Chapter Text
Kohaku awoke with a groan, sunlight streaming through the motheaten curtain hanging over their only window. The bed was still warm beside her, and she exited as quietly as possible so as not to disturb Ruri’s slumber. Her sister stirred at Kohaku’s movements, coughing in her sleep.
Sighing, Kohaku repositioned the blanket, ensuring it was wrapped securely around the other. She retrieved her boots and sat on the vacant mattress to lace them up. It was her parents' bed, once upon a time. It would have been Ruri’s, if she hadn’t gotten sick. (Kohaku ignored the thought that it would probably collect dust either way, the two needed each other whether for warmth or comfort, it didn’t matter.)
Kohaku only had distant memories of her mother, who died when she was young. She was never close with her anyway, that had always been Ruri. Her father, on the other hand, was her hero. He had taught her everything he knew about survival. It was thanks to his teachings that they had anything to eat at all.
She glanced out the window. It was early in the morning, and usually, the streets would have been crowded with workers making their way to the mines. But not today. Why wake early when the only thing they would be doing was watching the reaping?
With a yawn, Kohaku took a hunk of bread from the cupboard and stuffed it into her pocket. She returned to the bed to gently shake Ruri awake.
“I’m going hunting.” She said, feeling for her sister’s temperature. “I’ll be back soon. Wake Jasper if you feel worse, alright?” Ruri gave a nod in assent before gripping Kohaku’s sleeve weakly.
“You’ll be here by two, right?” She asked, desperation lacing her voice. “Before the reaping?” Kohaku sighed, placing a hand over Ruri’s. Even as she grimaced at the mention of the day’s events, she kept her voice gentle.
“I will, promise.” She placated. “I’m just going to collect the traps today, maybe get a squirrel if I'm lucky. And trading doesn’t take that long anyway.”
With that, Kohaku left, headed towards the woods. There was a small section of forest between each district, protected only by a chain link fence. It’s supposed to be electric, to keep them in and others out. She scoffed, surveying the barbs at the top. It rarely worked, they only got a flicker of power on the best of days.
She pushed aside the brush covering a small hole in the fence and shimmied through. Straightening, Kohaku began to wander through the trees, inspecting each rope she set up the previous morning. She hummed as she walked, a song her mother used to sing them at night.
The woods were the only place that heard it anymore; peacemakers banned the melody years ago. Her expression soured at the thought. Punishing people’s actions was one thing. Taking their voices was another. If the capitol could do that, what couldn’t they do?
After a while, a bundle of prey hung on her belt–rabbits and squirrels, mostly. As she went, she reset the traps, placing them just as her father had taught. Intentionally or not, her roundabout paths always spit her out in front of the lake. And the garden. There was a little house there, abandoned except for the rare occasions she used it.
Next to it sat a small patch of earth, tiny green shoots just poking out of the soil. Potatoes. She had gotten the sprouts years ago, when she was exploring the forest. She had been walking for most of the day, following the fence opposite hers when she ran into another kid.
Two kids, technically. One was pretty average looking, a bit tall for his age but that was about it. The second kid was the outlier. He was gangly, a shock of white and green hair that stuck straight up. The three of them were talking idly when the second kid noticed a kill she was holding onto.
He offered to trade it for a couple potato sprouts, and she accepted. He then went into incredible detail on how to care for the plants, and Kohaku was having a hard time remembering it all.
But then they heard a faint whistle and the first boy was dragging his friend away before she could get a name. She made her way home and that was that. She did her best to care for the plants, and had managed to grow quite the collection.
Kohaku knelt down to check on the sprouts, making sure none of them were trampled or eaten. Satisfied, she filled a rusty old bucket that she kept inside the cabin and poured it over the soil. Once she was done with the traps and the garden, it was approaching mid morning.
On her way back home, Kohaku stopped by the Hob. While shady on the best of days, the vendors at the black market were often the reason she and Ruri could afford to eat more often than not. Her father used to take her to select people’s back doors, but Kohaku wasn’t ready for that.
And so, with her belt freshly empty and a loaf of bread in hand, Kohaku returned home. By the time she got back, Ruri was up and waiting for her, already in her reaping attire. She had been wearing the same linen blouse and skirt for years, staying frail enough that it fit the same as it had when they were children.
Beside her, Kohaku’s eyes caught on an achingly familiar dress.
“Welcome back.” Ruri said, pushing herself to her feet and enveloping her in a surprisingly tight hug. With a fond sigh, Kohaku returned the embrace, only breaking it once Ruri did.
“You fixed it.” She breathed, her mind still stuck on the garment behind them.
“Yeah.” Ruri laughed, an arm still around Kohaku’s shoulders, more for support than anything. Kohaku, feeling the lingering gaze of her sister, turned to look at her.
“I’m just worried.” Ruri sighed, taking Kohaku’s hand in hers.
“Don’t be.” Kohaku deflected, shrugging dismissively. “We’ll be fine.” She squeezed her sister’s hand comfortingly.
“You’re in there twelve times, Kiki. I’m going to worry.” Ruri persisted, her voice rising in frustration. “I’m the oldest, I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of us, and yet here we are.” She threw out her arms, flopping onto the bed. Kohaku could feel herself biting her tongue, rage boiling in her own chest as she sat down beside her sister.
The two fell into an awkward silence, only broken by Ruri’s occasional cough.
“What would they think of us now?” Ruri asked after a moment, her voice laced with exhaustion. In response, Kohaku let out something between a laugh and a scoff.
“I don’t know.” She said after a while. “But I do know they’d want us to take care of each other.” And they did, in their own way. Every time Kohaku went to do something dangerous, Ruri was there to stop her. Similarly, Kohaku saw through Ruri’s words every time she insisted that she was fine. The two were there for each other; they had to be.
“Yeah.” Ruri agreed, smiling shakily at her. Kohaku returned it, and the two finished up getting ready for the ceremony. Once Kohaku was dressed, she let Ruri pull her hair into twin braids, just like always. And just like always, Ruri would keep her own hair down, long and loose and as beautiful as their mother’s once was.
When it was finally time for the reaping, the two separated to go to their respective age groups, Ruri in the front at eighteen, and Kohaku a few rows back at sixteen. Before they parted, they exchanged one last, tight hug. Kohaku felt a lump forming in the back of her throat and she had to remind herself that it wasn’t goodbye forever, even if one of them got reaped.
Once everyone was gathered, a frilly, pink-haired woman stepped forward. Kohaku tuned out most of the speech, it was mostly the same every year. Instead, her gaze turned to the crowd, scanning over the potential candidates.
She managed to lock eyes with a boy from the eighteen section, and he nodded at her. His hair was long, with a small, messy braid towards the front. She had seen him around before, on her way to the woods. He looked kind, she noted, if a bit imposing. Idly, she wondered if he had any family, if his name was entered more times than it had to be.
Before she could make any more observations, Effie was drawing the first victim and Kohaku was filled with nerves once again.
“Volkov Kohaku!” Effie’s voice boomed through the microphone.