Chapter Text
𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟𝕪
[childhood]
"We grow through what we go through.”
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july, now.
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“Lea, please stop squirming,” Sagittaria murmurs, her voice muffled from the hair tie in her mouth. It is the only tool capable of containing Lea’s thick curls—which is essential, given the scorching landscape waiting for them outside.
“But I hate it,” her sister protests, shifting in her rickety wooden chair. “It makes my scalp itchy.” As if to make her point clearer, Lea begins to dramatically scratch at her scalp, unraveling a part of the braid that Sagittaria already wove.
“I know,” Sagittaria responds evenly, stifling as a sigh as her progress is undone. She leans down to meet the young girl’s grayish eyes. “But it’s only for the Reaping, Lea. Do you want a ribbon like Aquaria’s instead?”
“No,” Lea says, shaking her head with a pout. “Why can’t I just keep my hair down like last year?”
Across the table, Libra raises her eyebrow from behind a glass of juice. “It’s like a bajillion degrees, dude. Your neck is going to be an oven by the time we’re home.”
Next to her, Sagittaria’s third sister, Aquaria, blinks. “Yeah, I don’t want you to pass out again. Faraday and Photon laughed at yo—”
Lea’s face flushes bright pink. “Who cares about what they think?! They’re both dumb, anyways. And stupid.” Aquaria ducks her head slightly, face softening as she regrets her words.
“You did faint,” Libra adds, tone careful. Always the mediator, Sagittaria thinks. She is grateful for Libra’s ability to bring a conversation back to center. It helps take a little stress off of Sagittaria’s very, very loaded plate.
“Did not,” Lea insists, crossing her arms.
“Lea,” Sagittaria says gently, trying to redirect her youngest sister’s energy, “why don’t you have some tesserae?” She gestures at the bowl sitting in the center of the table. Lea crosses her arms, looking away.
Sagittaria speaks again, choosing her words carefully. “I know that the hairstyle is a bit uncomfortable, but we have to look our best for the Reaping.” She twists her head slightly to the side, allowing her two braids to fall over one shoulder.
Lea mutters something under her breath but doesn’t argue further, grabbing a piece of fry bread and taking a heart bite. Sagittaria allows muscle memory to take over as she ties the braid into place, glancing at the nearest clock—ten minutes until they have to leave in order to make it to the Reaping Field on time.
She looks to Libra and Aquaria, nodding. “Finish up breakfast and then put on your shoes. Oh, Ria, here—” Sagittaria crosses around the table, wetting a napkin and pressing it gently against a fleck of butter that ended up on the middle triplet’s dark blue dress. “Be careful not to stain Mom’s dress today, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” Aquaria whispers, clutching the pleats of the dress. “I wasn’t paying attention.” Libra and Lea set down their utensils with a cacophony of clatters, rushing off to get on their shoes.
Sagittaria has heard the same statement from her sister many times before. As much as she loves Aquaria, it truly is a miracle of some sort that the girl hasn’t gotten into serious trouble from the way her head seems to be permanently wandering among the clouds. Sagittaria reminds herself to keep a careful eye on her during today’s ceremony.
She softens her voice as she replies, “it’s alright, it was just a mistake.” Sagittaria leans down, touching a finger to her nose. “People make those all the time, remember?”
“What about you?” Aquaria asks, eyes curious.
“I make them, too,” Sagittaria hums, although she can’t quite meet Aquaria’s eyes. The truth is, she can’t afford to slip up like her thirteen-year-old siblings can. After all, if she falters, who is going to braid their hair and keep them neat and organized?
At that moment, Libra appears around the corner, her shoes in hand. She perches back on her chair and begins to slide them onto her feet. “Is Mom coming?” she questions.
“Not this year,” Sagittaria responds. She made sure to get papers that prevent her mother from being harassed for her absence—the process was much easier than trying to encourage her to take the journey to Adinídíín.
“‘Cause she’s sick, remember?” Lea adds, poking Libra on the shoulder.
“Yeah…” Libra huffs, staring out of the window for a moment before popping her mouth open in an ‘o’ shape. “Hey, do you know if Florence and Antenna are still dating?”
Sagittaria sighs softly as her sisters begin to gossip, glad that the subject of their mother is of little interest to them.
While it is true that Mazal Bandor is ill, it isn’t the sort of sickness that Sagittaria’s sisters can catch at school. She is hesitant to admit as much to the triplets—she doubts they will understand at their age.
Once satisfied that her sisters aren’t in need of any more assistance, Sagittaria clears the dishes from the table and finds her black flats. She passes a mirror on her way back to the door but doesn’t pause to look at herself again—outside of the necessary politeness of the Reaping holiday, she has never cared much for her appearance.
Really, it’s not like anything has changed in the past six years—a tallish height, a body that is mostly bones with a barely perceptible layer of muscle, brown skin and eyes the color of dam water—so she doesn’t have any good reason to preen.
Sagittaria stops at the door. “Let’s go,” she says, raising her voice. A squeal of ‘race you!’ echoes from down the hallway, and Lea appears in an instant, with Libra close behind. The latter pants, doubling over. Aquaria wanders over at a lackadaisical pace, not interested in the game. Sagittaria scans them once more for anything out of place before guiding them out of their house.
The heat blasts against her face unpleasantly—it was already stifling indoors but the warmth practically drags the air out of her lungs once they’re outside. Sagittaria keeps her sisters close to any patches of shade they can find, but sweat still pours down her back within the first mile to the Intra-District train station.
Well, she reassures herself, at least this will be over quickly.
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december, eleven years prior.
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Sagittaria follows her mother into the sanctuary of their house, bouncing on her toes. Walking to and from school is her second favorite part of the day. She loves to see the people of her District as they go to work, to watch how Five changes from season to season. Her favorite part is now, when she gets home with her bundles of joy waiting for her.
She barely remembers to set down her things before racing into her younger sisters’ bedroom. They are nearly identical at only two years each; Sagittaria doubts that anybody from outside of the Bandor household would even be able to tell them apart. But she knows Lea’s lion yawn and Libra’s bright green eyes and Aquaria’s extra-chubby cheeks well.
“Mommy,” Lea chirps, toddling over. She pulls with stunted fingers at the cloth of Mazal’s tunic; Mazal stares at her child for a moment, unmoving.
“Hi, dear,” Mazal says eventually, before her nose screws up. “Oh, Gita, please change Lea’s diaper. It smells like nuclear waste in here.” She guides the youngest triplet towards her older sister.
“Okay!” Sagittaria squeaks. She loves getting to try adult things after school—how many six-year-olds are as close to their siblings as she is with her sisters? “C’mon, Lea.”
“Thank you, baby,” Mazal says. “You’re the best helper that mommy could ask for.” Sagittaria perks up at the praise, giggling when her mother brushes her lips across her forehead.
The task is over quickly. When Sagittaria and Lea exit the restroom, Mazal is heading towards the door. “Make sure to pick out some fresh clothes for them for tomorrow, okay?”
Sagittaria blinks, tilting her head away from where Lea is cooing next to her. “Um, why?”
She has never had to do something like that before—in all honesty, she has no clue where the triplet’s clothes even are. Noticing that her mother is wearing her jacket, she adds, “Where are you going?”
“Work, hon.” Mazal turns, taking a few strides back towards her daughters. “Listen, mommy loves you very, very much, but—with the triplets—” she pauses, considering her next words, “I have to be away more to keep us all happy and healthy.”
Sagittaria doesn’t like this one bit. She doesn’t like the sudden weariness in Mazal’s eyes, the way that she can see through her mother’s gaze and into the exhausted tangle of her mind. “Gita, you are so incredibly strong. It’ll be like with daddy, okay? That’s why he’s in the plant sector so much.”
Sagittaria worries her lip; her hands clench by her sides as she looks up, hating the way that her voice comes out in a hoarse, childish whine. “He’s never here.”
Even before the triplets, Sagittaria can’t remember seeing Synth more than twice a week. Now, it’s more like one—and that’s if they get lucky. When he’s around, he seems more stressed than ever. He still tells her jokes, he’s still her father, but…it’s not the same.
“I know, honey, I know. Things will change—it’s only going to be like this for a little bit longer. The only thing we can do is stay strong.” Mazal’s smile is full, but her words feel empty.
Sagittaria trusts her. Her mother would never lead her astray, and she wouldn’t be making a decision like this if it wasn’t important. Sure, she has had to take up more responsibility, but she is grateful to have Mazal as her guiding hand. More tasks to complete just means that her mother trusts her to do things that grown-ups can do.
“Okay,” she says, her eyes floating to their window outside.
A father wanders by with his young son, the latter carrying expensive ice cream only sold in Adinídíín Center. The father’s posture is straight and confident. If she was older, she would be able to describe the son as unburdened. But Sagittaria doesn’t have the language to express the way she feels as they vanish from view. There is only a sense of heaviness that tugs on her shoulders.
She becomes aware of her trembling lip, and bites down hard, fighting the feeling away. “Okay,” she repeats, stronger this time. “I’ll do it, promise!”
She enjoys this. Sagittaria loves getting to know her sisters more. It has only made their family closer—she knows every small detail of the triplets’ personality. Besides, compared to Mazal and Synth, she is only taking up a small percentage of what they handle every day.
Mazal exhales, soft and slow. “Gita, I’m so glad you’re willing to help. It’s just—it’s a lot to carry with only two pairs of arms.”
Her chin tilts in thought. “But with three…well, our lives may take a turn for the better.”
The thought makes Sagittaria straighten. Her mind curls into fantasy, creating a world in which Synth gets to be with their family all the time and Mazal can smile the way she used to. If she can really cure her family of all stress and pain, then Sagittaria is willing to do anything.
She turns at the sound of feet pattering against the ground. “Oh, wow!” Sagittaria yelps. “Look, Lea is running!” The youngest triplet squeals with glee as she speeds across the floor with reckless abandon, circling the hallway.
Sagittaria’s heart surges with pride, and the conflict completely burns away. This is another benefit of helping take care of her sisters. It’s no wonder that Lea is the first one able to run with confidence; she is certainly the most energetic Bandor.
But when Sagittaria turns to smile at Mazal, she is already gone.
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july, now.
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A pure blue sky sits above the Bandor siblings as they arrive in Adinídíín Center’s Reaping Field. Behind Sagittaria, the triplets squint against the sun, its relentless rays bearing down on the gathering crowd.
Sagittaria leads her sisters into the line for check-in, staring out across the sweat-stained masses of Five. Some still wear their work clothes, while those with more money to throw around are clad in luxurious items that Sagittaria’s family can only dream of.
Idle chatter floats between the people around Sagittaria, including her sisters. In Five, Reaping Day is an observed holiday, with a good portion of the District being either indifferent to the Games or even supportive of them.
But some other—dare she say it, sensible—citizens know the weight of what’s to come; she can see it in their glassy eyes, their creased foreheads. Just like Sagittaria, they stay silent, moving through the line with their chins pointing down.
She wonders how many of them have lost people to the Games. It’s not like Five tends to be lucky with them, after all. Their skills don’t lend themselves to most Arenas, and even their most clever and resourceful tributes are out-performed by physically strong competitors by the finale.
As they move forward in line, Sagittaria catches a glimpse of the stage. Three Victors perch on chairs to the right of a microphone. She recognizes the blonde hair of Solara Nyhan, the eldest Victor. Her seaglass eyes scan the crowd with clear disinterest.
Next to Solara is Cascade Lazzari, the most recent Victor—not that it means much, considering he won over two decades ago. He turns around every few moments to mutter something to the final Victor, Gramme Bazil. Strangely, Sagittaria notices a fourth man on stage next to Gramme who she doesn’t recognize. He has the look of a farmer of some kind, but she can’t determine a distinct District of origin.
They shuffle forward once more. As with the last five years that Sagittaria has attended, the line moves with efficiency–District Five rarely settles for anything less.
Back on the Field, a new figure arrives on stage. Limera Frogg-Reene has been Five’s escort for some time now, but it’s hard to believe so due to the amount she complains about the job. This only happens off-camera, of course—in front of them, he is exactly what the Capitol wants to see. Eager, trend-sensitive, and grandiose.
A small family crosses the threshold into the Field, and it is finally the Bandor herd’s turn. The attendance checker’s eyes glaze over the triplets in a brief bout of confusion. Sagittaria wouldn’t be surprised if they believed that they were seeing triple.
Sagittaria goes first, not flinching at the finger prick. Lea confidently strides up, volunteering to be next. She still winces at the pain of the needle, placing her finger in her mouth to suck away the blood. Sagittaria taps her on the wrist to get her to stop.
Libra is checked in afterwards, leaving Aquaria for last. She stands a distance away from the rest of them, hands tucked into the safety of her armpits.
“Hey, Ria,” Sagittaria murmurs, leaning down and straightening out one of the dress sleeves, “I know it’s scary, but it’s only going to sting for a second, okay?” When the words seem to have no effect, Sagittaria adds, “we can stop for a treat in downtown Adinídíín if you’re willing to be brave.”
Aquaria worries her lip for a moment longer before proceeding forward, trusting that her eldest sister knows best. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes as the needle enters her finger. Sagittaria gently wipes away the bleed of blood that creeps out of the wound, clutching her sister’s hand while they walk out into the Field.
Sagittaria pulls her sisters aside, keeping them out of the line of foot traffic. “Do you three know where you’re standing this year?” Once all three are able to confidently point to the section for thirteen-year-olds, she nods. “And do you know where I’m standing?”
Their faces go blank, so Sagittaria gestures to the pen that is second-closest to the stage. “Seventeen-year-olds go there. We won’t be close to each other, but I’ll find you after. Make sure to stand still and stay quiet; being disruptive isn’t a good idea.”
“Okay,” Lea chirps, skipping off towards the pen. Aquaria follows close behind, both joining a larger group of girls from their school in eager chatter. None of them seem to comprehend the macabre atmosphere; then again, Sagittaria doubts that most of them even have to worry about getting Reaped at all.
Before Libra can join them, Sagittaria taps her shoulder. “Try to keep the other two out of trouble if you can, alright?” Libra offers a salute, beaming at Sagittaria before sliding into the cluster of schoolgirls.
With that, Sagittaria walks off to her own pen, Peacekeepers watching her from the entrance to each pen. She keeps her eyes downcast when passing in front of the white-clad officers, unwilling to appear noticeable in any sense of the word.
She enters her section, finding a quieter area near the back. Nobody approaches her—Sagittaria is hardly social, even in her workplace. She can count the number of people who she has talked to over the past week that aren’t also related to her on one hand.
She merely watches the other girls her age socialize, feeling the sun’s gaze on the back of her neck. Sagittaria keeps an eye on her sisters as well. Lea looks a little pink in the face—she makes a mental note to find some sunscreen for her when they visit Adinídíín.
Feedback wails across the clearing as Mayor Rutherford begins to speak into the microphone. Sagittaria isn’t listening, though, focusing instead on the long list of chores that are waiting for her after the ceremony.
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august, seven years prior.
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It is the hottest night of the year when Sagittaria finally breaks.
She follows her schedule perfectly. She finishes her school work, makes dinner for six—although two of the plates are saved for when her parents return home later—and puts the triplets to bed, staring at their soft, worriless faces.
Once her work is over for the evening, she walks back to the front door, ensuring that it’s locked. While the solar sector isn’t known for crime, its neighbor, Five’s field sector, certainly is. And at ten years old, Sagittaria knows that safe is better than sorry.
She turns away from the lock to return to her room, and is surprised by the girl who stares from the mirror, with empty eyes and ragged hair. When was the last time she had a chance to clean herself up?
Sagittaria wants to move away, but she can’t stop staring at the faded image of herself.
Something about it reminds of her mother, and Sagittaria knows then that something about her life has gone terribly wrong.
When Sagittaria throws open the door to her parents’ room, Synth blinks with surprise. Mazal just stares, exhaustion clear in the lines of her face.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Sagittaria says, louder than she has ever spoken before. She doesn’t like to raise her voice; it frightens the triplets. But she doubts that her parents would listen if she pretended to be calm.
“Honey, shh…it’s late—” Synth starts, wiping sleep from his eyes.
“No,” Sagittaria snaps, shaking her head. “No! I don’t get why I have to do everything. I know you’re working, but—people at my school, their parents work too, but they’re still around!”
She glares at them both. “So where are you two all the time?”
“Honey,” Synth tries again, casting a wary look at Mazal, whose face is inscrutable. “Other families don’t have to consider the same things that we do. I understand that it’s not the best situation, but trust me—we don’t want to be away for so long either.”
Sagittaria shakes her head again. “But I’m doing everything at home. Just today, I made the triplet’s beds, packed them lunches for school, made their dinners, washed the dishes, put them to bed, and prepared their clothes for tomorrow. And that’s not even including my homework, which I have almost no time for.”
Synth tries to say something, but Sagittaria isn’t done. “My teachers yell at me for dozing off in class, but it’s because I’m exhausted. I do terrible on most tests because I only have a few minutes to study every day before one of the triplets needs me. At this rate, I’m going to have to drop out of school.”
Even saying it out loud makes her head spin. School is vital in Five, unlike most of the other Districts. Thirteen years of education are considered the minimum to get a decent job. If somebody leaves the system early, they are considered unworthy of entering the proper working world, making it nearly impossible to get an occupation that can fully support them.
Synth sits up straighter, frown outlined by the faint beam of a streetlight outside. “I doubt things are going to come to that,” he asserts. “Listen, I know you’re struggling, I know it’s hard. But it’s hard for us too—you’re not receiving the short end of the stick, it’s just…stunted on both sides, okay?”
“But can’t you help me?” Sagittaria begs. “I’m not asking for a lot—maybe pre-made sandwiches, or even saying good night before they go to bed?”
“Gita,” Synth sighs. He crosses the room to stand in front of his daughter, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I hope you know that your hard work isn’t unnoticed. Your mother and I are incredibly grateful for all you do for our family.”
He pauses, continuing more tentatively. “That being said…I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be a kid.” He looks back at Mazal, who nods, and says, “So, we’ll try to be better. You and your sisters deserve the best that we can offer.”
Sagittaria wipes away her tears as her father guides her back to the door. “Now, go back to bed. You have school tomorrow, and I want you to be well-rested. Panem forbid you end up in a nuclear plant like me, huh?”
He offers a roguish wink, and she smiles slightly, believing for a moment that things will actually get better like her parents always say.
After that day, nothing changes about her situation, but Sagittaria learns how to hide her resentment better.
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july, now.
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Mayor Rutherford finishes reading Five’s short list of Victors, and he hands off the microphone to Limera.
The Capitolite twirls the wire of the microphone around one claw, her neon green dress nearly blinding Sagittaria. “Thank you, Rutherford. I love hearing your very…thorough…presentation of the Games every year.”
Limera smiles at the crowd. When she blinks, her large eyelashes flap like wings—Sagittaria wouldn’t be surprised if he flew away. “I am pleased to be serving as Five’s escort again. I find your city very…cute. I have the pleasure of inviting two of you to see my city—one of the many, many boons that the Games offers Panem. But Rutherford has already told you about all of those in detail.
“As a quick reminder, due to a new rule introduced in the 125th Hunger Games, both slots are capable of being filled by anybody of Reaping age.” Limera gestures off-stage, and two workers roll a cart with a large glass bowl in front of her. Resting inside are the required identification cards that every child of Reaping age renews every year, bringing them into the workforce once they age out. The system was invented for the ceremony to ensure that the Peacekeepers can easily find their quarry.
Limera flips his pale hair over one shoulder, revealing stripes of blue, black, and that same radioactive green. She reaches into the bowl, swirling around the laminated cards for emphasis. The crowd goes silent, waiting on bated breath to hear the first name called.
Sagittaria watches the motion with a careful eye. If her counting is correct, she should have only six slips, and the triplets have a mere two to their name. Although Sagittaria considered the thought of tesserae when she was younger, she decided against it. Families tend to be small in Five, meaning very few take significant tesserae—she would be putting herself in unnecessary danger with more slips.
And if Sagittaria goes into the Games, well, who will provide for her sisters?
Limera settles on a card. She begins to hold it up, offering the crowd a wry grin as he drops it back into the bowl. It’s a strange ritual the escort does every year—he pauses for a gasp of shock from the crowd, but the populace of Five merely stares, a few whispering with annoyance at how long the process is taking.
Limera pulls a second card, holding it up. “I would like to invite our first tribute for the 141st Hunger Games to the stage, Miss Aquaria Bandor, aged thirteen, from the solar sector!”
Sagittaria’s world shatters.
Her eyes find the triplets. Aquaria is crying, Libra clutching her sister’s hand in a vice grip. Lea leaps in front of the two, baring her teeth at the Peacekeepers who advance towards them. The classmates shrink away from the triplets as though being Reaped is a disease—a few offer sympathetic stares, but it’s clear nobody is going to help.
Sagittaria is moving before her mind fully processes the action. “Ria—Ria, no, no—“
She reaches for Aquaria’s shoulder, but is yanked backwards by white gloves. More Peacekeepers insert themselves between herself and Aquaria, preventing her from interfering.
Sagittaria screams, fighting against their hold with rabid determination. They can’t take Aquaria, they can’t. She can already imagine her sister’s soft heart fragmenting in the Arena, Libra and Lea having to attend school as a duo with a missing piece.
She is supposed to protect them. She has sacrificed years of her life to nurture her sisters, to ensure that they have a happy life, only for fate to twist the knife. Only for Sagittaria to end up the way she always does—powerless.
The crowd’s heads swivel towards her in a wave of motion. She watches their expressions morph from empty sympathy to shock.
Why are they looking at her like that?
It’s only then that Sagittaria realizes what words are coming out of her mouth, repeated again and again.
“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”
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march, six years prior.
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A few weeks after Sagittaria’s eleventh birthday, her father enters the room that she now shares with her sisters. She moved into it last summer, after too many incidents where one of the girls would have a nightmare or get sick and require her aid all night.
“Dad?” Libra asks, hair frizzy from laying against her pillow. To her right, Lea snores loudly, limbs bent in directions that can’t possibly be comfortable to sleep in. Aquaria unfurls from the tight ball that she is curled in, looking to the doorway where Synth stands.
“Hello, girls,” he says, voice rough. Synth’s dark hair is plastered to his skin with sweat, messy from being under a hard hat for hours. Sagittaria has never seen her father so…unpolished, and it leaves unease lingering on her skin.
Then again, now that she thinks about it, she hasn’t seen Synth in days. She has familiarized herself with it, like barely-passing grades and nearly-sleepless nights.
“It’s late,” Sagittaria remarks softly, brow furrowing. “Is everything alright?” Her gaze shifts to where Aquaria is rousing Lea.
“Well,” he sweeps his eyes across the faces of his daughters before aiming it at the rough carpet under his feet. “I have news.”
“Like, the good or bad kind?” Lea queries.
“The—” Synth stops himself, wetting his cracked lips before continuing, “the kind that may be hard for you all to hear.”
Sagittaria twists a piece of hair around her finger, trying to use it as an outlet for her concern. “Did you get fired?”
She can only imagine what would happen if he was. The Bandors are already in a state of decay—every week, her mother gives her shorter and shorter lists to purchase food with. Their plumbing has been experiencing problems for months now, but her parents seem unable to scrape up enough to do anything about it.
At first, Sagittaria tried to work harder. But there’s only so much a girl her age can do, and no amount of hard work can’t make money appear out of thin air.
“No,” Synth finally says. He breathes in, long and slow. “I love you all so, so much. I hope you all know that.”
“We do,” Libra assures, although Sagittaria can hear the concern in her voice.
“And because I love you, I want to make sure you all have the most comfortable lives you can.” He looks at the wall, and following his gaze, Sagittaria sees that he is staring at a place where the paint has almost entirely peeled from the wall. “...Which is not the way we’re living right now,” Synth finishes.
All of the Bandor children are attentive now, sitting at the edges of their bed and waiting for the news to be broken. Finally, like a dam cracking open, the truth rushes out from Synth’s mouth: “That’s why I’m going to be taking a new job in the plant sector. It’s further from home, and it doesn’t have the same level of guaranteed safety as my last job, but it does have higher pay.”
“Does that mean you’ll be with us more?” Aquaria asks.
Synth shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. More pay means more hours, dear.” He moves away from the doorway and into the room, embracing the middle triplet. “But I promise I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
He moves from Aquaria to Libra, and then from Libra to Lea. His arms feel foreign when they wrap around Sagittaria, and his eyes are remorseful. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her ear. “Things will change soon.”
It’s not the first time she has heard the words. Sagittaria doesn’t know why she still trusts them. Nothing ever changes for the Bandors.
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july, now.
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Sagittaria approaches the stage, focusing all of her effort into her legs to stop them from shaking.
Logically, she understands that this is a death sentence, plain and simple. It’s also the only way to save Aquaria, and those two things overlap in a very, very terrible way.
As she mounts the rickety metal steps, her skin burns from the unprecedented attention, both from behind and in front of her. Cascade is slack-jawed, Gramme’s face so tight that it could burst. Solara laughs, the sound long and rasping. “Shit, kid,” the older woman says, raising a plucked eyebrow. “Hope you know what you’re in for.”
I do, Sagittaria thinks, and I absolutely don’t. She knows only a basic amount of information about the Games—for example, that she will be in the Capitol for a few days before going into the Arena.
But she has never had to strategize her survival while in an unfamiliar environment. Sagittaria has zero experience starting fires without matches or foraging her own food.
The closer she gets to the Justice Building, the more it begins to become clear that Sagittaria is deeply fucked.
“Stand right here,” Limera says flatly, gesturing to a taped X on the stage. He pulls the microphone back to his mouth, painted lips spreading into a grin. “It’s been a while since Five has had such an eager Volunteer! Mind telling Panem your name and age?”
Limera sticks the black device directly into her face. Sagittaria’s gaze wanders past it, finding her sisters in the crowd. They cling to each other, their faces warping in various expressions of disbelief and distress.
She wants to run off the stage and promise them that everything will be okay. But she’s frozen in place, pinned up like the exotic insects that merchants sell.
“Well?” Limera repeats, voice thin with impatience. “Your name and age, please? Unless you want to go in as like, Jane Doe—”
“Sagittaria,” she whispers, if only to hide the tremble in her voice. “And I’m…seventeen.” She hesitates to say the number for so long that it almost sounds like a lie. It might as well be, as far as she is concerned—sometimes, Sagittaria feels like she was born an adult.
Limera’s brow furrows. “Just Sagittaria? Are you an orphan or something?”
“Bandor,” she mumbles. “Sagittaria Bandor.”
“Ah, so I’m guessing Aquaria is your sister, then?” he asks, eyes glinting with malignant interest.
Sagittaria nods, her attention now focused on the crowd. They tear her apart with their gazes, filing and calculating her odds in the way that only those from Five seem capable of. She watches in real time as the people of her District mentally discard her, writing her out of existence.
She doesn’t know why the knowledge makes her eyes burn—it’s not like she was ever more than a spectre to Five in the first place. Sagittaria looks away, gazing pointedly at her shoes.
“Mm, it is a very brave thing for you to volunteer for her. You must really love the Games.” That couldn’t be further from the truth, but Sagittaria doesn’t have the energy to say so in front of all of Panem.
Limera seems to be bored by her, because he moves swiftly along, smiling at the nearest camera lens. “Alright, then. Let’s find out who our Volunteer’s District partner will be!”
With that, Limera plunges her manicured fingers back into the bowl. Once again, Sagittaria watches her drag out a card. Please, skies, make it somebody who is strong, somebody I can rely on…
━─━────༺༻────━─━
october, three years prior.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
The finalized school dropout form is heavy in Sagittaria’s pocket as she approaches her home. Her neighborhood is silent at this hour, the only sound being her shoes against the pavement.
The area feels especially desolate today, thick with heat and gray with grief. Sagittaria remembers a time when she found her little corner of the solar sector beautiful. Now, all she can think about is everything that she has lost.
Sagittaria comes to a stop at their mailbox, peeling it open. Immediately, built up papers flood out, mostly notices regarding overdue loans and advertisements for events happening in Adinídíín. Sagittaria removes all of them, carefully reading their titles.
None of them are a check or a letter, which Sagittaria should expect by now. After all, Synth hasn’t sent either in weeks.
Her father’s arrangement started out well enough. He started earning more money, and for once in her life, Sagittaria felt the stress on her shoulders lighten. He would even send a short letter to accompany each check, explaining all of the great advancements they were making in nuclear science for the betterment of all Panem, as well as how much he missed his daughters.
(Not that Sagittaria ever cared about the first part. No matter how much time passed, she just wanted her father back.)
The letters stopped first, shortening down to a sticky note with a singular sentence and then vanishing entirely. Soon after, the money began to dwindle, the number on the check ticking away like a countdown. And just like the letters, it stopped coming, too.
Synth said the job would be dangerous—it was a trade-off, but not one that Sagittaria ever expected to actually matter. Her father has worked in the plant sector for decades; could he really have died in a workplace accident?
She wishes that they could get some form of confirmation from his foreman. But nuclear plants in Five contain hundreds of workers all being observed by a single overseer—people tend to slip through the cracks.
So all Sagittaria can do is keep checking their mailbox, waiting for an answer that she doubts will ever come.
When Sagittaria finds it within herself to tell her mother the news about her withdrawal from school, she finds Mazal in bed, as she has been for days now.
Before Sagittaria can say anything, her mother talks first.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Sagittaria flinches at the sound of Mazal’s voice, ragged as nails being raked over a chalkboard. She can’t see her mother’s face, but she can see the way her hair twists into split-ends, dull and cracking.
She tries not to think of the Mazal she knew when she was younger: bubbly, clever, and eager to teach her daughter new things. This is just another thing to adapt to, like her father’s absence and her permanent inability to find a job.
She can’t respond, throat hardening into stone. Sagittaria manages to swallow it down, and she turns away, figuring that her mother doesn’t need to hear more bad news.
“I’ll make dinner,” she says, making sure to shut the door behind her, lest the triplets see what a broken mess their household has become.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
july, now.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
“And the second lucky winner for this year’s Games is Capella Steffan, aged fifteen, from the plant sector!” Sagittaria tries to remember if the name is familiar—maybe the sibling of a co-worker or one of her sisters’ classmates— but she can’t place anything.
As soon as the girl is called, loud swearing begins to pour out from the section, which makes Limera gasp with delight.
A girl is pulled by Peacekeepers from the fifteen-year-olds’ pen. Like many in Five, her hair and skin are dark. Her hands are balled into tight fists at her sides, curly hair sticking out of a carefully-tied ribbon that is now crooked due to fighting against the officers. A woman’s voice cries out repeatedly in anguish, obscured by the rest of the crowd.
“This is stupid!” Capella screeches, writhing in their grip even as she’s carried up. “This is so fucking stupid!”
“Oh, boy,” Limera whistles, holding the microphone away from his face. He makes eye contact with Rutherford, who is visibly sweating. “That’s not going to make it on air.”
The girl is dumped onto the steps, angry tears flooding her eyes. Sagittaria takes in her pristine white dress, slight form, and plump cheeks. She knows the look of somebody who has never had to lift a finger their entire life—it seems like her wish for a reliable District partner was ignored.
“Come now, dear,” Limera says, motioning Capella towards the stage as she scrambles to her feet. “Panem is waiting!”
Capella mutters a final curse under her breath before mounting the platform. Her gray-green eyes meet Sagittaria’s, sliding away when the contact continues for more than a second.
Sagittaria recognizes something familiar in the shape of the girl’s nose as she glares out into the crowd—she carries a striking resemblance to the triplets. Or maybe Sagittaria is being tricked by a heat mirage. The latter is more likely.
Eyes on her back make Sagittaria turn her head. Cascade clasps both of his hands together, wiggling them up and down. What the—oh, a handshake? Sagittaria remembers seeing the reaped kids do the same last year, a show of goodwill to present themselves as a united front to the Capitol—or something along those lines.
Sagittaria blinks at Capella, who is biting her lip so hard that beads of blood are forming at the edges, and decides that the girl may not be in the mood. If Capella’s temperament is anything like Lea’s, poking the lion when it’s already irritated will only result in everybody getting hurt.
“Once again, these are your tributes for the 141st Hunger Games,” Limera says to the crowd, scattered applause following the statement. “May the odds be ever in their favor!”
Within moments, the stage is a storm of stagehands clad in black. The crowd shifts, people trickling out just like they do every year. Mothers block their children’s eyes, trying to cut Sagittaria and Capella out of their conscience.
It never hurt before. Sagittaria never realized how unfair it was before. She thinks about a world where there’s another person on stage, where she is bringing the triplets out to buy treats and sunscreen.
All Sagittaria can think about now is her impending doom.
Limera pulls the two girls to the side, getting them out from underfoot of the workers. Capella curses under her breath at the unwarranted touch. “Off to the Justice Building, you two. You’ll have fifteen minutes to bid farewell to any loved ones or peers. Then we’re off to the Capitol!”
An eager squeal escapes his mouth, and he glances between them, waiting for the excitement to be returned. The girls offer him matching scowls. Limera’s smile does not waver, and she guides them both to the doors.
“Capella!”
The man's voice makes Sagittaria pause. He shoulders through the crowd, repeating the younger girl’s name. When she hears him again, Sagittaria knows it’s impossible. He just happens to sound like him. Her mind is tricking itself, that’s all.
But only one person has Synth Bandor’s face, and it is the one who emerges from the crowd. Sagittaria does not recognize the woman whose hand he is holding.
The word rasps from Sagittaria’s mouth, rotted from disuse: “Dad?”
He looks the same, but weathered; gray eyes still sharp but now lined with wrinkles, cheeks sporting the scraggly beginnings of a beard. He still carries the energized air of the father Sagittaria remembers.
And he’s not a corpse. How?
Sagittaria doesn’t get an explanation. Synth passes right by her, eyes focused on only one destination: Capella Steffan’s room in the Justice Building.
The door slams shut before Sagittaria can see more. She knows then that something is very, very wrong.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
february, five months prior.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
As Sagittaria’s shift ends for the day at the power plant, cheers echo from the workers around her. Whispers curl over her ears as her peers describe all of the things they’re going to do now that work is over for the day.
Their voices are filled with noticeable relief, having made it through another day. It’s no secret that this particular plant is one of the most dangerous, reserved only for those deemed expendable by the District. The majority of the people working beside her are convicts, with sentences ranging from petty theft to first-degree murder. The rest are related to suspected rebels in Five.
All of them are practically prisoners, forced to work in the unsafe plant as an easy excuse for their disappearance. Sagittaria is among the few who actually chose this place—it was the only one that would take her. It’s not much, but it’s a form of payment, and Sagittaria needs all the money she can get for her sisters.
When she exits the building with her peers,, she overhears a gruff man saying that the time is ten-to-two. That gives her a little more than an hour to visit Adinídíín to pick up her sister’s lunches for the next school week.
From there, she takes a people-mover across the plant sector, which deposits her at the train station. The ride to Adinídíín is long—Sagittaria spends it cataloguing what work awaits her at home.
The Center of Commerce is bustling at this hour, with the lengthening days and rising temperatures after January giving people reason to go out. Hawkers call from the sides, trying to invite people to browse their wares.
Sagittaria keeps her head down, weaving through the crowds. Barely any spare her a glance—she has gotten good at being unnoticeable.
She emerges from a large clump of migrating laboratory sector workers, her pockets a bit heavier than they were before. Sagittaria used to feel guilty about her swiping habit, knowing that most in Five only have it slightly better than herself, but she promised herself that she would never leave her sisters wanting.
As she makes her way through the marketplace, she can’t help but stare at a person cradling a violin, and two children playing hopscotch in the shade of their family’s tent.
Sagittaria has often wondered about a life where she is unburdened by the responsibilities that are currently suffocating her. When she was younger, she used to entertain the idea of running away, vanishing into the depths of Adinídíín and forcing her parents to actually raise their children for once.
But the needs of her sisters have kept her in place, years of convincing herself that their happiness informs hers creating a chain that keeps her shackled to home.
Instead of wanting a different life, now all Sagittaria dreams of is a break. But duty calls, and she moves away from distractions and back into the path of her daily schedule, no matter how back-breaking it is.
She spends ten minutes haggling with the vendor offering wolfberry jam—hardass—and then heads to the larger grocer area, picking up small portions of Five’s more standard foods. Lettuce, cabbage, red beans, tomatoes, bass…
Her trip leaves her with just enough time to pick her siblings up. She boards the train back to solar and practically sprints to the front of their school, weighed down by the bags in her grip.
Once there, she smiles at them as they exit the building. Lea and Libra are surrounded by their cloud of friends, Aquaria less interested in being in the spotlight but still participating. As always, her heart fills with pride as she sees the lovely girls they have grown up to be.
“Hey, Gita,” Libra greets, guiding them away from their friends and towards their oldest sister.
“Hello, you three,” she replies, beginning to walk down the street. “Aquaria, how was your math test?”
“Stupid,” she mutters.
“Oh, please,” Lea grunts, jostling the middle triplet’s shoulder with a prideful look in her eyes. “She flew through it and got a ninety.”
“I could’ve gotten higher,” Aquaria sighs. “That last question was just really tough…”
Sagittaria allows her sisters’ chatter to fill the air for the rest of the walk home, feeling worn down by the activities of the day.
By the time they get home, all she can think about is her bed. Instead of resting, she goes to the kitchen, preparing a snack for her sisters while they do their homework.
From there, Sagittaria peels the sheets and blankets from their beds, setting it up for a wash. She cleans Lea’s soccer cleats in preparation for her game tomorrow, reorganizes the drawer of trinkets that Aquaria has collected over the years, and clears any crumbs from the carpet around Libra’s bed, the remnants of many midnight snacks.
Once all of her miscellaneous tasks are complete, it is time for dinner. Sagittaria finds a strange peace in cooking—unlike most things in her life, she can’t make water boil faster. It forces her to slow down lest she ruins the meal. And the fact that she knows exactly when meat needs to be flipped, or vegetables taken out from the pot, means that she doesn’t have to be tense in preparation for surprises.
Sagittaria fixes five plates, all delicately balanced with the nutrients that her sisters’ growing bodies require. The portions are small, and the selected foods aren’t exactly the most appealing options, but Sagittaria can rest well knowing that her sisters appreciate her hard work.
She sets up the table with the necessary utensils, calls the triplets from their room, and then ventures down the hallway to the door that has been closed for the past seven hours.
Mazal Bandor stares blankly out of the window, not even acknowledging Sagittaria when she enters. Sagittaria remembers when she thought her mother’s grief would one day fade, and that she would be able to return to her children.
She doesn’t think that’s possible anymore.
Mazal has been trapped in this half-aware state for years now; she can’t even remember the last time her mother dared to leave their neighborhood. Most days, she sits by the window in her room, staring into the distance and waiting for Synth to return.
Her sisters don’t know this, of course. Sagittaria can’t imagine what they would say if they knew about their mother’s true despair. Instead, she told them that their mother was diagnosed with an illness that requires her to stay in her room where it’s safe. Still, something about the way Aquaria’s gaze lingers on their parent’s bedroom door informs her that the charade may not be as well-maintained as she hopes.
Sagittaria doesn’t try to get her mother’s attention as she enters—there is nothing to say. She simply leaves the plate on the bedside table and collects the dirtied one from this morning.
When Sagittaria finally settles down for bed at night, her exhaustion is immeasurable. She is drifting off when Lea wakes her up.
“I threw up,” her sister mumbles.
She gets up and immediately gets to work caring for Lea. As always, this is just another restless day for Sagittaria Bandor.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
july, now.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
On the other side of the wall, Sagittaria’s father is comforting a different daughter. He is shedding tears for somebody who Sagittaria didn’t even know existed. The knowledge occupies her entire mind, numbing layers of grief and fear.
And Capella has to be his daughter—that explains why she looks so familiar, why she has Sagittaria’s eyes and Aquaria’s cheeks and Libra’s lips and Lea’s temper.
A part of Sagittaria remains in disbelief, failing to reconcile the playful and loyal image she has of him from her childhood with the traitor she knows him to be now. Synth is a liar. He never died, and he was never taking up more work to help keep them afloat. He was only ever running off to be with his other daughter.
The realization makes something bitter take root in her chest, growing further as more things click into place. Capella is fifteen; older than the triplets. That means that Synth has been lying for almost two decades, escaping to a haven while his family collapses.
Sagittaria thinks about Capella’s perfect, spotless dress. She digs her fingers into the velvety fabric of the couch beneath her, imagining that she is tearing the expensive thing to shreds. Capella has lived in the seat of privilege; Sagittaria has had to fight for every scrap she gets.
She spent years of her life raising her sisters. Sagittaria dropped out of school for them. She wouldn’t change a thing about it, but it stings knowing that she could’ve had more help if Synth actually cared enough to be around.
Did he ever even love them?
The triplets pour into the room, and Sagittaria sets her despair aside. The feeling is familiar, at least—tucking away all of her emotions and putting on a brave face just to stop her sisters from collapsing.
She’s not afraid because she’s not allowed to be.
“Please don’t go,” Lea begs, abandoning her confidence as soon as she makes it through the door. “You can’t.”
“She has to,” Libra insists, voice almost as watery as her eyes. She wipes a tear away before it can spill down her cheek. “That’s how it works, right?” Even though they both know the answer, she looks to Sagittaria for confirmation.
“Yes,” Sagittaria murmurs, deliberately looking away. “That’s right.”
“And we can’t—we can’t do anything? This is it?” Lea asks, clutching the edge of her dress. “That girl was right. This is stupid!”
“It’s not over yet,” Libra insists, fighting hard to remain calm. “She can win.”
The confidence with which she says the words makes Sagittaria’s stomach drop, along with the way that Aquaria and Lea immediately nod in agreement. She is grateful for their faith in her, but Sagittaria knows she can’t make any false promises.
“I’ll try my hardest,” she says instead. She turns to Libra, continuing, “But—if anything happens while I’m gone—look under my bed. There will be a small metal box, tan in color. It has some money I’ve been saving from my pay for an emergency. It should have enough to last you for a while.”
Libra nods dutifully, a comfort in the chaos.
“We can give you something, though, can’t we?” Aquaria asks. “I remember one of our teachers showing a clip from the Games where a person was wearing a bracelet that their mother gave them.”
Lea pats herself down before shaking her head. “What are we supposed to give her? I should’ve brought something, damnit—”
“Nobody could’ve expected this,” Sagittaria interrupts, unwilling to see her sister more disturbed than she already is. “If you can’t find anything, it’s fine. You’re all in here.” She lays a hand on her heart, and Lea collapses on top of her, grabbing her arm like a lifeline.
“It’s not your fault,” Libra adds, gently laying a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “It’s not anybody’s.”
A tearing sound catches her attention; she turns to look at Aquaria, the girl methodically pulling the stitches of her dress apart at the edge. “Wait!” Sagittaria exclaims, shaking her head. “What are you doing, Ria? That’s Mom’s—”
Aquaria looks up from her task. The resolve in her eyes makes her look years older. “You need it more than she does.”
Sagittaria’s next words catch in her throat, a quiet gasp coming out in their place as Aquaria finishes ripping off the piece. She hands it to Sagittaria, smiling through her sadness like the sun breaking through a storm.
“It’s gonna get lost like that,” Lea scoffs, although her voice is soft. She crouches over Sagittaria’s hand and grabs the scrap. Her long hair obscures what she does next.
Sagittaria blinks in surprise as her sister pulls away to reveal that the piece has been tied around her wrist. Libra steps closer, brushing her fingers across the fabric. “You do so much for us,” she murmurs. “So this is our gift for you.”
“Oh,” Sagittaria whispers, unsure what to say in response. The amount of love she carries for her sisters cannot be expressed in a singular sentence; not even a thousand words would suffice.
Instead, she spreads her arms wide and allows her sisters to come to her, holding them in an embrace. They tuck close into each other despite the heat, and remain in that position until the Peacekeepers arrive to take her away.
“No!” Lea shrieks, wrapping her arms tighter around Sagittaria as the first officer arrives.
“Lea…” Sagittaria glances at the nearest Peacekeeper, who is reaching for their baton. She looks back to her sister. “You have to let me go.”
“I love you,” Lea tries, saying the words as though putting up a barrier around their family.
It’s still not enough to stop her from being pulled away.
Sagittaria watches the people she cares about most disappear through a door, and understands that whatever comes next doesn’t matter.
The only thing that does is getting back to her sisters, the duty she has understood since she was four years old.