Thank you all for the wonderful reviews.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, only Septa, most of her family, and Hima and her family.

I walk to the smithies alone. After I had cried all my tears last night, I resolved I would no longer cry. There was no point any more. I had no one left to cry for. But if I tried to explain, I wouldn't be able to, not without, in some way, getting myself arrested. I look at the smithy in disgust. I had my own station. I recently turned sixteen years old, but I have been here longer than most. My birthday is a month before the Games start. It was after the Victory Tour had ended, six months before my sister was taken away. I was only fifteen then. We had returned to school the day after the Tour had left. The time had come to replace the old and dead in the smithies. All the sixteen year olds had been taken out of the classroom. There was no way I could be mistaken for a sixteen year old, and I wasn't. Sixteen was the year that one started in the mines or the smithies. But if you looked fit enough at fifteen, you were taken to be tested. This happened to me.

We were led to the forge and asked to swing a heavy hammer and strike a glowing piece of metal. Atop this metal was a stamp. The goal was to make the stamp show through the other end. Half of the sixteen year olds were able to do this and were given places in the forge. Then it was my turn. I not only made the stamp go through, but I also flattened the metal along with it. I was taken to a special forge a ways from the others and taught to cast. I am the only one who can and so when special orders from the Capitol come in, they are given to me to fulfill. I walk into this as the sun peaks over the horizon and distant mountains. I read the note from my supervisor. I am to make ten swords, all gold, and three bows and mark them, not with our stamp, but with the Capitol's Seal and the stamp that had been provided.

I know what these are for. They are for the Games. Figures that they would want special weapons for the children to slaughter each other with. I sigh and put my bag with my lunch in my strong box and find the right molds that I need. Making any weapon is more than just casting. A sword, for example, needs to be cast, but then it has to be hammered into the right shape. A bow is a little harder. Those have a special cast that makes the bows hollow and you have hammer the imperfections out gently. I mastered this easily. I can tell the weight of the weapon just by holding it.

I begin melting the gold. In the smithy, each station has one furnace hot enough that the gold can be shaped into the plates and bowls that the others make. My station has three furnaces. One for shaping the gold. That is the second hottest. The coolest one is hot enough for me to keep the metal pliable when I am doing special orders, such as the weapons. The hottest one melts the gold to where I can pour it into the molds. I know I have to work quickly. Gold is a fickle material to work with. Mostly it is used for plating silver and such. Who had taught District 12 the way we do, I have no idea. I didn't think anyone knew unless it was one family who had worked it out. But that didn't matter. Now that gold could be mined and shaped, it is our job. I know this work is going to take me the two weeks that are left until the Reaping. Good, it will keep me from thinking about things.

As I hammer the metal, faces flash before my eyes. They are faces I do not know, but can guess at. The helmets tell me they are Peacekeepers. I crack each of these helmets and the heads inside them, killing them. Then other faces appear. Stern looking, ready for a fight. These must be the rebels that caused us this misery. I crack each of their heads too. Then another one appears. She has gray eyes and straight black hair. I know her only from what my father has told me. He was only eighteen when her rebellion started. He had managed to escape the Games that year since it had been the Quarter Quell and the tributes were the Victors of previous Games. I have finished the blade. All that is left to do is stamp it right above where the hilt goes. I place the stamp and strike, cracking her head as well.

I sigh and continue working, no longer seeing the faces of those who had caused my grief. I have no more grief. I will be dead in a few weeks anyway. After we get to the Capitol, after the Opening Ceremonies, there are three days of training. After that is the interviews and then the Game's begin. I want to win just to save myself. But who is there for me to come back to. No one. Once I have been chosen, everyone will know that my family is no more. But, for me, it is anyway. Even if I do win, I am not getting married. I will not allow my children to face these times or worse. And I will not allow them to play in the Games. The only way to do that is to never have any. That is the surest way. I continue making the swords.

Alternate POV:

She looked out the darkened windows of the train. She still had a day before they reached her district, her old district. She was not allowed outside of the Capitol unless it was to attend the Reaping. She found it very ironic that she was to mentor two tributes for a second Quarter Quell. Though, she had participated in the last. She sighed and turned away from the window as they passed District 6. Everything was too hard to see now. She was sure that she was the only survivor from twenty-five years ago and that was because of the Capitol. President Snow, before he had died, thought it more fitting if she lived and was forced to watch her tributes killed in the arena. It didn't matter how much she tried, they would always be killed either by another tribute or by the Capitol.

She looked out the darkened windows. They were darkened from the outside so no one could see inside. That was one of her rules to follow. If the districts saw she was alive, the smoldering fire would blaze again with new strength. This was the Capitol's way of making sure rebellion did not consume Panem again. "After all, third time's a charm. Right?" She sat and thought about how her life had changed so much. She was only allowed to walk among people when she was in the Capitol. They would still cheer her, but they never thought of rebellion. To them, she was just another victor of the Games. It sickened her and she would sit on the roof of the Training Center and look toward her home. But it wasn't her home anymore. Everything was changed.

Her mind turned to who the tributes would be this year. For the past five years, one had been from one family, save one. A couple years ago, the family had been spared the agony of loosing another child to the Capitol. Then she had gotten the youngest of them last year. The poor girl had died quickly, despite her best efforts to keep her alive. She reminded her so much of her sister. Her stomach dropped as she remembered something else. That little girl had an older sister, still young enough to be chosen as tribute. But she had nearly broken the law. She had tried to volunteer for her. It was her fault. This new life was her fault. Everything was her fault.

Septa's POV:

I stare at the water, debating whether or not to actually bath myself. The Reaping is this afternoon. I am going to be picked anyway. I sigh and get into the warm water. It feels good on my skin. I finished the last of the weapons last night. They are to be delivered to the Capitol via the same train that will take me and the male tribute. As I sit and wash myself, I begin to wonder who my male counterpart will be. Will he be a young boy? Or will he be my age? Older? I don't know and I hope that it is not going to be someone younger than me. I won't be able to kill him if he is. At least if it is someone my age or older, it won't be a problem.

"Listen to yourself, Septa." I mutter. "You haven't even been chosen yet and you are already thinking of killing the other tribute." I sigh and pull myself out of the water and walk into my room. I don't care about anything anymore. I pull my mother's dress out of the closet and smile slightly. She would be proud to know that I wore it on my last day in District 12. I finger the eagle around my neck. I had worn it for the past two weeks. They still allowed tokens into the arena. Besides, the only danger was to myself. Someone could strangle me with my own token. I had hidden beneath my shirt so it wouldn't get caught in the fire. But not today. Today I would show it proudly. Make it a symbol of hope for myself and for my district. Maybe I can survive. The only skills the miners have are their strength and how to swing a pickaxe. Smiths, like me, know how to weigh a metal with only our hands. We know how to find weak points. We know how to survive.

I dress and then eat the stew that I have waiting. I've made enough for now and tonight, though, I know that I won't be here to enjoy it. Tonight, I will be eating the rich Capitol food. As I eat, I think about my brothers. They had been miners and their strength and Dad's training had given them the skills they needed to survive. But then they had been attacked by mutts. I found this odd after my third brother had died. It was like they were targeting our tributes. I became convinced of this when the girl before Christa was killed by mutts as well. She had managed to survive by staying away from all the fighting until the very end. She had almost won. Christa didn't stand a chance, though. She had been caught by an arrow as she tried to run for cover after getting a small pack.

I wash my bowl and spoon and put them away. I will win. I will show the Capitol that they cannot use me to send an example to others. I will fight off the mutts they send at me. I am no fragile Mocking-jay. I am a strong and bold Eagle.

I stand in the middle of the square with the other sixteen year olds. We are roped off by ages with the youngest, the twelve year olds, in the back. It is cruel for those of us who have, or had, younger siblings chosen to be in the Games instead of them. I stood just one section back when I had to watch Christa go onto the stage. I had to be held back from volunteering. Otherwise, I would have been shot and my parents would have lost both their daughters in one fell swoop. I remember watching Christa until she was taken into the Justice Building. I was the only one allowed to see her from my family. Dad tasked me with giving her the wooden carving of an eagle that he had made for her to be her token. She cried into my shoulder until I was forced to leave. That was the last time I had seen her alive. I didn't bother watching the Games with my parents. Yes it is mandatory, but I didn't care. It was not fair that she had to go into that place of death. It should have been me. Then Dad would have had a year to teach Christa a little something so she could survive this year.

I look at the stage. Above it is a television this year. That's right. The president has to announce the rules of the Quell this year. As the clock strikes two, the television is turned on and the people of Panem are looking at their president. He is young, how young though is hard to tell. I've heard it said that they alter themselves to look good in the Capitol, to look young. This president has blond hair and blue eyes, merchant eyes. I can't help but feel that they know something we don't and I begin to wonder his age again.

"Welcome all," he begins, "to Reaping Day. As you know, this year marks the Fourth Quarter Quell and the One Hundredth Hunger Games." The president beings to talk about the previous Quells: an election, a doubled amount, and the Victors. This had been Katniss's Quell and the start of her rebellion. We watch as the president pulls out a yellowed envelope and opens it. "On the one-hundredth anniversary, to show the rebels how merciful the Capitol is, the male and female tributes will be no younger than sixteen." I look at the balls and notice, for the first time, that there are smaller than last year. Then I am filled with rage. This Quell would have saved Christa. I distantly hear cries of relief as the perimeter ropes are moved to right behind me. "Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor." The television goes black and the mayor steps up. He reads the history of Panem, starting with the beginning of Panem from the ashes of another country to the end of the Mocking-jay Rebellion and the continuation of the Hunger Games. Then he names District 12's victors: Haymitch Abernathy, Peeta Mellark, and Katniss Everdeen. There is a fourth, but their name has been lost to the history books as they are dead.

Our Capitol Representative steps forward, does his greeting and then goes to the female tributes' bowl. His name is Lin and he has dark green eyes and dark brown hair. He is pale, but nothing adorns his skin. He pulls out the paper and goes to the podium. "The female tribute is, Septa Águila." The crowd stirs. I step from my section and walk up to the stage. There is no faked applause or cheering. I am the fifth Águila child in six years to go into the Games. And I am the last. Then, we on stage are all taken by surprise. The elder adults touch the three middle fingers of their left hands to their lips and hold them out to me. This sign has not been used since Katniss volunteered for her sister, Prim. I don't cry or let myself tear. The only reason they are doing this is because the Capitol has targeted my family. I stare out into the crowd, looking for Hima, as Lin goes to the male tributes' bowl and pulls out a name. "The male tribute is, Joel Manoff."

I watch as Joel Manoff joins me on the stage. I have never seen one of his family here before. By the look of him, he's a miner. I know for sure that I have never seen him in the smithy. And he is no merchant child either. He is a miner, he has the build for it. He is just one more that is going to die. Miners never really have much chance. The mayor returns to the podium and reads the Treaty of Treason. It has had amendments made to it due to the Mocking-jay Rebellion. Joel and I shake hands and then turn back to the crowd as the anthem plays.

I look around the velvet room, trying to take in everything about it. I pass a mirror. My brown hair is windblown, but it makes a sort of frame around my face, bringing out my sapphire eyes and the gold flecks in them. My parents used to joke that I was born to be a smith. I smile as I remember them. They are going to be what gets me through the weeks to come. I turn as the doors open, expecting it to be the Peacekeepers here to escort me to the train station. It's not. Instead, Hima is holding me in her arms.

"I know the odds have never been in your family's favor, but try to change that. Win the Games, Septa." Hima is nineteen. She is already married with two children, twins. She and her husband married after she escaped the Games the last time. Her boys had been born a year later. Suddenly, something in me changes. I do have something to live for. I remember how Hima and I walked to the smithy together, like sisters. Even her boys call me Aunt Septa when I'm around. I decide to win, at that moment, not for myself and to prove to the Capitol they cannot kill an eagle. I decide to win for Hima and her family, to give them a better home and make sure they have food. Beside her own children, Hima has two younger brothers who she has to take care of now that her parents are gone. They died last winter due to lack of medicine. I hug Hima back

"I will." I whisper in her ear, new confidence in me. All too soon, our half an hour is up and me and Joel are with Lin in a car on our way to the train station.

"I don't know who your mentor is. I'm not allowed to be in the room when they are with you. And you are not to tell me who it is either. Apparently, they like their privacy. They are waiting on the train for you. Once we get there, you will meet with them first and then have dinner with me. It is all very complicated. Here we are." I feel the car stop and we get out. The cameras immediately surround us as we get to the train. The three of us board and the train takes off. Lin takes his leave and me and Joel are left alone. I stare out the window, watching the land go by.

"Who do you think our mentor is?" Joel asks. I shrug and gaze at my pendant. "I haven't seen you in the mines. Are you a miner?" I ignore him. If I am going to kill him, I might as well not tell him how. Besides, he could join up with a pack and then tell them all my secrets.

"Turn around." A new voice says. I stand and the both of us turn to the back of the train car. "You don't look completely helpless." I take in the black hair and gray eyes. Seam eyes as the people of old District 12 would say. I know that face.

"You." I whisper.

Three guesses as to the mentor. (I know you all know who is it) Flame away if you want, but I need you to be truthful. How many of you thought she was dead? And, I promise a twist and reason why Septa's family has been targeted in the next chapter. Thank you all for reading and please review.