tribute's loved ones isn't featured in the epilogue. I selected the tributes based on my most loyal reviewers, tributes who didn't get much attention, and/or fan favorites. Also, they are very disproportionate in length, mostly because some characters have more unfinished business than others. If you would like to see more on your character's loved ones, write me a review or PM, and I'd be happy to write something for you and tack it on to this chapter.

I hope you enjoy them. Thanks for reading. :)

Epilogue

District Two, Concordia's home coming

Alec, 15, Troy's best friend

I hate her.

I hate Concordia Afton. I hate that she came home instead of Troy. I hate that Patriot Salem favored her and ignored Troy, only because she was older and a volunteer and he thought she was hot. Mostly, I hate her because she murdered my best friend. Troy could've made it home. He was so close, but she snatched victory away from him.

When Concordia and Patriot step off the train, I am one of the few people who boo instead of cheer. Some people glance at me with weird expressions or glares, but I don't care. I was never one to care what other people think anyway.

Things will be so different now, with Troy gone. We used to goof around, take our minds off life for awhile. I never used to like the Games, but now, I despise them. Fuck them. Fuck the Capitol. Fuck Concordia Afton. Fuck them all.

After the celebration, there isn't anything left to do but go home. What else could I do? I could pull a prank, but it wouldn't be any fun without Troy. I can't even visit his grave, as he's not due to be buried for two more days to give time to prepare the body.

Life will never be the same for me. I'll take time to heal, but I'll never really get over Troy's death. There is a fire in me now, a fire that will never die.

Capitol, Victor's party, six months after the tenth annual Hunger Games

Ezra Medina, 19, Rhea's brother

Six and a half years ago, the Capitol took my sister from me. Now they throw me a party and expect me to be thankful and happy. Well, I'll tell you what. That's bullshit.

I'm a victor now, and after ten years of Games, they decided to throw a party for the first decade of victors. Attendance is mandatory for the nine of us. Although it may seem so, the Games did not destroy my brain cells. I can still count. Victor number seven, from District Three committed suicide four months after he won. With him gone, District One has two victors, Two has three, Five has me, and Six, Seven, and Ten all have one. Four, Eight, Nine, Eleven, and Twelve still have none, and year after year, they have little hope. Not that I have much hope for my district either, though.

I'm not proud of what I've done. Many Capitolites think I should be, but I'm not. I killed other children, kids younger than I was, even. I was fifteen, reaped into the sixth Hunger Games, two years after Rhea was killed by her own district partner. Needless to say, I was careful not to trust my own. She didn't like me though, so it worked out in the end. My ally, the boy from Eight, was merely just used as a force to help me bring down the stronger, older tributes. I ended up betraying him in the end, killing him in the finale after we had separated after the final six. He, and the four others I killed, haunt me day and night. Admittedly, I kind of lost my mind after Rhea died, and when I was reaped, I was driven mad with rage and vengeance. Not only had the Capitol killed my father and older siblings, but they also planned to kill me. I wasn't going to let that happen. Head Gamemaker Bartholomew Venici mysteriously passed away five days after my victory, probably for letting a child and brother of rebels win the Games. After my anger had cooled down, I realized that maybe I had gone too far, though it's too late to turn back now. I'm stuck. My little brother is terrified of me and my mother doesn't know how to talk to me anymore. At least they're safe. President Simmons promised that as long as I behaved, no harm would come to them. If he doesn't keep his promise, there will be hell to pay, that's for sure.

Somehow, I manage to find a corner, away from all the chaos. At least, I thought I had privacy, until I feel someone tap my shoulder. It's an avox. He hands me a folded up note, and scurries away before anyone can notice him. He probably risked a lot, giving this to me. Glancing around, I cautiously unfold the note.

Dear Ezra,

You will find this hard to believe, because even if you saw me in person, I don't know if you'd recognize me. You were only nine when you last saw me, after all. I am your sister, Maya. I never died in the rebellion like you may have assumed. Instead, I am an Avox, forced to serve the Capitol for the rest of my life.

I need your help. When I first was captured, I was sold to a rich family. That rich ramily had a son, Odyssey Venici, son of the late gamemaker and brother of Master of Ceremonies, Marius. Odyssey was kind to me, and while you might hate him for being a Capitolite or me for finding comfort in him, we fell in love. I got pregnant, and Bartholomew was furious. He wanted to abort the baby, but Odyssey stopped him, admitting she was his. As a result, as soon as she was born, she was snatched away from me and shipped to an orphanage in Five.

Her name is Morgana. She's four now, almost five. Find her, Ezra. Please, help my daughter, your niece. Help her feel loved.

I love you,

Maya

I stare at the note in shock. Maya is alive. I have to tell Mom and Jeremiah. Did Rhea know? I hope she did. I stuff the note in my pocket, wanting this party to be over with. I have to find my niece.

District Six, Day four of the fourth annual Hunger Games

Sylvia Shallow, 77, Juniper's grandmother

I lost my granddaughter last night. She was only twelve, and kept to herself. I raised her to be polite and respectful, and she had never set a toe out of line. Yet, she was still reaped. Those monsters in the Capitol took her for me. The boy from Two carried out the deed for them. It doesn't matter now though. He'll likely be dead too, eventually.

I am now up at five in the morning, unable to sleep. I have made the most of it and have begun to write Juniper's eulogy. I won't need it for possibly a few weeks yet, after the Games end, but I might as well get it over with. With my son and his wife dead, I am the only family Juniper had left. Setting down my pen, I glance over my work.

Juniper Shallow was my twelve-year-old granddaughter. I raised her for most of her life and am her only surviving relative. She was a calm girl, always keeping to herself. In all honesty, she was even distant from me. She was quiet, yet clever, always pouring herself over books, painting, or writing in a journal.

Juniper's death came far too soon. She was just a little girl. I will miss her dearly, and I hope, wherever she is now, she is happy there. I hope the same for the twenty-three other children that lost their lives as well.

I may add more later, but for now I feel my work is satisfactory. I don't have the emotional strength to go on anymore. The Capitol is now on my bad side, and I am not a woman one would want to cross. However, against the Capitol, I am powerless. In fact, so is everyone else.

District Seven, Tribute Memorial Service, three days after the end of the fourth annual Hunger Games.

Rowena Bradshaw, 14, Heather's sister

Since Heather's been gone, life has been hard, for all of us. Little Keeva has been waking up to nightmares every night, and usually it's mom, Igor, or I who comfort her. Her anxiety has gotten worse now, and none of us know how to help her. Carver has been quiet, and actually has been doing what he's told, for once. Amber has been withdrawing herself, going for more runs and snapping at all of us more easily, though I can't exactly blame her. Igor is trying to hold it together for all of us, but even he is struggling. I heard him break down and sob in his room one night, and it was such a heartbreaking sound, knowing I couldn't go in to comfort him without either me breaking down with him, or him quickly wiping away his tears as he tried to pretend like he was just fine. Even Mom and Dad are tense, looking dead tired every day. They bicker now, sometimes, when I rarely heard them even disagree since the rebellion. The stress of losing a child causes tension to be high among parents. As for myself, I don't think I've gone a day without crying. I want my older sister back.

Along with Mom and Dad, Igor and I speak on Heather's behalf at the service. Amber can't do it, as she's tearing herself apart over Heather's death. Even I struggle, and I even have to step down from the podium as a fit of sobs attack my quaking body.

All Kauri has his father, while his sister, Anya, looks on with tears flowing heavily. She's my age, but I don't know her. She's probably from another area of Seven than we are. I've never spoken to her, even though I've seen her a few times between our siblings' deaths and now. I guess it's never too late to attempt to get to know someone. I approach her after the service.

"Hey," I say softly.

She looks up, eyes shining with tears. "Hey… Rowena, right?"

I nod, taking a seat next to her. "Yeah. Doing okay?"

She hesitates before shaking her head. "No, not at all. You?"

I sigh. "No. Things are hard at home." We sit in silence for a few seconds before I speak again.

"Look, I know we don't know each other well, but just know that I'm always willing to talk if you need to."

Anya gives me a weak smile. "Thanks. I appreciate that. Same to you," she pauses for a second. "Do you think things will turn out okay? Do you think we'll ever heal?"

"Honestly," I say, "I don't know. We'll never stop missing them, but I think that eventually, yes, we will be okay again. That's what they would want, after all."

"Right," Anya says, sighing a bit. We don't speak again after that, and rather simply stare at the sunset until our families come to take us home.

District Eleven, during the fifth annual Hunger Games

Viola Lindquist, 37, Einar's mother

I come to the graves of my husband and my son, as I do every week, bringing along freshly picked flowers to lie down for them. This week is different, however. Today is the one year anniversary of Einar's death.

I go to my husband's grave first. Christer passed away the winter before Einar was reaped, about a year and a half ago. The weather was harsh, even for Eleven, a district with normally mild winters. There wasn't much food that year, and all of us had to work longer hours. The weather was so cold, Christer froze to death, too weak to make it home. His death affected both Einar and I. Einar became obsessed with fire after that. He was so afraid of suffering the same fate as his father. Instead, fire ended up being his downfall.

I approach Christer's grave and gently place half my gathered flowers on it. "Hello, my dear," I say. I know he can't hear me, but for some reason, speaking to my husband and son at their graves makes me feel less alone.

"Today… today has been hard," I begin, wiping away the tears that have began to form in my eyes. "It's been actually a year since our son was lost. I miss you both so much. I never had closure, with either of you. I hope you're together, wherever you are. You both desire so much happiness."

I sit by his grave for close to a half an hour, rambling on about him, our son, and how I've been faring. Slowly getting to my feet, I run a hand over Christer's gravestone and blow him a gentle kiss goodbye. "Goodbye, Christer. I love you so much."

Einar's grave is across the cemetery, in a plot of land reserved for the tributes lost to the Games. Eight souls rest there now, but the way things look now, I'm sure plenty more will join them as the years pass. Einar's grave is one of the newest, on the far end. I set the flowers down and take a seat. Unlike with my husband, the words I want to say to my husband are harder to find. Before Einar's death, we weren't close. We were trying, especially after Christer passed, but we still had a lot of learning to do. I regret how little I truly knew my son. He was introverted, quiet, and often kept to himself. He loved plants and nature of any kind, and knew a lot more about them than I could ever dream of. He really admired nature. Yet, I feel as though that's all I know about him, all he let me see. I know there is more to him than that. I just never got the chance to see it. How I wish very deeply that I could.

"Einar, my son," I say through the tears, "you have been gone a year. I know we were never as close as I wanted to be. I'm sorry for that. Most days I feel like I failed you as your mother, and I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me. I hope you know that no matter what, I have always love you. You were taken from me so young, and nothing I do can change that. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you. I love you, Einar. Rest in peace."

A sob escapes me then, and I let the tears fall. Eventually, I pick myself up and head back home. Alone.

District Twelve, three months after the fourth annual Hunger Games

Jeanine Ridgeway, 44 , Finnegan's mother

When the time came to bury our only son, my husband, Robert, and I were given the option of having a joint service with the girl from our district, Anise, or having an independent one. I opted to have a separate service, after telling my husband that I simply thought a separate service would be more respectful of Finnegan's memory. After all, Anise had survived all the way to the final two, and our boy had been lost in the bloodbath, so Anise was sure to have more attention. Deep down, though, I know the true reason I want a separate service, even if I'm scared to admit it to myself.

Three months have passed since the service, and almost four have gone by since our boy was killed. Our family has been hit hard, and even now, the gap Finnegan left behind is still raw. Tonight is one of the rare nights everyone in the family can gather around. Well… everyone but Finnegan, of course, but we try to ignore that detail. Not by forgetting Finnegan, of course, but simply by imagining he is still with us. We don't have much to eat, just a simple, tasteless broth and dry bread, but at least something is on the table. At least we are able to spend time together.

The girls are both here with their families. The three men sit at one end of the table, discussing work in the mines. At the other end, Alyssa cradles three month old, Callahan, as she gives her younger sister, Madison, pregnancy advice. Madison, who is almost seven months along, listens intently. Meanwhile, Alyssa's older son, Alaric , tugs on my skirt as I stir the broth.

"What is it, sweetheart?" I ask my grandson.

"When Unca Finn-gan comin' back?" the three year old asks.

"Uncle Finnegan isn't coming home, my dear."

"Why?" Alaric pouts. "He promise."

A knock on the door stops me from answering. Frowning slightly, I wander to the door and pull it open, the rest of the family gazing intently at me as I do so.

I don't know who I expected to find at the door, but the face I see shocks me. Her hair is grayer than I last remembered, her face more aged, but otherwise she looks the same. "Jeanine," she says softly. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

I hesitate, biting my lip. Then, I nod, before turning back to my family for a moment. They appear confused, as they can't see the woman standing in the doorway. "Excuse me for a few minutes?"

Robert nods. "Of course. Everything alright?"

"Yes," I say before slipping out the door. I'm not sure if everything truly is okay, but I don't want to worry my husband. Closing the door, I stare at the woman before me, not quite believing my eyes.

"Bianca," I say, my voice coming to me as a shaky whisper. "Why… what are you doing here?"

It's not the kindest words I could say to my older sister after not seeing her for more than twenty-five years, but at least it's something. Growing up, my sister and I had been from the Merchant class, but when I became engaged to Robert, a boy from the Seam whose family my parents had some sort of pointless feud with, my parents gave me a choice. Remain with them and work in there store, waiting for a more "respectable" man to come along, or marry Robert and be cut off from the family. I chose Robert. My parents broke off contact, and Bianca, who was always striving to make our parents proud, followed suit. I haven't spoken to anyone from my former family since, until now.

"Jeanine, please, hear me out. If you still don't want to speak to me, I'll leave." Reluctantly, I nod. "So many times I wanted to reunite, but I just didn't know how. I was afraid you wouldn't accept my apology. When Finnegan was reaped, I heard his name but… I didn't know for sure that he was yours until the service. I went to his service, wanting to be sure. I thought maybe if I saw you, I could confront you, but I loss my courage."

I blink a few times, trying to keep myself from crying in front of my once admired older sister. "...You… you did?" Bianca nods. "Then why did you come now?"

"You're still my little sister," says Bianca, "and I still love you. Besides, we both just lost our children. My daughter, Anise -"

" - I know who your daughter is, Bianca," I interrupt, somewhat coldly, while still keeping my voice soft. "She looks a lot like you."

"And like you, a bit," Bianca admits. "I'm surprised they didn't make a connection."

For a while, I'm silent, before finally saying, "Our children went into the Games together. They didn't even know they were cousins. They could have killed each other."

Bianca nods slowly. "I know. That's why I told Anise not to kill her district partner. Just in case."

"Thank you," I murmured. I all honesty, this conversation would have been a lot harder if Anise had killed my son.

Bianca leans forward and wraps her arms lightly around me in a timid hug. When I hug her back, her embrace grows stronger, more similar to the ones I remember. "Don't thank me. I'm the reason our children grew up apart in the first place."

I shake my head. "That's in the past now. Let's try to move on to the future, yes?"

Bianca gives me a small smile. "I'd like that."

I take my sister's hand. "Come on. Let me introduce you to the rest of my family."

Bianca looks reluctant. "Are you sure they'll be happy to see me."

I nod. "Even if they aren't, if I tell them how important it is to me that they give you a second chance, they will."

Giving Bianca's hand a squeeze, I lead her into the house.

District Two, two days after the finale of seventh annual Hunger Games

Concordia Afton, 22, victor

Patriot is in a mood again. I've learned by now that at times like this, it is best to let him mope. That doesn't mean I always do the best thing.

He sits at my kitchen table, arms crossed and scowling. Meanwhile, I search the cabinets, looking for someone appetizing to make for dinner. Patriot's a shitty cook, a fact even he will admit, so most nights he's over here, eating meals that I cook. As for me, cooking has become a passion, something I do in my free time to get my mind off anything that's bothering me. "How about spaghetti night," I suggest, knowing how fond he is of my spaghetti sauce.

"Hmph," Patriot grunts.

Frowning, I walk around to the back of his chair and wrap my arms around his abdomen from behind. "Hey, what's wrong?" I whisper in his ear, resting my chin on his shoulder.

Had someone told me three years ago that I'd be best friends with my former mentor, I would have laughed. Fate has a sense of humor, though, and somehow, our relationship has blossomed into something much more than friendship. It started out with flirting on Patriot's part, and with me trying to push him away while trying to focus on getting my life back in order. Patriot Salem, however, is a persistent, ambitious man. If he sees something he wants, he'll chase after it. After months and months of being pursued, I finally fell for him. I shouldn't have been surprised really, though it did sneak up on me. Our relationship is a rocky one, definitely, with probably more bickering than an average couple. Then again, we've both been through so much that we can no longer be called an average couple. As Patriot says, "at least the make up sex is good," a statement to which I roll my eyes, but part of me secretly agree with. The Capitol certainly supports us, as we even have our own fan base who call us "Pacordia". It makes me want to gag, really. Patriot only laughs.

"Hm," Patriot moans slightly. "Can't you just let me be grumpy?"

I smirk. "Nope."

"Fine," Patriot says. "You know what's wrong, though."

"You aren't still hung up over not having another victor, are you?"

"Concordia, all our tributes have failed since you won."

"It's only been six tributes," I say with a sigh. "Give them a chance."

"I have been! You know I have! The trouble is people expect District Two to blow them away after our performances in the arena, and so far, our tributes have been laughable in comparison!"

"You're too power hungry, you know that?"

He stares at me, a cold, hard gaze. "You can't honestly think it's a bad thing that I want another victor."

I shake my head. "No, you know I want to bring our tributes home as much as you do, just for different reasons. You want our tributes to win to bring fame and glory to District Two again. I want them to win just so they don't end up dead."

"Well, at least we can agree that we want to stop them from losing," Patriot grumbles.

"I know, but it's not like we can just teach the whole district of kids how to fight in the fight in the Games."

Patriot's eyes light up. "Concordia, my dear, you are a genius!" He pulls me into his lap and kisses me on the lips, and I squeak in surprise as he does so. As much as I'd like to just melt into his kiss, I pull back to stop him.

"We're still having a discussion here, Mr. Salem. What do you mean?"

"We'll start training the kids, of course! We'll recruit them and train them to use weapons and to fight, and then a few years down the road, they'll volunteer and be a dominant force! We'll win every Games!"

I raise an eyebrow. "How exactly do you plan to recruit them without drawing attention to ourselves? Training is technically illegal."

"So? You did it!"

"I'm just one person!" I argue. "This is potentially dozens of kids you're talking about."

"Ah, come on, Concordia! Don't be such a buzzkill. We're victors. The Capitol loves us, and they love what we did in the Games. Nobody ever thought of volunteering for the Games before I did it, and the Capitolites loved me for it. Besides, we're from District Two, the Capitol's favorite. The two of us could do almost anything and get away with it."

"Fine, I give up." I say. Even if I threatened to break up with him and kick him out of my house, nothing would be able to change Patriot's mind once he makes a decision. "I'll agree to help you on one condition. We will not force these kids to volunteer. Ideally, they will train only to be prepared just in case they are reaped. They will volunteer only if they want it. Deal?"

"Yeah, yeah, deal," Patriot says quickly. "Trust me, Concordia, you won't regret this. This is going to be great!"

Looking into Patriot's devious, yet excited eyes, I knew he was scheming up a marvelous plan. I also knew that when Patriot began to scheme, something monumental, possibly life-changing, was bound to ensue.

Author's Note: Thanks again for reading. :) Who's POV was your favorite?