A/N: A big thank you to those who have favorited/followed/left kind comments on this story! It means the world to me!

No less than a week later, the day came for District 9's children to be reaped.

Apathetic and paralyzed, drained of hope and trying, Callum and Ezran readied themselves for the reaping. A sickly calmness echoed off every one of Ezran's movements, his words no more than murmurs and mumbles. This was a side of him that Callum had never seen so vividly before.

There was another side of Amaya that began to glow brighter that morning, too. The one that would flicker in her eyes when she'd watch Ezran break down after a nightmare.

Callum felt like he was the only one who'd remained the same.

Or maybe he wasn't the same anymore. In the past weeks he'd stopped talking as much as he used to. Then again, the whole Coalition grew quiet after Harrow's death. But Callum felt as though this was different.

Different from the way he felt after his mother's death.

Sarai's death was unanticipated. It changed the Coalition, it changed Callum and his family forever. Harrow's death was expected to some point. Days before it happened, people were preparing themselves for the worst. This tragedy had happened before and everyone had managed. If it happened again, they knew that they could at least endure it.

Soon Amaya would return to her place as the Coalition's leader. (People were thankful that they still had Amaya, one of its founders, to lead them.) When she took her place, though, it would then be up to Callum to take care of Ezran.

Which he had done before, after Sarai's death, but taking care of him after Harrow's death would prove to be different. Harder in ways that Callum wasn't ready for. This time Ezran was coming to recognize the world that they lived in.

The weeks that followed Sarai's death had been long and unsure. There hadn't been time to grieve - Harrow and Amaya had to step up, they had to fill Sarai's place with even more opposition than the three of them had previously had. They needed to prove that her death would not be in vain. Most of all, Harrow and Amaya had to protect the Coalition with their entire sense of being. Without Sarai, the Coalition was vulnerable. Its two leaders couldn't let anything happen because of it.

So Callum had taken the place of his late mother and tended to Ezran, who had barely been a toddler at the time. The brothers would spend the majority of their days in the makeshift orphanage that housed children with deceased or absent parents. Adults were there to care for the little ones, but Callum remembered never wanting Ezran to leave his sight. If he said goodbye, like he'd said goodbye to Sarai weeks ago, Ezran might receive the same fate as their mother.

Who was to say that wasn't how it worked?

Death was common in District 9. It was even more common in the Coalition. This was something that every child of the Coalition learned early on. Ezran and Amaya were the only parts of Sarai - and now Harrow - that Callum had left.

Now, as Callum was reminding Ezran to tuck in the tail of his shirt, Callum felt raw defensiveness and love blinding him. He would never leave his younger brother's side. He would never let him suffer as much as the world demanded he did. He couldn't. He couldn't let that happen.

Callum knelt down to Ezran's level and cuffed his pants, seeing as they were just a little bit too big for the boy.

"Two slips of paper out of thousands, Ezran," Callum told him with a consoling smile. "That doesn't even count the tesserae. You're going to be fine. Now more than ever, the odds are in your favor."

Ezran smiled painfully. "I know. Thanks, Callum." His expression waned for a moment. Harrowing fear subsided to raw desperation, and a sob caught in his throat. Callum caught Ezran as he slumped into his grasp, already trying to wipe his tears and steady his breathing.

Callum grabbed his shoulders and helped him regain his posture, staring at him with a heartening gaze. "Nothing is going to happen to you, Ezran. I promise."

As Ezran's eyes slowly got less and less glossy, Amaya made her way into the brothers' presence. If Callum hadn't known her as well as he did, he would have guessed that she was outright angry. Her eyebrows were knit together and her eyes were dark. There was a stiffness to her stance that forewarned something Callum couldn't understand. Some of it faded when Ezran turned around, though, facing his aunt with a forced smile. Callum followed his lead.

You boys look so handsome, Amaya gushed abruptly. A soft grin found its way onto her face, ridding Amaya of any malice that had shown before. She wrapped them up in a lingering hug before guiding them outside.

Walking down the gravel roads were flocks of children and adults, all stone-faced, all silent. They might as well have been zombies.

Callum, Ezran, and Amaya followed them outside of the Coalition's grounds and into the center of town.

It was a hot day. Sticky and humid, with no clouds in sight. Everyone was squinting against the harsh lights. Callum felt sweat roll down the back of his neck within the first few minutes of being outside. Walking the way into town didn't help calm his nerves or fight off the heat, either.

It was hard to look at the Justice Building when they reached it. Sunlight gleamed off of its shiny gray exterior, defying anyone to gaze upon it. Before its walls were masses of children and teenagers. Each age group was separated by roped-off sections, with the oldest in the front of the Justice Building and the youngest in the back.

The boys felt Amaya herding them to the side of the road before they had to part ways. All three of them clasped hands. All three of them lowered their heads.

I will see you when all of this is over, Amaya told them. Again, her eyes were dark and her movements were stiff. Give your reassurance to the tributes. They will need it.

Violent trembles seized Erzan's body. Amaya squeezed his hand tighter and he was urged to use the pain in her grip as an anchor tethered back to the present. Slowly, his shaking died away.

Save your strength for the Coalition. That is where you boys are needed. Not here.

"I will see to it," Callum told her, nodding.

There was no sound of alarm or shouting of Peacekeepers, but something told the trio that it was time to part. With no more words shared, Amaya embraced her nephews fiercely and then sent them on their way, pointing to each roped-off section that they were assigned to be in. They walked away quickly, looking back too many times to count.

"I'll see you when all this is over," Callum whispered to Ezran, letting the jostling bodies of anxious kids push him closer to his brother. The younger boy simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Callum tightened his grip once before Ezran was steered away, warily letting his hand fall from his brother's.

Callum was sixteen and therefore two sections away from the front of the Justice Building. Every year he was penitent to have been stepping closer and growing taller, as this allowed him to get a better view of the panicked youths-turned-tributes. This year he was pushed towards the middle of his section, unconsciously drawn to the familiar faces of the Coalition's sixteen-year-old boys. They greeted him with scanning eyes and curt nods. Nobody said anything.

In fact, on Reaping Day, all of District 9's kids grew quiet. Year after year, generation after generation, every parent's child understood why silence was favored on that day.

While the last of District 9's population gathered near the Justice Building, Callum felt himself beginning to go numb. "Auto-pilot" is what Harrow called it. Sometimes even he, one of the great leaders and founders of the Coalition, admitted to Callum that he succumbed to that state of mind when times got tough.

The teen's eyes were glued to the stage that had been constructed the night before, where a woman was standing before a microphone. Two glass bowls were on either side of her. Rays of rainbows shined through the bowls, the only natural and vibrant colors that gleamed that day.

Callum frisked his memory for the woman's name. She was renowned within the upper Districts, hailing from District 2, although disregarding most of her district's sense of fashion. She had pale skin and even paler blond hair. Depending on what light she was standing in, it often looked like she had highlights, too. There was a scarlet-red scarf that shielded most of her hair from the sun but allowed her face to remain visible to the crowd.

Even though Callum had been staring at her, racking his mind for her name, when she tapped the microphone, the sound of it made him flinch. Her garbs swayed in the harsh wind, hues of red and white clashing. She didn't seem to notice.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Her eyes surveyed the long assemblage of adults, then fell to the roped-off areas before her. "Boys and girls."

Opeli. Opeli of District Two, of course.

"Today we will select the twenty-four tributes, which will fight for their lives and for their districts to win this year's annual Hunger Games. I feel honored to be here, as should you."

Her voice rang out strong and clear. She had been to District 2 many times throughout Callum's youth. Opeli was acclaimed within all of the districts, really. It was easy to see why.

Her speeches were simply that: speeches. Never once did she let her emotions bend her words or her tone. In all his years, Callum had never seen her smile or frown. She was here on business, doing what needed to be done, and that was that.

Yet Callum never felt as though Opeli was talking down to the people she was standing over. A poised, perilous air radiated around her. Everyone could see it in the way she stood, the way she spoke and the way she stared.

There is no pity and no spite inside of her, Callum thought. Only a sense of justice. She is only standing for what she believes is right.

". . . I hope that one day our children can live together in peace and without violence."

Do you really?

Callum searched her face, only to find features that were short of sentiment of any kind. Half-heartedly, he wondered that if next year, when he was one section closer to the stage, he would be able to read her better, closer.

Because every year, whoever was giving this speech, always ended it in hopes of a future that children could be free of violence in. But when Callum got old enough to discern what those words truly meant, he realized that he couldn't even picture a future like that. It just wasn't possible.

"Now," Opeli began, exhaling deeply. "The time has come for us to select one valorous young man and woman for the honor of representing their district in this year's annual Hunger Games. I wish good luck to District Nine and its tributes."

At that moment something changed. Callum felt his heart begin to pound again. It was in his throat, choking him, making it hard to breathe.

Opeli's footsteps echoed off of the floor of the stage as she walked to one of the bowls.

Ladies first, Callum silently pleaded. Ladies first. Ladies first.

Opeli paused directly behind the bowl, cast her gaze down from the crowd, and submersed her hand into an endless crater of names.

Someone in the section behind Callum stifled a sob. Feet shuffled against the gravel road. Callum dug his nails into his palms.

Opeli wasn't the type of person to wave her hand around inside the bowl and search for which slip of paper felt "right." She simply grabbed the first name she touched, took it out, and opened it. There was only a half-second pause before she spoke.

"Freya."

Far away, a man cried out. A parent.

A father.

Wretched grunting followed this act of despondency. Callum didn't have to look behind himself to know that whoever had just cried out was now at the end of a Peacekeeper's baton.

To the right of him, two sections behind his, Callum saw a girl ducking under the rope of her section. Peacekeepers met her in the aisle between boys and girls, compelling her forwards. She didn't resist or hesitate, nor did she whimper or scream. She simply walked to the stage, made her way up the stairs, and met Opeli beside the bowl of girls' names.

Opeli stepped to the side, giving Freya her place in front of the bowl she had just drawn from. The girl stepped in front of it without wavering.

Callum had seen many forms of shock before. In the Coalition's makeshift orphanage there were always new children that had yet to shed a tear over their parents' deaths. Some would make the conscious decision to shut themselves off from their emotions, thinking that this was protecting them. Others wouldn't be able to fathom what had happened to their family.

After a scrap with Peacekeepers or ruffians, there were always soldiers that strolled into camp with glazed eyes and slouched postures. Once a soldier had lost four of her fingers on one hand, but failed to notice until she reached out to grab part of her attire. Only when she fumbled trying to strip her armor, did she begin to panic in the crowd of passing soldiers, exclaiming that she needed help.

While he gazed up at the girl on stage, it struck Callum that the reason she wasn't nervous was because she was in shock.

"Freya?" Opeli asked. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen, miss," Freya mumbled.

Opeli positioned the microphone in front of her to stand at Freya's level. "Louder, please."

"I am fourteen, miss," Freya said again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I give you fourteen-year-old Freya of District Nine." Opeli turned to Freya, who still looked indifferent to the world beneath her feet. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Again, reality hit Callum square between the eyes and he lost his breath. Opeli walked to the boys' bowl of names and stopped in front of it, looking out over the crowd of boys and young men.

She dipped her left hand into the bowl, selected a name towards the bottom, and drew it quickly.

Callum felt the collar of his shirt getting tighter. Opeli's actions were slow and her frame was getting hazy. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he was in one of Ezran's nightmares.

Opeli gracefully tore open the slip of paper, positioned herself in front of the microphone, and exhaled.

"Ezran."

Callum's head snapped up. He hadn't realized that he'd let it fall, but at the sound of his brother's name, his blood ran hot.

There was a deadly silence. A silence that hadn't followed Freya's name.

The boys around Callum spread out, allowing him to turn around. He stood on his toes and craned his neck to see Ezran, but to no avail.

"No."

He pushed his way through the crowd of sixteen-year-old boys, nearly stumbling into the rope that separated him from the aisle between boys and girls. There were Peacekeepers crowding around Ezran's section.

"Ezran!"

Callum ducked under the rope and started for his brother, who was already walking towards him, shrouded by Peacekeepers.

Breathless, Callum whirled around, abstractedly fighting off two Peacekeepers who were coming up behind him, trying to grab his arms. He located Opeli, and although his mind was already set, although a torrent of white-hot anger was eating away at any anxiety he was having, Callum's fists shook. His voice was a storm of desperation and conviction.

"I volunteer!" He threw the Peacekeepers off of him, standing up straighter. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Another breath of silence.

Someone ran into him with the force of a plow. Callum turned back around to find Ezran in his arms, his cheeks as scarlet as Opeli's scarf. He gripped his brother's shoulders and held him tightly, shaking his head at the sight of Ezran's tears.

"Go find Amaya, Ezran. Go find her now, please," Callum begged.

Ezran bit his lip. "No, Callum, I can't. You-"

"Ezran," Callum snapped, feeling his own tears run hot against his cheeks. With strength he didn't know he had, Callum wrapped his arms around Ezran and clasped him against himself, dragging his brother away from the approaching Peacekeepers.

"You need to go, Ezran. Now. Please."

Ezran hiccuped and gasped, shaking his head harder, hitting Callum's chest with his forehead. Stamping feet made Callum push him away. Too many tears were blurring his vision. It felt like he was underwater. The pressure was too much, too heavy to allow him to breathe and too blinding to allow him to see. He thrust his hands out, shoving Ezran back, yelling things he wouldn't remember later.

"Don't hurt him! Don't you dare hurt him!"

Seven Peacekeepers separated the brothers effectively. Two wound their hands around Ezran's arms while another led them to Amaya. It took four Peacekeepers to pacify Callum.

Before he could register how, Callum found himself stumbling towards the stairs of the stage, following two Peacekeepers while another pair shadowed him. He tripped going up the steps and wiped his eyes as he got on stage, hoping the other Peacekeepers were delivering Ezran to Amaya at that moment.

And then he was alone.

Abandoning his Peacekeepers, Callum walked to Opeli, hanging his head low.

Opeli adjusted the microphone in front of him when he met her in front of the bowl she had just drawn from.

"Ezran," she said, as if testing the name on her tongue.

It was enough to make Callum's head snap back up. Opeli was staring at him with more emotion than he'd ever seen, although it wasn't pitiful or understanding. She was simply trying to read him.

"Your brother?"

Callum nodded.

"My brother."

He looked out over District 9, habitually searching for his family.

"How old is he?"

"Eleven."

"And how old are you?"

Callum peered up at her. "Sixteen."

"Your name?"

"Callum."

A moment passed. The ken faded from Opeli's face as she turned her back to the crowd. Her neutral, set features were back in place.

"Not everyone you lose is a loss," she whispered.

Then she stood up straighter, walked over to the microphone in the middle of the stage, and exhaled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I give you sixteen-year-old Callum of District Nine." She glanced in Callum's direction. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

She held her hands out on either side of her, wordlessly beckoning Callum and Freya from their spots. They met her slowly, shock drawn out over both of their expressions. Apathetic and paralyzed, they lifted their chins and stared ahead of themselves.

"I give you our tributes from District Nine. Freya and Callum. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Nobody in the crowd spoke. For sustained seconds, nobody moved.

The familiar sound of battle armor clanging together governed Callum's attention towards the very back of the crowd. There he found familiar faces. There was the Coalition.

Amaya and Ezran were there, watching Callum with expressions too far away to see. But Amaya's left hand was placed over Ezran protectively, and the clamoring of armor that Callum had heard sounded again. He saw that Amaya had placed her right hand over her heart.

The action was being mimicked all throughout the Coalition's people, until it spread to the other adults, teenagers, and children of District 9. Everyone, hand over heart, was staring at Callum and Freya, their gazes resilient and their stances unyielding.

Distantly, Callum recalled Amaya telling him that many, many years ago, the people who once lived on the land they now resided on, had placed their right hands over their hearts when reciting something called "The Pledge of Allegiance." That action had quickly become something that most people in the Coalition presented to Amaya, Harrow, and Sarai, as well as some of the Coalition's exceptional members.

Never once had Callum dreamed of the Coalition's people saluting him as they had saluted his parents and aunt. (Much less all of District 9.)

Never once had it crossed his mind that he would have to win the Hunger Games.

But never once had hesitation glinted inside of him as he took Ezran's place.

"You have five minutes."

The Peacekeepers that had escorted Amaya and Ezran into a secured room in the Justice Building filed out of the doorway and stood with their backs against the wall.

"Five minutes. That's all," the last Peacekeeper told them. He marched out of the room and shut the door behind himself.

At once, Ezran threw himself into Callum's grasp.

"I'm so sorry, Callum. I knew this was going to happen. I knew I was going to get picked." He stared up at his brother with a flooded gaze. "I never imagined you would take my place, though. I didn't know this would happen."

"There's no way you could have known this would happen, Ez," Callum soothed. "Every kid has nightmares about being picked. But you don't have to worry any-"

"You have to win, Callum," Ezran said abruptly. "You have to."

Callum opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

Eventually he just nodded his head, soundlessly agreeing.

Amaya's hand on Ezran's shoulder grounded the brothers to some extent.

Ezran, Amaya signed. You need to say goodbye now.

Maybe Ezran was in too much shock, or maybe he understood perfectly, but the boy obeyed.

"I'll miss you, Callum. I'll be waiting for you to come home," Ezran murmured, winding his arms around his brother and holding on for dear life. "I'll root for you. We all will." His frame shook suddenly. "You have to win."

"I will Ezran. For you."

Gingerly, Ezran was pulled away by Amaya. His hair was disarray and his lower lip was trembling. The tears in his eyes spilled onto his cheeks and down his chin. He looked utterly defeated.

Once Ezran was out of the room, accompanied by Gren, Callum reflected on what could be the last memory he would have of his brother, and began to cry.

Amaya took her nephew in her arms and stared down at him decidedly.

"I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm doing," Callum wept. "I never thought I'd have to win. It wasn't a question to take his place, but Amaya, I can't win. I can't win-"

Rather than consoling or upbraiding him for what he'd confessed, Amaya only shook her head. She put a finger to her lips and ran her other hand through Callum's hair.

With his vision so blurry from tears, half of him pretended that he was in the arms of his mother.

Amaya wiped his tears away and continued to stare at him with a gaze he couldn't quite read. She parted from him enough for her to sign, but when she lifted her hands, she paused like she couldn't find the words.

I never wanted anyone else to know, she began slowly. Much less you or your brother. I would rather have you learn this from me, though. Amaya regained her posture, standing before her nephew with that same expression he'd never been able to understand. Callum, when I was nine, I was drawn as a tribute for our district.

And I won.

"What?" Callum gasped, trying to creep closer to his aunt. She shook her head and paced the floor a few times. "How come I never knew? How come no-one ever said?"

Nobody wants to recall the events - including me - Callum. I had never trained for it. I had never planned to win the Games, but I did. Gamemakers did not appreciate this. If I, a child, a deaf nine-year-old kid at that, could win, who else could? Somehow I made it look easy, Callum. I made the gamemakers look stupid.

"So they didn't want to remember you? They didn't want anyone to remember you?" Callum thought aloud.

Exactly. They wanted to pretend it had never happened. The Games are meant to scare people, to keep us in check. We fear them as children, we fear them for our children. The Games exist to keep us from rebelling because in the end, the gamemakers always win.

"But . . . you did win."

Ignoring what he was trying to say, Amaya went on.

Which means you can, too. You are my blood, Callum, you have it inside you to win.

"I have to," Callum realized.

Footsteps pounded towards Callum and Amaya. The door to their room swung open and Peacekeepers began barking orders and separating them. Callum kept his eyes on Amaya's hands, letting them anchor him.

You will. Callum, you will be our Victor.