So, I am so sorry for not updating quickly. I've been so busy. However, this is a lot different so be sure to read the edited version of this chapter, as posted below! I worked really hard on this so I hope you like it. Anyway, this is a bit longer than the old chapter. And remember, this is going to be different from now on. Very, very different. Probably unrecognizable. So be ready. Thank you for reading, and I'd love to see a review! It would make me so excited!(And yes, this is more of a filler. I'd had major writer's block.)

Chapter Four

Swing! I smirk as my blade cuts his arm lightly. However, he doesn't seem to react and just slices his sword roughly. I quickly sidestep, my mind for now shut off. I knew how to beat him. Be lithe and agile. He was rough and was always on the offensive. I jump as he swings at my ankles. I've learned better.

My heart is racing but I tune it out as I slice again at his abdomen. He sidesteps but my curved blade cuts his arm a bit deeper. He was using a sword, myself a sickle. It was lightweight and reasonably easy to use.

His hand spins around and knocks me in the jaw, causing me to fall to the ground on my side. A wince in pain as it pounds, but still I roll away from the sword. I give a quick flick of my sickle and it cuts the back of his ankle. I watch as he falls to the ground-thankfully-away from me.

I try to get up but feel a deep slice around my shoulder-blade. I yelp and roll away quickly. I hear a low growl from him, and I can sense he's wearing out. We've been at this for a long time, blood and sweat covered our bodies.

And then he has a hand on my throat, the other holding his sword loosely. His hold on my throat tightens until I can't breath. What do I do again?! I see he's not really holding me down, expecting for me to tap out. Arrogance. I shift my weight and then roll so I'm on top of him, his hand still gripping my throat. Cato tries to swing his sword up but I grab the blade roughly with my palm. I cringe and try to block out the horrible pain as it digs into my hand. I can feel him pushing weight on it. He wants me to tap out.

But I won't. I take my free hand and dig my thumb in his eye, causing his grip on my throat to lessen. I take this chance and rip his hand from my neck. Great. I roll off of him and scramble to my feet. I hurry over to pick up my discarded sickle to turn and face him again. Cato looks furious.

He runs at me and I sidestep quickly, a smirk on my face. He swings his sword and I duck, cutting his calves with my sickle and then jump as he takes a swing at my ankles. I just have to remember what Enobaria screamed at me. Not brute force. I'm no Career. But I can be lithe and agile and still come out a winner.

I swing my fist at his abdomen and he doesn't seem to respond. Jeez, these Careers are frightening! I step back quickly but his sword manages to rip my shirt slightly at the belly button. I see a bit of blood and bite my lip in response. Great.

Suddenly his hand snaps out and grabs my red ponytail roughly, throwing me to the ground. That was dirty fighting! My scalp is in utter pain as he holds the sword up close to my neck. Tap out, Violet. Do it. But I can't.

I reach out and with my injured hand, grab the blade again. The pain increases and I can see the look of surprise on Cato's face. I twist it-along with his wrist-forcefully and try to get up. The momentum shifts and soon I'm on top of Cato, his sword in my hand and pressed to his neck. When blood starts to drip, his hand taps three times against the mat.

I won. Finally. I hop up off him and drop his sword. I realize then that my lungs are burning and my heart is pounding. I'm panting heavily, but Cato's panting slightly, too. I smirk at him as Enobaria slaps me triumphantly on the back. We've fought thirty times in this week, and this is the first one I've won. And it took a long time to. "I made you as much a Career as I can, Violet," Enobaria states, flashing a literally golden smile.

I cross my arms over my chest and hold my head high. I feel proud. A beat a Victor at his own game! How neat is that?! And yes, you can bet I'm going to gloat for a while longer. I feel my smirk widening as Cato's eyebrow shoots up. "She needs to stop talking to us. She is standing exactly how I do," He groans, putting a hand up on his face.

And that's when Effie runs in. She looks at the training room as if it's the most grotesque sight she's ever seen. And she looks appalled by Cato and I's appearance. We're sweaty, and smirking, and bloody. The Capitol woman grabs my wrist and hurries me to my compartment on the train. "I knew you were training, but you look disgusting! You can't get injured right before the arena, you know."

I do know. But do I tell her my hands are ripped up? No. I just ignore her as she starts the shower and then promptly leaves my compartment. I take that as a sign to get clean. And so I do. I wash the week's worth of blood and sweat from my body and hair. I dab at my hands and other cuts.

Small cuts cover my body, particularly my upper arms and calves. There was a long but light slash along my abdomen from his sword, and a deep cut on my shoulder. I already have a few small scars from earlier in the week. If Pollux or Genevieve would have seen, they would be in tears. Honestly. But I'm not.

I clean up the cuts and bandage up my shoulder and hands. My hand was awful from the amount of pressure was put on that blade. I guess people don't normally do that. My head just about screams as I pull my hair into a quick yet tight braid against my neck. That was they wouldn't yank it again. I slip slowly into a pair of loose blue pants and a grey long sleeve shirt. I feel the train lurch very quickly as it takes off. And then nothing else. The train is on it's way.

We're the last tributes to leave. Same day, just different times. It was about noon. We would all get there at the same time this way, and still have time for the Opening Ceremony. Great.

I sigh heavily and compose myself before stepping into the other car. I see Cato and Castor sitting on a large couch in front of a television. I recognize what's on the screen. A large boy, a slightly smaller boy in build, and a girl are all on top of a Cornucopia. It's night. The smaller boy is bleeding heavily in his leg as he gets shoved off the gold horn. And by who? That larger boy. I stand behind the couch as the girl gets thrown off, leaving the boy the last alive.

I suck in a breath as tears fill my eyes. I can't believe Castor is watching this. Because there was more to it. They showed in detail our tributes being attacked by those awful mutts. How that boy laughed and laughed in victory as he sat on the Cornucopia, safe.

"Castor. Why are you watching this?" I ask, my voice considerably quiet. I watch as both of the figures turn around quickly. Castor looks at me and I wince at his expression. He seems almost proud of himself, excited to finally see what everyone was talking about.

"It was on and I wanted to see it. You and Dad never let me," He tells me. His statement sounds innocent, but I have to remind myself of what he's talking about. And then who he's sitting next to. That same young man who killed our hope, who reassured me earlier in the week. I don't know what to think anymore.

"What's so wrong with letting him watch it. He's seen death before, people from your district," Cato states, as if he's done nothing wrong. He's almost accusing me of overreacting. Maybe I am, but I'm protecting my younger brother.

"What's so wrong with it?! Those people gave us hope! That not everyone from our district who became tributes would come back as corpses! And I had to sit there and watch that hope get eaten alive! While you sat back and laughed! I wasn't going to let Castor deflate just like everyone else did! Because of what might happen...what ended up happening. I needed him to have hope in case one of us got Reaped. I needed all of my siblings to, for if I got chosen. I didn't want them to know that District Twelve tributes would only ever be corpses," I snap, my voice becoming softer in the end.

Silence. That's all I hear after my outburst. I see Cato sitting, seemingly emotionless. Castor, looking shocked. "So we're going to die? Because we're from District Twelve?" Castor asks me.

I glance down at him and ruffle his black hair. "You won't die. I promise. Go to bed, Castor," I tell him softly. He nods and glances at me once before hurrying off. I sigh almost inaudibly and sit down where he had once been sitting. I glance at the television as Caesar Flickerman discusses how Cato must be mentoring us. How he's probably holding up, mentoring the District Twelve tributes.

"Why did you promise him that?" Cato asks after a long moment of silence. I glance at him with a raised eyebrow, as if it were the most stupid question I'd heard. It might be. But then again, I recall Pollux once asking if poisonous snakes were deadly.

"I promised it, because I knew it was a promise I could keep," I tell him, soon looking away and out the window. The sun was brightly shining and it burned when my eyes made contact. I quickly averted my gaze back to the television screen, where they were discussing what each of the tributes might have done in the district they visited.

"But you're still afraid of dying," He responds almost casually. He said it as if he knew the answer already, and that I didn't need to even respond. And so I don't. I don't say a word back, and I can't even turn to glance at him. Because he's right, I am afraid of death. But I don't think I want to really admit that. "I'm afraid of heights."

I'm surprised by that last statement from him. Afraid of heights? But he was standing on top of a reasonably tall metal Cornucopia. So how is he afraid of heights? "I mean, I was. In the arena. I connected heights with dying, always have. Would've been ironic if Girl on Fire actually won because of heights," He explains.

I have no words to respond to that with. I've always sort of guessed, especially now that I've seen the Academy, that the Career Tributes aren't afraid of anything. That they've had the fear squashed out of them. But Cato's afraid of something normal as heights?

"Castor's afraid of eating anything poisonous. He won't eat any greens I bring back from the forest outside of District Twelve," I suddenly blurt out. I have no clue why I'm telling him this, but I just...am.

"You go outside your district? Aren't there electric fences around every district, though?" Cato asks, raising an eyebrow.

At that question, I just smirk. "Yes, and it's illegal to leave. But District Twelve rarely has power. No electricity, no electric fence. Peacekeepers don't watch the fence, so I can sneak out. I mean, I have to feed my siblings somehow. And the mines are out of the question, always have been," I reply.

"Why not the mines? Isn't that mainly what your district does?" He asks in an almost condescending tone of voice.

"Father died in the mines. I wouldn't put my family through that worry again," I reply instantaneously. "I mean, we don't all work in the mines. Just like all of you from District Two probably don't work in the quarries."

I turn my head and then I feel fingers on my jaw. I jump as he touches the large bruise, turning to glare back at him. "What in Panem was that for?!" I scream. That was really painful!

"I hit you good," Cato responds, with a slight shrug.

"No kidding," I snap, rolling my eyes. So much for a decent conversation with him. "And I'd rather you not repeat it," I add, just for good measure. Because you just don't know with him.

And then we sit in silence. I don't know why I didn't try to add to the conversation. Or why he didn't. But we sat in a partially awkward silence. It was quiet until Effie squealed and hurried into the compartment, Castor and Enobaria right behind her. "Get ready, everybody! We're finally at the Capitol!"

I stand up and stand beside Castor. Cato stands beside Enobaria. I hear vaguely as Enobaria snaps at me to look confident, hold my head high.

I mean, I'm guessing. The screams from the fans are too loud for me to hear correctly.

Kaz's POV

It's been a week since my best friend was sent for slaughter. And frankly, I didn't take that too well. Neither did her family. It had become ritual a few years ago for me to come over for their little 'feast' after the Reaping. I would always bring something good. Bakery bread, it's been for the past two years. And so I keep up the ritual this year even though I really don't want to.

I bought a loaf of bakery bread from the baker at sunset. Being from the merchant area, I had enough pay to afford it. I walked down to the Seam area, my appearance earning a few odd glances. But I continue until I reach a run down looking house. I didn't even bother knocking, I was expecting. I see the Marletta family sitting around and picking at a measly bit of food. I set the bread down and sit at the empty chair beside Genevieve. There's an empty one beside me where Violet would have sat. And one where Castor would have sat, exactly across from me.

We ate in silence. That is, until the recap of the Reapings would be on. That was when Genevieve and her mother went to bed. I don't think they could see the competition their family members would have to face soon. But Pollux and I watched.

I about cried when I saw the District Two Reapings. That boy was huge, and even more menacing than the one from last year. There was a twelve-year-old girl and a rather large boy from District Nine. There were people who looked like huge competition, especially the younger tributes. Violet always had a soft spot for people younger than her.

I stopped the tears until Pollux asked me a single question. "Castor and Violet aren't coming home, are they?"

Genevieve explained the hand tapping to me. She explained all of it about a month or so ago. She had a bad feeling and she wanted me to know, if she got chosen or if I did so I could signal, too. We never guessed Violet would actually have been. I had my worries, but she calmed them right before the Reaping. And so I had to tell Pollux the truth. "Castor is. Violet's going to make sure he comes home. She promised us all," I tell him.

I just wished she could break promises once in a while.

I've been sinking into routine. School, work at the apothecary for a while, and then watch anything I can about the Hunger Games with Genevieve. Even though I'm three years older than she is, I feel like we've become closer through this. We were acquaintances when Violet was my closest friend.

Today is different from any other day. I get to actually see Violet on television after a week of wondering. And so after my long late shift at work I hurry to bed, my mind racing. Early in the morning is when the Opening Ceremonies are for us here. In the Capitol it's more like in the early parts of night.

But no matter the time I still run as fast as I can down to the Seam and into the Marletta home. And then there it is. The scene I've been slightly dreading. Genevieve was just sitting on the small couch, staring at the television screen. And the Opening Ceremonies were just starting.

The pair representing One looked older yet skinny and underfed. They were dressed in gold tunics each. The boy looked surprised at the number of people, the girl was really playing the crowds. She was smiling and waving and blowing kisses. The Capitol loved her. Then there was the District Two tributes next. And I'm surprised at what I see.

Violet and Castor. Genevieve gasps and I feel my own eyes widening. Violet wore a grey top without any sleeves, and it really hugged her torso. The skirt went to her thighs and was grey as well. However, it had sparks of red, blue, and yellow. From when a hammer or something hits stone. She wore long high-heeled grey boots and her red hair was up in an intricate bun. However, what surprised me about her was the red lines, white lines, and bruises on her body. Cuts, scars, and bruises. I listened closely as Caesar pointed out that it was from training, and there was order to show the effects of it on her.

Castor wore a grey suit, and the tie was the same sort of pattern as Violet's skirt. However, the outfits were different from the warrior look they always had for that district.

"Who did that to my sister?!" Genevieve bellows, standing up. Her normally pale face was turning a shade of deep red at the thought of all those marks. "Why District Two?!"

"Calm down, Gen," I whisper, shaking my head. I was just as shocked as she was, but I definitely had the better temper.

"I can't. I expected them to get hurt in the arena. Not in District Two. She's terrified of dying at the hand of another person, you know. Getting killed? She turned so pale every time we'd have to watch the Hunger Games. Especially last year," the fifteen year old states in a quiet voice. I watched silently as tears leaked from her eyes. I rubbed her back as she fell on my shoulder.

But I couldn't even imagine how Violet was holding up, knowing she would have to get killed in a week or so if she wanted her brother to live. I don't know how she's going to manage that.

If it were anyone but her or the late Katniss Everdeen, they would probably let their sibling die.