𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝟎𝟏. 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐜𝐞

— 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐱 —

━━━━━━ ☽【❖】☾ ━━━━━━

I wasn't ready. That was the thought repeating itself over and over again in my mind as I stood on the pedestal for the next sixty seconds. I'd almost made the mistake of stepping off when I'd finally reached the surface and Harlan was nowhere in sight. It was like my heart caught in my throat while the wind was knocked from my lungs to join the ice that swirled through the air.

It was frigid. Despite the layers of clothing provided, they wouldn't be nearly enough to keep anyone warm for long. I could already see frostbite claiming the lives of half of us if we weren't careful.

Sixty seconds felt like an eternity but it also passed in the blink of an eye. The gong echoed throughout the arena, somehow overcoming the sound of the roaring wind. I stood frozen for another minute before remembering that I likely wouldn't survive long if I failed to act.

I sprinted forward off my pedestal, screaming out Harlan's name. However, it was taken with the rest of my breath away with the wind. I should have accepted Cypress's suggestion to tie my hair back into a braid, but I'd insisted that a ponytail would suffice. And now a tangled mess of red hair filled the open air where ice didn't blind. I still wasn't ready and my pulse felt like it was beating a hundred miles a minute, but I pressed on.

I sprinted toward the shadows ahead of me. I know... my first mistake. I almost ran into the side of the cornucopia too. Its reflective surface kept it hidden in the snow, ice, and wind. The only reason I stopped was the tribute that careened with the surface to my right, falling to the ground while staining the ice red. And suddenly I saw how stark the contrast was. It froze quickly, turning deeper and darker in shade... but as the only color in this white dystopia, it would draw more attention.

The tribute drowning in their own blood was unrecognizable, and I didn't take the time to identify them either. Standing still was like asking for death... and so was the decision to run into the chaos. I avoided a pair of daggers that clattered against the side of the cornucopia, then slid to my knees to dodge the ax swung toward another tribute.

Inside the cornucopia there was a brief release from the cold and noise. It sheltered not only the weapons and packs, but it kept the cold and howling air out. The temperature was noticeably warmer. And although my body tried to persuade me to stay, I grabbed the first pack I could find then looked at the weapons lying on the ground: a bow, some arrows, a sword, a staff, and a sickle. I didn't have the time to decide or the hands to choose more than one. Without hesitation, I snatched the condensed bo staff and sprinted back out into the open.

A sword was swung toward my head. I felt the steel graze my forehead as I dropped down to my knees for the third time in ten minutes. My breath was hot and the mist clung to the air, but it was carried away by the wind just as quickly as everything else. Through the pelting snow and ice, I could see only a pair of eyes. Two irises of a different hue that would haunt my very soul: one blue which somehow managed to exude a cold deeper than the chill running down my spine, and the other gold and warm. Yet it seemed even more dangerous than the blue as it threatened to engulf in flames and burn.

The sword was swung a second time as if a wraith was trying to absorb my essence before I had a chance to even consider the promise I'd made to a boy I'd already lost. I narrowly unlocked and extended the staff in time to block the blow and knock my opponent back onto the ground. Then I scrambled back onto my feet—sliding along the powdery ground—and sprinted off into the woods that surrounded the cornucopia.