Rekindled Echoes (OC x Finnick Odair)

Chapter 1

Reaping day had come to District 6 once more, casting its long shadow over the grim, smog-choked streets. My name, Calisto Wintersong, had been etched on those Reaping ballots for years, a name burdened with the weight of inevitability. This year was no different. 

I made my way through the crowd, acutely aware of the gazes that followed my every step. They didn't murmur in shock or offer pity; instead, their whispers held a collective understanding. We were the orphans, the forgotten ones, sharing the same fate as countless others. In those days, I would have quivered in my own boots, gripped by fear of the Capitol and the impending horrors of the Games.

I overheard their discussions, the somber tones and anxious murmurs that were all too familiar. They spoke of District 6's bleak prospects, echoing the sentiments of previous years. Our district had witnessed only a single victor who hadn't succumbed to madness, unlike so many others who had been drugged and reduced to nothing more than shadows of their former selves.

But today, those whispers had lost their hold on me, drowned out by my own unyielding determination.

Ralfa, our flamboyant district escort, took the stage, her hair dyed in neon shades, her enthusiasm a harsh contrast to the somber mood that hung in the air.

"Welcome, District 6, to the 68th Hunger Games Reaping!" she trilled, her voice a jarring reminder of the cruel game we were about to be thrust into. 

I already knew... that it was my fate. History is doomed to repeat itself. It's my job to make things right... 

My name, the one I had come to terms with, was called. 

There was no gasp, no collective breath-holding, only a heavy acceptance.

I stepped forward onto the stage with unwavering resolve.

"Our District's male tribute pairing with Calisto is..." Ralfa's dramatic voice echoed, "Obsidian Mire."

Back in the capitol, spectators watched with avid interest, their applause and anticipation a chilling reminder of the spectacle that was about to unfold.

In the crowd, I met the eyes of Obsidian Mire, an 18-year-old, strong and handsome, working in the Transportation Industry. He'd helped build railroads, his muscles a testament to the laborious work he'd undertaken.

In those days, I couldn't find the words to express my feelings for him before he passed. My own insecurities as a District orphan held me back. I had no role models, no one to offer me guidance or care. He, on the other hand, had all that District 6 could bestow upon someone – a loving family, a secure home, and a thriving community. 

To claim that I didn't have a crush on him would be a severe understatement; his mere presence held my fascination far beyond what I was willing to acknowledge.

We were in this together, bound by fate's cruel hand. 

I will not back down; I won't be a pawn in the Capitol's game.

"Presenting your tributes! Calisto Wintersong and Obsidian Mire!" Ralfa exclaimed. "Please shake hands! May your odds be ever in your favor!" 

May your odds be ever in your favor.. what a cursed statement that is. 

I observed from the sidelines as Obsidian was enveloped by the warm embrace of his family. Their whispers and encouraging words were filled with desperation, urging him to find a way back home, no matter the cost. Amidst it all, Obsidian's gaze met mine, and I saw the unwavering determination in his eyes.