Three to go! District Thirteen now!

Ishtar Zangavli, 15

There was a beauty about District Thirteen that Ishtar hadn't explored much. Not because she didn't want to, no, but because her position forbade her from doing so. Only on the day of the reaping did they get to experience the outside world, though they scarcely chose to as they instead concerned themselves with staying hidden. Time spent looking at the buildings and people of Thirteen was much better spent ensuring that they were safe for the annual outing. In three years time, when she turned eighteen, Ishtar could properly acquaint herself with her new district. For now, it was much better to stick to the precious duty entrusted onto them.

The window of her room was one of the marvels of the Capitol. A floor to ceiling window that gave her impressive views of the cityscape of Thirteen's main town yet was hidden from the outside view. A masquerade of brick and mortar, Ishtar had been gifted an insight into the world that was forbidden to know of her - yet. When her mother entered the room, as fleeting as it was, she often spoke wistfully of the day Ishtar could leave the home again and feel something more than the odd breeze that flickered through the window. She had even given them a book from the Capitol about a caged bird waiting to be freed. It was supposed to be symbolic and Ishtar appreciated the attempt; it was a lovely read with beautiful imagery though it left little to be desired about leaving the 'cage.'

Memories of what District Ten was like came easy to Ishtar, even before she drew them and wrote poetry about them. They were small snapshots back to a life that was more recognisable - more free. That wasn't to say her new life was a stranger to her. She had been her family's Hidden Child back there too, albeit with others she could talk to and share the struggles. Instead a fake courtyard installed in her room, Ishtar and the other Hidden Zangavlis laughed and played within the safety of the family's country ranch. Instead of brothers, sisters and mothers who could only try and sympathise with her situation, Ishtar had cousins who also knew what it was like to see the rest of the world only on the reaping day. So much of District Ten had made sense and made upholding the necessary duty palatable; so little of District Thirteen made it easy.

...

The sun shone through a crack in the window's curtains, the spring's heat only just warm enough to be a welcomed hug in the morning. Ishtar stirred slowly, letting her body take its time in waking. A benefit of waking earlier than the rest of the family was the ability to allow oneself leisure in the morning - something Ishtar had become dependent on since moving to Thirteen. With their life having to fit in around the schedule of others, it was a small, silent protest and reclaim of their time.

Ishtar's mind wandered to the sense of duty they felt. It triumphed over any loneliness that could arise at her situation but, at the same time, prevented her from feeling any true warmth from her family. She chewed her lip as she considered the possibilities; did they love her for being her, Ishtar, or did they love her out of the fear that, indeed, she would be required to keep the Zangavli name on. The battle of identity and duty was one they had ignored often; an older Hidden Zangavli had warned them against it.

"Does nothing but feed the unknown," They had said, consciously choosing to label any feeling of indignation as something intangible, unknown. "Better to focus on the importance of the job. They chose you after all. Must be a reason."

For years, Ishtar had taken comfort in those words. She had been chosen out of her siblings, a quality that she had yet to recognise and celebrate being to thank for the honour of being hidden. Yet, as the window sung a siren's song for her, she questioned it. Should honour and duty best indignation? Were the uplifting words her mothers said to her when they visited them enough to ward away the intrusive, negative thoughts?

For so long, Ishtar had answered yes to both of those questions without a second thought. Now, even the idea of answering them made their head hurt.

"I need to do this." Their voice sounded foreign, as if it didn't belong to her. "It's what I was born to do - it's my duty."

A voice from beyond the window seemed to answer, though it sounded too similar for Ishtar to believe it belonged to a stranger. "But who's to say duty is more important than Ishtar Zangavli? Who are they most important to?"

Ishtar bit her lip as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She dared not move towards the window, willing all of those years of honing the art of invisibility to make her just as mysterious as the voice. "To my family - to me."

The voice chuckled and, for a second, Ishtar swore they heard their older sister Innana's warmth in the reverb. "Don't all Hidden Zangavli's say that? To convince themselves this hiding is worth it?"

"Because it's true." The words left Ishtar's mouth before she could stop them. Though she was never one to argue, she prided herself on knowing what her role required. "The... The small sacrifice I make is incomparable to the good it does."

"Oh Astarshad, has the truth forgone even you?"

Ishtar felt their body numb at their nickname. Nobody, not even their family, knew what Innana called them when it was only the two of them speaking about the world bigger than them - bigger than Panem.

"The truth?" Ishtar's eyebrows furrowed in concern. Though they knew staying sat was better, they felt drawn to the window and stood up they did.

"The truth that you need not be hidden anymore." The voice sounded so close to Innana, yet so foreign as well. "That your duty serves only to imprison you. To isolate you into a husk of a person."

Ishtar said nothing. The certainty in their duty had been the only thing they knew to be true in their life. Everyone, even her siblings, had told her the same thing and she had not a single reason to doubt them. She didn't doubt them. Ishtar trusted the word of her mother just as much as she knew everyone in Thirteen did when they elected her. Yet, as the voice spoke, Ishtar found herself confused. Her head felt fuzzy, full of questions that she had always worked hard to push to the side-lines when they arose. It seemed they refused to be ignored any longer.

"Come outside Astarshad, let me show you the real world."

Placing her hand on the cool glass, the fuzziness in their mind cleared. It was no answer - no clear, precise path to follow - but it was enough. With the lightest touch, they felt the window give way as more of the spring's cool air enveloped them. For a second, everything felt... correct. Much like it did when she imagined how it'd feel when she'd turn eighteen.

Until the coldness numbed her..

They woke with a start, heart beating faster than it had done in years. Ishtar looked around and was greeted by her room. As it had done for years, it remained static and unchanging.

Ishtar scrunched their eyes, wanting to make sure they were awake this time. Just as it had in her dream, the spring sun shone through a crack in the curtains and the breeze wrapped around her like an old friend. She glanced at the window with suspicion, trepidation dominating her as she moved off the bed towards it. Their movements were slow and deliberate as if they feared one misstep would ensure the ending she didn't want. The window that had, for so long, felt like another friend now greeted her like a stranger. It had fooled her, making them believe in something that couldn't happen.

It had all felt so real...

Ishtar brought a hand to the cold glass, fingers splaying in anticipation to push. They sent a silent prayer to the Hidden Zangavli's of past to let the window give way and grant her access to the outside world once more.

"The prettiest of birds never leave their cages."

For the first time ever, a knot formed in Ishtar's stomach.

Kenzo Lee-Anders, 15

Kenzo remembered the day like it happened yesterday. He, like many of Thirteen's youth, had to live with the knowledge that their parents had continued to try and fight the rebel's cause. The elders of the district spoke of the fighting spirit that coursed through Thirteen's streets. 'We're made for this,' Kenzo remembered his father saying once, no doubt parroting what those before him had said. 'It's all we know.'

Although the rebels spoke with defiant valour, they were small in numbers as more and more of District Thirteen were broken into life in Panem. As it had done in many of the other districts, the flame of rebellion had been reduced from a roaring fire to a tiny wisp, hanging on by the small pants of oxygen given to it by those most dedicated to the cause. Most of Kenzo's classmates predicted that, by the time they took up the mantle of the district's work, the rebellion would be but a fleeting memory of the past, in part because most of them had watched at least a parent be executed for treason.

The only difference between Kenzo and his classmates was that his rebel parent was alive. Perhaps not well, but alive. He took solace in that fact, letting the pride within him grow nicely. It was a change from the bitterness he usually felt towards his father, especially when he looked at his mother and how hard she struggled as a result of his actions.

...

Mostly, Kenzo felt sorry for his mother. Where he could try and muster up some pride towards his father for no doubt evading the Capitol, outsmarting them even when they aimed to bring his death, she, on the other hand, couldn't. If anything, his father being caught meant that his mother had been marred; the wife of a rebel and potential mother of another.

"Are you sure you had no knowledge of this Hina?" Nisaba Zangvali's voice was as slick as it had been during her mayoral acceptance speech. "Though President Augur is newly elected I can assure you that he doesn't tolerate the likes of rebels."

His mother had been so happy to get the job within the Mayor's office, all in time for the district's first mayoress - something about teaming together to be the greatest team to whip Thirteen back into shape. Though he was only young at the time, Kenzo could remember the beaming, immobile smile that adorned her features as she came home. She, one of those in Thirteen who looked towards social mobility rather than rebellion, saw the job as a way to make her wistful dreams become reality.

And, had his father laid low, Kenzo was sure all of them would've come into fruition.

...

As he did on every reaping day, Kenzo spent the day with his uncle, Gerald. Whereas his mother would feed into the scathing, bitter part of him that resented his father for causing so many problems in the name of a dying cause, his uncle spoke of his father with more enthusiasm - reminding Kenzo that everyone had good sides. It was no surprise either; though nobody seemed to admit it, Kenzo knew it was likely that his uncle had assisted his father in acts of rebellion, just in more covert ways. It seemed, from what Kenzo could tell, that his father took up the face of operations and Gerald supplied him with everything he needed to make it work.

That was the only explanation for the man's skillset in forgery and mimicry. Or the only one that Kenzo could settle on. Even years after, nothing existed to change his mind otherwise.

The other lesson that Gerald taught, one that seemed increasingly useful as he got older, was the one of persuasion and intel.

"The person to fear most is one who keeps their motives close to their chest." Gerald's voice was thick and heavy as if he were reliving a memory where he learnt the lesson for himself. "People tread lightly around them for they know not what their bargaining chip is."

Kenzo quirked an eyebrow as he focused on replicating the handwriting to perfection. "Isn't that old school logic? What the fighters of old used to say?"

"Some would say so," His uncle said, humming in amusement. "But old or not, the logic still pertains to this day. To take someone at face value and make assumptions is a deadly fire to tempt."

"Sounds like some Games advice. Tryna make a hint?"

Kenzo smiled slightly at his uncle who tried, and failed, to reciprocate it.

"Not in the slightest. But, on the other hand, it would be useful for the arena. Just look at last year's Victor." Gerald paused for a second, clapping his hands after a beat passed. "More on that another time. Go wash up, I should imagine your mother is wanting you home."

Ishtar Zangavli, 15

Ishtar always thought that the atmosphere felt on reaping day was probably closer to the mood of District Thirteen than any of her family's descriptions. Thirteen was no District Ten; no rolling fields around the district's main town nor a clean breeze to stifle the summer's warmth. Instead, grey titans rose from the ground and the air was thick - choked, as if someone were holding Thirteen's throat. It was apt for the district who was forced above ground and forced to trade underground sanctuary for the caged skyscrapers they had to call their homes. Even the Justice Building that had some breathing room still felt a tightness.

That had been the punishment for Thirteen, Ishtar's mother had told them when they prepared to make the move from Ten; their lives for glorified imprisonment. The Capitol was generous like that.

Though she felt guilty for it, Ishtar thanked the reaping for providing her cover. The growing yearn for the outside world hadn't gifted them with a sense of naturalness when they were exposed to it, leaving them to worry that they were being too obvious. What use would a secret cover be if it were to be compromised? The reaping, however, remedied that. Instead of looking at Ishtar and perhaps seeing through whatever facade she could muster, the people of District Thirteen wanted nothing more than the afternoon to be over; to either go home and relax for another year or struggle with the reality that their children would likely die in the arena. If that wasn't their focus, then it was either love for Thirteen's only Victor, Waverly, or contempt for the escort, Erinaeus.

Erinaeus had been installed as Thirteen's escort from the moment the Capitol forced them to partake in the Hunger Games. From what the Ishtar knew from watching past Games, the man had once been a dashing young man - so much so that he was able to quell some of the initial bubbles of rebellion. Time - or indeed District Thirteen itself - hadn't been as kind as he attention he once commanded. Still, he tried to walk with as much grandeur as he managed, proceeding though the reaping formalities with ease.

He was such a natural with it, Ishtar let her mind wander back towards their wider duty at hand - how they'd go home and resume their place in their room where the outside world was barred away.

"Ishtar Zangavli!"

Ishtar's eyebrow creased as she heard her name spoken by the Capitolite, dragged from her thoughts like she was sure so many had been before her. It sounded foreign like a forbidden curse that nobody dared to repeat. They heard the murmuring from the crowd that flocked the square before anything else. They knew why too - another Zangavli but one her mother, their mayor, hadn't mentioned before. Ishtar inhaled sharply. The odds were supposed to be in their favour.

They smoothed their hands over their reaping shirt - half to remove any possible crease that could've arisen and half to remove some of the clamminess from their hands. Ishtar wasn't shocked at how quickly the Peacekeepers found her. Her mother had spent countless nights talking about the good they did, keeping both her as mayor and their family by extension safe. As they loomed over her, forcing her to take her first, dragged steps to the stage, Ishtar couldn't help but see the white as finite; not the angelic motif her mother sung the praises of.

For the first time in their life, Ishtar was the centre of attention. People from across the Square were watching them and, in due time, the rest of Panem would know their name and face. She clasped her hands behind her back, trying to mimic the way she had seen her mother stand as mayor so many times before.

The Zangavli family were power. They were strong. They endured.

Deep in the pits of Ishtar's stomach, they knew they would have to endure and overcome too.

Kenzo Lee-Anders, 15

A pit of satisfaction grew in Kenzo's stomach as he watched the Zangavli girl ascend the stairs to the stage. It felt rewarding to see the mayor's family experience misfortune that was out of their hands - much like his father's arrest was out of Kenzo's own. He was sure the girl didn't deserve it but karma worked in mysterious ways and if it deemed her the most appropriate penance, then so be it. Looking at her on stage, it felt almost correct to see the mayor try and keep the face of stoicism up as her daughter stood before her, likely to go to the Capitol and never return.

Maybe her oh so precious President Augur would save the child.

It was a sardonic thought, one that made Kenzo smile with mirth, but he knew the anger was misguided. The poor girl - Ishtar - didn't deserve the fate. Not really.

As he did every year, Erinaeus looked mildly unimpressed with the girl. The small flicker of interest that had caught his eye when he read her name had faded and was instead replaced with the critical, odds of victory eye that the reapings so often showed the escorts doing. Everybody in Panem knew that the escorts of non-Career Districts tried to ascend the system to reach the desirable Districts but, seeing them analyse a life before them as a means of promotion or not, was unnerving.

Kenzo shuddered slightly as he remembered a few years ago when a girl from his class had been reaped and Erinaeus joked that the Peacekeepers could kill her on the spot to save time later on.

"And now, we shall see who shall accompany Miss. Zangavli to the Capitol!"

The escort was always more enthused for the male tributes. Ever since Waverely had won his Games, it seemed Erinaeus held out on the men of Thirteen to give him the promotion he sought. Kenzo doubted that the Head Gamemaker would promote the man; they hadn't yet and Erinaeus was serving through the term of his fifth Head Gamemaker. Perhaps he, like the rest of them, was doomed to wither way within Thirteen's concrete maze.

Still, Erinaeus made his way over to the bowl of male names, a bounce in his step and his shoulders back, cape flowing in the wind. Kenzo - and by extension, District Thirteen - thought he looked a fool but the man remained somewhat popular in the Capitol. Perhaps they saw some joy in the performance where others couldn't. The greyed lion wasted little time in choosing a name and taking his place back in the centre of the stage. To his right, a vacant space would be filled. To his left, Ishtar Zangavli stared blankly at the buildings at the back of the square, devoid of emotion.

"District Thirteen, your tribute for the One Hundredth and Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games is - Kenzo Lee-Anders!"

Kenzo felt his blood run cold. Anger began to bubble inside of him as he clenched his fists at his side. It wasn't supposed to happen like this - hadn't he suffered enough? Sure part of him was proud that his father had evaded the Capitol - because he wasn't, couldn't, be dead - but Kenzo had always blindly assumed he'd be safe because of it. He was cynical about everything else Thirteen but had held out hope over it; his father suffered so he could stay safe. Right? Besides, it wasn't even like he was the only kid with a rebel parent. His mother worked for the mayor! Didn't that count for something?

He felt his lips thin as he was escorted towards the stage, stance widened as he did his upmost to waste the time of the Peacekeepers. President Augur, Mayor Zangavli, Erinaeus... Ishtar... they could all wait.

Kenzo's mind surrendered itself to the anger as he willingly let it fog over him. He barely recalled Erinaeus' disapproving analysis, him being presented to Thirteen with weak attempts of installing hope into the people there and he just managed to shake the Zangavli girl's hand before being pushed into the Justice Building.

He knew people would pay for the situation he had been placed in.

Talk From The Capitol:

[WaverlysFutureWife] Oh Ishtar! Poor girl looks mortified. Its giving major #WaverlyNewhart vibes! xo

[CalliaxadorphineLeSeychelles] kenzo looks a little... angry? i smell a bloodbath...

Better late than never... right?

In all seriousness, this chapter was probably one of the hardest ones for me to write. Not necessarily because I didn't vibe with the tributes or dislike writing them, more so because I couldn't achieve what I wanted. I think I've got something close to what I had imagined but, even then, I feel like I could do more!

But here's Ishtar and Kenzo! As soon as they were sent in, I knew they needed to have the unique dynamic they have. I must admit, I feel as if Kenzo's PoV could've been longer but I've resigned myself to the fact I think we'll see him shine more when it comes to all of the tributes interacting together. There's a few chapters he can be utilised for so keep an eye out!

Thank-you so much to Goldie and AlexFalTon for Ishtar and Kenzo respectively! They're super fun and allow me to delve into some worldbuilding that I wouldn't necessarily get to explore otherwise.

Our next duo is the final Career pair from District Seven! Then it's just District Three and then we're off! Exciting!

As always, reviews are always appreciated!

~ Oli