Blog OO8 || Liora's Games

So, funny story...I was originally going to include this in Liora’s wiki, which I just posted (go check it out, it’s linked below!), but apparently, Amino wikis have a word limit. Who knew? Seriously, who decided that? Because I have some words for them, more than their limit allows, apparently.

Since I refuse to cut anything down, I’ve decided to make a separate blog to cover her time in the arena. This post will go over everything, from the Bloodbath to her final fight, giving an overview of how she survived and what she went through during the Games.

If you haven’t read her wiki yet, I definitely recommend checking that out first! Otherwise, buckle in! I have to it, this isn't the most detailed, but I am debating turning this into a short fanfiction, so lmk if you'd wanna see that :)

The gong shattered the silence of the arena, echoing across the stark, icy landscape like the roar of some unseen monster. In that instant, the ground seemed to shake as the tributes sprang into motion, each of them racing toward the Cornucopia, a gilded beacon in the center of the arena. But not Liora. She did not move toward it.

The golden structure gleamed in the cold sunlight, standing tall amidst the snow and stone, like an omen of what was to come. Around it, supplies glittered, a bounty of weapons, packs, and crates that could be the difference between life and death. The others, wild-eyed, bloodthirsty, rushed toward the weapons, their survival instincts pulling them into the chaos. But Liora’s mind remained calm, calculating.

She knew better than to be fooled by the frenzy. In District 8, the rule had always been simple: grab what you could, then disappear. And so, with a breath that shuddered against the cold, Liora turned her back to the Cornucopia. She would not be drawn into the violence of the Bloodbath, not yet, not here. Her instincts screamed at her to get away from the danger, to seek out the shadows of the arena, to find a place to hide and survive the initial onslaught. She was small, she was fast, and most importantly, she was invisible when she needed to be.

Instead of charging toward the Cornucopia, she cut across the arena, staying low to the ground. Her eyes flicked between the tributes already clashing, the shrieks of fear and rage filling the air. It was all happening so fast. The tributes from District 5 collided, struggling over a pack of supplies, their desperation fueling their blows. A girl from District 2 wielded a heavy sword, swinging it with a brutal precision, cleaving through her opponent’s defenses with terrifying force. Liora could see the glint of blood already staining the pristine white snow, the terrible violence of the Games unfolding before her eyes.

Her heart raced, but she stayed focused, moving quickly and silently through the chaos. She had to get away from the Cornucopia. She couldn’t be caught in the middle of this. Just as she ed the outer edge of the Cornucopia, her eyes caught something: a small pack, discarded and overlooked by the others, sitting on the edge of the arena. It was easy to miss amid the chaos, but it caught her attention. Without a second thought, Liora darted toward it, her movements swift and fluid, slipping through the mayhem like a shadow. She snatched up the pack, a small, nondescript thing, just a simple canvas bag, weathered and worn. No weapons, no food, no supplies, just a bag. It wasn’t much, but it was all she needed.

The moment her fingers closed around the pack, she spun on her heel, barely sparing a glance at the violence around her. She didn’t need to see it. She had learned to ignore the noise of the Games, to tune out the bloodshed that would take place in the open. It was part of the survival instinct she had honed since childhood. Liora ran. Her breath came in quick bursts, freezing in the air before disappearing into the wind. Her legs were steady, her pace controlled. The snow crunched beneath her feet, but she barely heard it. Her eyes were trained forward, always searching, always scanning for a place to hide, for an opening where she could disappear from the madness.

Behind her, the violence escalated. Screams filled the air, along with the frantic sounds of weapons clashing, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the frozen ground. But Liora didn’t look back. She couldn’t afford to. Every step took her farther from the center of the bloodbath and closer to safety. She found her refuge in a thicket of trees on the outskirts of the arena. The branches were twisted and gnarled, their limbs heavy with snow, providing enough cover for her to catch her breath and reassess her situation. The small backpack clutched in her hands felt insignificant in the moment, but she knew that it could hold something vital.

She leaned against a tree, her back pressed firmly into the rough bark, and took a deep breath. The noise of the Bloodbath had faded into the distance, but she could still hear the distant crack of a blade, the roar of pain that followed. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to stay calm. She couldn’t let herself panic. Not now. Not when there was still a chance to survive. The pack was small, too small to hold any of the larger supplies she had seen earlier. But when she unzipped it and peered inside, she found what little it contained—a few days’ worth of dried meat, a small canteen of water, and a single flare. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to get her through the next few days.

She tucked the items into her jacket and fastened the pack tightly to her back, feeling the weight of it press against her like a constant reminder of the Games. Survival meant keeping moving. Survival meant not getting caught in the frenzy of it all.

With a final glance at the chaos unfolding in the distance, Liora turned away. She moved carefully, silently, her heart still racing from the adrenaline, but her mind clear. She had avoided the Bloodbath, had kept herself out of the worst of it. But the Games were far from over.

The chaos of the bloodbath still rang in her ears as Liora retreated deeper into the wilderness of the arena. The frozen landscape stretched endlessly before her, silent, unyielding, like the vast emptiness of space. Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline still surging through her veins. She had barely ed what had just occurred, too focused on survival to linger on the violence that had erupted around her. By the time she had taken cover in the thicket of trees, the sounds of battle had faded, but the weight of what had just happened was pressing on her chest. She had made it through the first test, the first gauntlet thrown by the Capitol. But the Games were far from over, and she knew that every step she took from here on out would be fraught with danger. She could still hear the echoes of screams and the sharp ring of metal on metal. She could still smell the blood in the air, thick and metallic.

But she couldn’t afford to think about it. Not now.

She pressed her back into the rough bark of the tree, her breathing shallow as she fought to steady herself. Her head spun with the events of the last few minutes, and her hands shook, but she forced herself to breathe deeply. This was the moment she had trained for, the moment where everything she had learned would be tested. Fear was natural, but it couldn’t control her. It couldn’t overwhelm her. She would survive, like she always had.

The pack felt heavy against her back, its weight a constant reminder of the battle she had narrowly escaped. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her going for a few days. She had seen the other tributes go for the weapons, the food, the packs with more supplies, but Liora had always known that the real key to survival wasn’t in what you grabbed first, it was in what you did after. And she wasn’t about to waste precious energy now thinking about what she didn’t have. There were other things to worry about.

She scanned her surroundings, noting the sparse trees and the wide open spaces that would leave her exposed. The landscape was unforgiving, a silent witness to the violence that had just unfolded. The wind bit at her exposed skin, the cold cutting through the layers of her clothes, but she couldn’t afford to stop moving. She had seen too much blood spilled already, and if she stayed too long in one place, she would become another victim, another name in the Capitol’s tally of bodies.

Liora set her jaw and stood upright, keeping her movements as quiet as possible. She didn’t know how far she had run, but she knew she couldn’t stay in this area. There would be other tributes searching for food, for shelter, for any advantage they could get. The idea of being caught in a confrontation already made her stomach twist with unease, but it was a reality she knew she had to face. The Games were designed to tear them apart. But Liora had learned a long time ago that fear was something you had to push down, something you had to use as fuel.

With a final glance around, she began to move again. She stayed low to the ground, trying to keep her silhouette hidden against the trees. The snow was deeper here, and each step left a mark behind, but there was little she could do to avoid it. Every sound, every movement in the arena was a potential threat. She couldn’t afford to ignore any noise, any shifting in the environment. The arena was alive with danger, but it was a danger she was learning to adapt to, slowly but surely.

Hours seemed to blur together as she moved through the snowy expanse. She had no real destination in mind, only the desire to stay out of sight, to keep moving and avoid the worst of the Games. The pain of hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she kept herself distracted, her mind focused on her surroundings, on her need to find shelter before nightfall.

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, twisted shadows over the landscape, Liora found herself near the edge of a narrow ravine. The steep walls rose high on either side, jagged rocks and thick vegetation clinging to the cliffside. She could see the faint outline of a small cave ahead, barely noticeable beneath a thick canopy of branches. It was the only shelter she had seen for miles, and she knew it was her best chance for surviving the night.

She approached the cave cautiously, her senses alert for any signs of danger. The wind howled through the ravine, but the rocks offered some protection from the worst of it. She pressed her back against the cold stone of the cave entrance and surveyed her surroundings, her heart still racing with the remnants of adrenaline. No sounds of pursuit. No movement in the trees.

Liora took a breath and stepped inside, her boots crunching in the snow. The cave was small, but it was enough to shelter her from the wind and snow. She would have to make do with what little she had, but that was nothing new. It wasn’t until she had stowed herself in the corner of the cave that she finally allowed herself a moment of respite. Her fingers trembled as she unstrapped the small pack from her back, finally daring to open it and see what little it held. The contents were minimal, but they would keep her alive for a while. There was dried meat, a small flask of water, and a small dagger. Her stomach growled as she pulled out the dried meat, taking a small bite. It was tough and bland, but it would keep her going. She washed it down with the water, her parched throat grateful for the relief.

The first night in the arena was cold. The temperature dropped quickly as the sun vanished behind the horizon, leaving the world in a biting chill. Liora huddled against the wall of the cave, wrapping herself in the layers of her clothes, but it was never enough to stave off the cold entirely. Sleep eluded her, but she forced herself to close her eyes, to keep her mind sharp. The sound of the wind outside was the only thing that filled the silence, and even that began to fade as the hours wore on. She didn’t know how long it took before the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to her. She was too afraid to sleep for long, too aware of the dangers around her, but her body demanded rest. As she curled into the corner of the cave, her breath slow and steady, Liora allowed herself one small indulgence: the quiet hope that she could make it through the Games.

She wasn’t a fool. She knew the odds, the dangers. But in that moment, the arena seemed far away, its chaos and bloodshed a distant memory. For a brief, fleeting moment, Liora Selwyn allowed herself to believe she could win.

Liora awoke to the chill of the early morning, her body stiff and sore from the cold. The cave had offered some protection from the biting winds of the arena, but nothing could fully shield her from the brutal elements. She had barely slept, the weight of the first day’s chaos pressing on her chest. The memory of the bloodbath - the screams, the flashing steel, the violence that had erupted like a storm - was still fresh in her mind. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was sharp, alert to every sound, every movement in the arena.

Her first thought, as always, was survival. The cold air burned her lungs as she stood up and stretched, trying to coax some life back into her stiff limbs. The small cave provided little comfort, but it was enough to give her a reprieve from the dangers outside. The faint light of the morning glimmered through the branches of the trees above, but the arena was still silent, save for the occasional rustle of wind through the snow. The stillness unnerved her. The Games were designed to be unpredictable, and she knew that silence in the early hours could only mean that the other tributes were either hiding or hunting. She could not afford to let her guard down.

Liora took a deep breath and gathered her things. The pack was still on her back, the meager supplies inside serving as her lifeline. The food she had managed to salvage from the Cornucopia was already starting to run low, but it would last for a few more days if she rationed it carefully. The water flask was half-empty, and she knew she would need to find a reliable source soon. But for now, she had to move. She had to keep going.

She stepped outside the cave cautiously, keeping to the shadows and moving silently through the underbrush. The cold had settled deeper into the ground, and the snow crunched beneath her feet with each careful step. She kept her eyes trained on her surroundings, every movement calculated, every breath measured. Her senses were heightened now, sharp as a blade, alert to any potential danger. Every crack of a twig, every shift in the wind, every flicker of movement in the distance was a potential threat. The arena was a place of constant tension, where the landscape itself seemed to be a weapon waiting to be used against her.

As she moved deeper into the forest, the weight of the day before began to settle in. The bloodbath had left its mark on her. She wasn’t naïve. She had known what the Hunger Games were, what they did to people, what they did to children. But experiencing it firsthand was a different matter entirely. The faces of the tributes who had died in those first brutal moments haunted her, their screams echoing in her mind. She could still see the wild-eyed frenzy of the careers, the frantic scramble for weapons and food, the blood spraying across the arena floor. She had escaped by luck, by instinct, but there was no time to mourn. There was no time for weakness.

She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. The Games weren’t about honor. They weren’t about justice. They were about survival. Liora knew that, deep down. The day ed slowly, each hour stretching longer than the last. She moved carefully, trying to avoid the main paths, staying hidden in the dense forest where she could blend into the shadows. Her mind was constantly alert, processing every piece of information, every rustle in the trees, every sound of approaching footsteps. She couldn’t afford to get too close to any of the other tributes. She had not seen any other tributes since the bloodbath. The stillness of the arena was eerie, almost unnatural. She had expected to encounter more people by now, at least a few tributes looking for food or shelter. But there was nothing. The arena felt deserted, and that thought made her skin crawl. The Games were meant to be a spectacle, a brutal contest of survival where only the strongest emerged victorious. But right now, it felt like something else was at play, something larger, something more insidious.

By the time dusk began to settle over the arena, Liora had found a small stream, its waters flowing sluggishly through the rocks, frozen at the edges but still running beneath the surface. She knelt beside it and filled her water flask, her hands trembling as she took a long, desperate drink. The cold water stung her throat, but it was a relief, a comfort, in a place that offered very little of either. She drank slowly, savoring the sensation of liquid in her stomach, the feeling of sustenance. But she knew it wouldn’t last. The Games never did.

As night fell, the temperature dropped even further, and the winds picked up again, howling through the trees. Liora returned to the shelter of the cave, though she was aware that it wasn’t a permanent solution. The Games were designed to force tributes into the open, to push them out of their hiding spots and into conflict. She couldn’t afford to stay hidden forever. But for tonight, she would rest. She would have to. She found a small patch of ground within the cave and set her pack down beside her, though she kept it close, unwilling to let it out of her sight. She closed her eyes, exhaustion weighing on her like a heavy blanket. She thought of the other tributes, already 7 of them were dead and the thought of being alone, of having no one else to rely on, made her stomach twist in an unfamiliar way. It gnawed at her, but it wasn’t just physical. There was something deeper, something primal about the isolation she felt. Maeve’s face had shown in the sky last night - the poor girl hadn’t even made it past the bloodbath. Liora allowed herself to shed a single tear for Maeve, who she hadn’t even really had a chance to know.

She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she fought to stay awake. Every sound, every shifting noise outside the cave made her tense. She couldn’t let her guard down, not even for a second. Her mind flitted between memories; her brother, Orlen, and the quiet life they had shared before the Games. Her parents, the hard-working, tired figures who had always tried to protect her from the worst of the world. But those memories felt distant, distant and irrelevant now. She was alone in this arena, a lone thread in a tangled web of violence and death.

As the night grew colder, Liora’s body began to shut down, exhaustion overtaking her mind. Her eyes fluttered, and despite her best efforts to stay alert, sleep claimed her. But even in the quiet darkness, she knew that survival wasn’t just about staying awake, it was about making it through each new day, each new challenge that would come with the rising sun.

Liora’s eyes snapped open at the crack of dawn, the cold already settling deeper into her bones. The winds that had picked up during the night had not subsided, though the sky above was a pale blue, streaked with the orange glow of the rising sun. Despite the beauty of the daybreak, the feeling in the air was far from peaceful. It was charged with an unease that gnawed at Liora, sharpening the edge of her instincts, reminding her that there were dangers lurking around every corner, in every shadow. She had survived another night, but it wasn’t enough to feel safe. In this arena, survival was never guaranteed. The first day had been a chaotic, blood-soaked blur, but after the silence of day two, Liora had come to understand something crucial: the Games weren’t just a test of physical endurance, they were a test of patience, of cunning. The tributes who had survived until now weren’t just lucky, they were smart. And so, Liora’s mind remained sharp, focused entirely on survival.

On the morning of the third day, Liora had made a vow to herself: she would not take unnecessary risks. She would not act rashly. The arena was still relatively quiet, but the threat of being found, of being targeted, hung over her like a dark cloud. Despite the brutality she had witnessed in the bloodbath, the first night, and even on the second day, something told her that the real danger was just beginning.

Liora gathered her few possessions, her dagger and the pack containing the half-empty water flask, and the small, mostly-empty ration bags she had scavenged from the Cornucopia, and set out in search of food and water. She knew that the longer she stayed in one place, the more likely it was that another tribute would stumble upon her hiding spot. The chances of encountering danger increased with each step, but she had no other choice. The forest stretched out before her, its trees sparse but tall, their limbs creaking under the weight of the winter wind.

The chill in the air bit into her skin, but she pressed on. Hours ed without incident, and as the sun reached its zenith, she found herself standing at the edge of a wide clearing. In the distance, there was the faint smell of smoke, burning wood, perhaps, or a fire set by another tribute. But it was not the fire that caught her attention. It was the movement near the edge of the clearing. She froze as her eyes scanned the area. There, not far from her position, was Corwen, her district partner. He was crouched, his back against a tree, his eyes flicking around nervously as he surveyed the surroundings. Liora’s heart skipped a beat. The fact that he was alive meant something, he was not only surviving but surviving with a level of skill that might help her.

But Liora had to be careful. She could not afford to trust anyone too easily. The Games twisted people, forced them into corners where the instinct to survive could turn into betrayal. Allies were fleeting in the arena, easily cast aside when it came time for survival. But as she watched Corwen, her instincts told her that he was different. She felt the tiniest spark of hope ignite in her chest. An ally could be useful, especially when the arena was becoming deadlier with each ing hour.

Stepping lightly through the underbrush, Liora moved closer, making no noise as she approached Corwen. She wasn’t sure what to expect. He could easily turn on her, as many others had done, or he could help her. There was no way to tell. But there was one thing Liora knew: she had to try. When she was just a few feet away, Liora’s foot snapped a twig beneath her. It was small, but the sound was enough to make Corwen spin around, his hand flying to the knife at his side. His eyes widened when he saw her, but instead of lunging, he hesitated, his body relaxing slightly, though the wariness remained.

“Liora,” he said, his voice low and cautious. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not here to fight you,” Liora replied, her voice steady but soft. She let her body language convey trust, though she knew better than to show any sign of weakness. Her eyes met his, and for a long moment, neither spoke. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a recognition that, in the madness of the arena, they could help each other survive.

Corwen’s gaze softened ever so slightly, though the tension in his shoulders did not fade. “I didn’t think I’d see anyone else alive,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of disbelief.

“Same,” Liora replied. “I’ve been keeping to the edges, staying out of sight.”

Corwen nodded, then glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve been doing the same. I don’t trust anyone out here.”

Liora could hear the same wariness in his voice that she felt in herself. The Games were meant to pit people against each other, to force them into survival at any cost. But at that moment, she didn’t feel like she had to fight Corwen. At least not yet.

“We should stick together,” she suggested, her tone careful but firm. “At least until we know what’s going on. It’s too dangerous to be alone.”

Corwen considered her words for a moment before nodding. “Agreed. We’ll keep a low profile and move when we have to. But we don’t trust anyone else.”

The two District 8 tributes, once strangers united only by their district, were now allies in the game of survival. They knew the rules: trust had to be earned, and even then, it was tenuous at best. But for now, their mutual goal was the same: stay alive.

The day ed with tension threading through every exchange between them, every movement calculated and purposeful. They moved from cover to cover, avoiding the open ground, keeping to the trees where the wind shielded them from the view of the gamemakers’ watchful eyes. They found a small stream and filled their flasks before taking what little they could from their meager supplies. By the end of the third day, the bloodbath seemed like a distant memory, an image of chaos and violence that had been replaced with a stillness, a sense of foreboding. Ten tributes had died, their bodies scattered across the arena, their deaths unremarkable in the scheme of the Games. Five had died in the bloodbath, two on the first day, and three more had met their end on the third day. With each ing hour, the number of tributes dwindled, and the tension grew.

The evening brought little comfort. As the sun set, Liora and Corwen settled into a small thicket near the edge of the clearing they had found earlier. There was no fire. They could not afford to give away their position. The chill of the night air clung to their skin, but they were both too aware of the dangers surrounding them to rest easily.

The sun was a pale disk in the sky, almost swallowed by the grey haze of the cold, and the wind had picked up in strength. It whipped through the trees, forcing the leaves to flutter wildly, as though the world itself was unsettled. Liora and Corwen moved in tandem, their movements deliberate and calculated, careful to avoid any potential conflicts with the remaining tributes. Liora’s stomach had been gnawing at her for hours. The hunger was persistent and painful, an ever-present reminder that the arena didn’t care if you lived or died. She and Corwen had eaten little since the bloodbath, and though they had scavenged for supplies, there had been no substantial food to sustain them. The only thing they had left was water, and even that would not last forever.

The wind howled as they moved through the sparse forest, each step slower than the last, each breath colder. Liora had to fight to keep her thoughts focused on the task at hand: find food, stay hidden, survive. It wasn’t easy, but she had come to with the reality of the Games. In this arena, even the smallest of mistakes could mean the end. After hours of walking, they finally stumbled upon a cave tucked into the side of a hill, a narrow opening hidden by a thicket of spindly trees and underbrush. The entrance was barely visible from a distance, a dark mouth in the stone that seemed to beckon them, offering the kind of shelter they hadn’t had since the bloodbath. Without speaking, they entered the cave, the cool air a sharp contrast to the biting wind outside.

Inside the cave, Liora and Corwen set up a temporary camp. Liora took a moment to assess their surroundings, eyeing the sparse supplies they had. Her pack was nearly empty now, save for the small bag of dried rations they had managed to scrounge from the Cornucopia. There was barely enough left to satisfy a single meal, let alone the growing hunger they both felt. Corwen, scanned the cave with an air of quiet concentration.

“I’ll carve a spear,” he said, his voice steady as he pulled out the knife from his belt. “We’ll need something to hunt with if we’re going to last.”

Liora nodded, watching him work. His hands were steady as he expertly began to carve the wood from a nearby branch, stripping it down to a sharp point. The focus in his movements was irable. He was methodical, making each incision deliberate, careful to ensure that the spear would be effective. Meanwhile, Liora set to work on something she knew would be crucial to their survival: snares. She had learned how to make them during her training, and though she hadn’t had much opportunity to put her skills to the test, she was determined to try. There were no promises in the arena, but if they were to have any chance of securing food, she had to try. Her fingers were stiff from the cold, but she worked through it, twisting the thin, strong cord into loops, setting them up in the places she thought might be frequented by game.

The day dragged on, their efforts a blur of cold, calculated survival. There were no sounds of other tributes, no indication of what the others were doing. The absence of chaos was both a relief and a curse. The wind howled through the cave’s entrance, sending a shiver through Liora’s body. She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, trying to conserve body heat. As the day wore on and the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, the light in the cave grew dim. Liora’s hopes for the snares grew weaker with each ing minute. She couldn’t hear any game nearby, couldn’t smell anything beyond the cold, biting air. She felt her stomach twist in disappointment. They had managed to stay hidden, but they were also running out of time, out of resources.

The anthem played that night, its mournful tune echoing across the arena as the faces of the dead flickered across the screen. No one had died on the fourth day, the Games had grown more silent, more tense, the survivors holding their breath as they waited for the inevitable storm.

Liora had just about given up hope. She was curled against the stone wall of the cave, her eyes closed, trying to rest despite the hunger gnawing at her insides. Her thoughts were heavy, her body aching from exhaustion. And then, just as the anthem began to fade into the night, she heard it. A soft, almost imperceptible sound, the faintest snap of a branch followed by a tugging noise. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Corwen,” she whispered urgently. “The snares.”

Corwen’s eyes flicked to her, his expression momentarily ing surprise before he quickly rose, his spear in hand. They both moved toward the entrance of the cave, silent and swift, trying not to alert whatever had triggered the snare. Liora’s breath came in shallow gasps as they approached the traps she had set. When they reached the spot, there it was, a rabbit, struggling against the cord of the snare. Liora’s heart surged with relief. It was small, but it was food, real, substantial food. Without wasting a moment, she and Corwen worked together to quickly dispatch the creature, careful not to damage it beyond recognition. Liora’s hands shook as she removed the rabbit from the trap, her fingers cold but her heart warm with the rush of victory.

They returned to the cave, where Liora quickly set to work skinning the rabbit. The process was meticulous, but she was focused, determined to make the most of what they had. Corwen had already gathered some twigs and dry wood, and by the time the meat was prepared, he had a small fire crackling in the center of the cave. The warmth was welcome as Liora spit the rabbit and began roasting it over the flames. The scent of cooking meat filled the air, and for the first time in days, Liora allowed herself to relax. They ate in silence, savoring the meat. It wasn’t much, but it was a lifeline, a small victory in a world that had stripped them of everything they once knew. As the fire flickered and the cold night stretched on, Liora allowed herself to believe, just for a moment, that they might survive this. They were still alive. For now, that was enough.

The fifth day in the arena began with an unsettling calm. The cold that had gripped the previous days remained, but the winds had died down, leaving an eerie stillness that hung in the air like the calm before a storm. Liora and Corwen had woken early, as usual, both exhausted from the constant vigilance of the past few days, but they had learned to live with it. For the first few hours of the day, nothing noteworthy happened. The arena felt deceptively peaceful, as though it was simply a landscape frozen in time, waiting for something to happen. They had learned not to let their guard down, but the quiet made it difficult to stay alert. They didn’t talk much at first, each lost in their own thoughts, their minds racing with the understanding that each moment could be their last. By mid-morning, they had settled in a small clearing, its soft grass offering a brief respite from the harsh stone and frost of the previous days.

Liora let out a long breath, her chest tight as she looked around at the desolate landscape. “So, what was life like for you before all of this?” she asked quietly, trying to break the silence.

Corwen hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her, his eyes distant as though he were contemplating how to approach the question. “I... I grew up in District 8, you know that much. My family, they’re all textile workers. My father worked in one of the factories, and my mother, she worked from home, sewing garments. My sister... she wanted to the Capitol's fashion industry.” He smiled softly, but it was a sad smile, one filled with the weight of lost dreams. “I was always more focused on the practical side of things. I wanted to learn how to work with my hands—build things, fix things. But my father... he was always pushing me to go into the factories, take over his job. He never understood why I didn’t want that.”

Liora nodded, understanding. There was something in his eyes that Liora couldn’t quite place; a bitterness, perhaps, or a sense of resignation. She didn’t push him further, though. Instead, she told him a little about her own life. She spoke of her parents, and memories of her brother when they were young, conveniently leaving out the part about his stealing. The conversation moved from their families to stories about the people they had known, their memories of simpler times. Liora carefully avoided anything that could be considered rebellious, knowing how closely the Gamemakers watched for any hint of defiance. The last thing they needed was to be punished for speaking freely, but she couldn’t help herself. There was something strangely comforting about the stories, a small thread of normality in a world that was anything but normal.

Just as they were beginning to find some peace, the distant sound of a cannon interrupted their conversation. Liora’s heart skipped a beat. They both froze, staring into the distance as the booming sound echoed across the arena.

“One more down,” Corwen muttered, his voice low and heavy.

That evening, the wind began to pick up again, a low rumble vibrating through the ground beneath them. Liora glanced up at the sky, watching the clouds darken as the temperature began to drop. Something was coming. She could feel it, the way the air shifted, the way the atmosphere felt charged, as though the arena itself were alive with anticipation.

“Something’s wrong,” she murmured.

Corwen’s hand moved instinctively to his spear, and Liora’s heart began to race. The quiet that had settled over the arena earlier was now gone, replaced by an almost oppressive stillness. It felt like a trap, the calm before a much larger storm.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, the deep rumbling shaking the very earth. Liora gasped, her eyes widening as the sound of cracking snow echoed from all sides. The rumbling deepened, louder now, almost deafening. Then, the avalanche came. The air grew thick with snow, the ground shaking violently as the white torrent cascaded down from the mountains. The force of the avalanche was staggering, a wall of snow and ice descending with brutal speed. The roar of it was deafening, the wind whipping around them as they scrambled to move.

“Run!” Corwen shouted, his voice barely audible over the storm.

They didn’t hesitate. Liora’s heart pounded as she followed Corwen, both of them struggling to outrun the fast-moving snow. The snow seemed to have a life of its own, racing after them, swallowing everything in its path. It was all Liora could do to keep her footing, stumbling over branches and rocks as she sprinted through the increasingly heavy snowfall. Behind them, there was a thunderous crash as a cannon went off, followed by the sickening realization that a tribute had fallen victim to the snow. But Liora didn’t have time to think about that. She could barely hear over the sound of the storm and her own panicked breathing, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down. They were nearing the edge of a small ridge, and just as Liora thought they might make it to safety, Corwen tripped over a thick root, tumbling forward. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and Liora’s heart leapt into her throat.

“Corwen!” she shouted, but the words were lost in the storm.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even move…Liora reached out to him, her hands shaking as she tried to pull him up, but the snow was coming faster now, burying everything in its path. She couldn’t afford to stop. Not now. Not when the avalanche was still bearing down on them. She looked at Corwen one last time, a surge of panic rising in her chest, but there was nothing she could do.

The snow swallowed him whole.

For a moment, Liora stood frozen in place, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath shallow in her throat. But there was no time. She could hear the rumbling growing louder, the roar of the snow racing toward her. She had to keep moving. She had to survive. She turned and ran, not daring to look back. The snow churned beneath her feet as she pushed herself harder, faster, forcing her legs to move despite the exhaustion, despite the pain. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

Eventually, the rumbling stopped, and the snow began to slow. Liora stumbled to a stop, panting, her body aching from the effort. She stood in the darkness, alone, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Her thoughts were consumed by the loss of Corwen. He was gone. Just like that. The avalanche had taken him, swallowed him whole, and now she was alone.

Liora climbed a tree, her limbs shaking as she hoisted herself up. There was no point in trying to sleep now. The silence that followed the storm was deafening, and she could feel the weight of the night settling in around her. The anthem played, its mournful tune echoing across the arena as the faces of the dead flickered across the screen. Liora watched, numb, as the face of Corwen appeared among the others.

Only eight tributes remained. Seven stood between Liora and home.

And for the first time, Liora began to understand the full weight of what it would mean to be the last one standing.

Liora awoke stiff and sore from the long night spent perched awkwardly in the branches of a tree. The aches in her body had become a constant companion, but she couldn’t afford to dwell on them. She had to keep moving, had to keep surviving. With the snow now settled, Liora’s first priority was to find food and water. The woods around her, however, were eerily silent. Not even the wind moved through the trees; it was as though the arena had been frozen in time, holding its breath. Liora moved cautiously through the undergrowth, her eyes scanning the landscape, searching for any sign of life. But there was nothing. No birds, no small animals scurrying in the underbrush, not even the distant tracks of larger creatures. The silence was absolute.

It didn’t take long for Liora to realize what had happened. The avalanche had not only wiped out Corwen, but it seemed to have destroyed the wildlife in the arena as well. The animals that had once been a fleeting source of food were gone, vanished as if they had never existed. She had grown accustomed to the scarcity of food, but the complete absence of it now seemed almost surreal. Where the forests had once been teeming with life, there was now only stillness.

Liora continued to move through the woods, her feet crunching softly on the snow-covered ground. She was beginning to feel the desperation creeping in, the gnawing hunger that had been manageable before now becoming unbearable.

Then, as she trudged through the snow, she spotted something that made her stop in her tracks. It was a small brook, a thin stream of water flowing peacefully through the trees. The water was clear and free of ice, and its gentle gurgling was the only sound that broke the silence of the woods. Liora felt a surge of hope rush through her. Water. She had almost forgotten how much she needed it, how desperately she had longed for a drink since the avalanche had taken her waterskin.

Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees beside the brook and cupped her hands to gather the water, bringing it to her lips greedily. The cool, clear liquid was a blessing, a relief that soothed her parched throat. She drank deeply, not caring that she was getting her hands wet, not thinking about the consequences of drinking from an unknown source in the middle of the arena.

After several minutes, Liora finally pulled away from the brook, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She felt a momentary relief, but the gnawing hunger was still there, a constant reminder of how fragile her survival truly was. She glanced around, looking for anything that might offer more sustenance. But the woods were still silent, the trees offering no clues. The only sound was the steady gurgling of the water, a reminder of the life that had once been here, before the avalanche had come.

Liora sat back on her heels, feeling a wave of exhaustion crash over her. She had thought she was used to the hunger, but it was different now. The hunger was a weight, pressing down on her chest, making every breath feel harder, every step more difficult. The days were beginning to blur together, one endless stretch of cold and silence. Her mind wandered to Corwen again, and she felt a pang of grief. He was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. In a way, his death had forced her to face the reality of the Games in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. It was easy to fight for survival when there was another person beside you, someone to help share the burden. But now, Liora was alone. There was no one else to rely on, no one to offer comfort or companionship.

Liora stood up slowly, wiping her hands on the snow, trying to shake the sadness from her mind. She couldn’t afford to dwell on it. There was no time for grief in the arena. Not when the hunger was still there, not when the danger of the other tributes loomed over her every step. She had to keep moving.

With the brook still behind her, Liora turned and began to make her way through the woods again, her steps slow but deliberate. The silence of the arena was starting to get to her, the stillness pressing in from all sides. She had to find shelter for the night, had to find something to keep her safe from the cold that was beginning to bite at her skin. As she walked, the weight of her isolation settled heavily on her shoulders. She couldn’t help but feel the crushing loneliness that came with being the last tribute from her district. The Games had always been about survival, but now, they felt like a grim reminder of just how small and fragile life was. The arena wasn’t a place of hope or possibility; it was a place of destruction and despair.

By the time night fell, the temperature had dropped even further, and Liora found herself shivering as she searched for shelter. She had no choice but to keep moving, her mind focused on the task at hand. She couldn’t afford to stop now, not when there were only eight tributes left. Seven stood between her and home.

As she huddled under a thick clump of trees, trying to protect herself from the biting wind, Liora found herself thinking about the Games again. She had come so far, and yet, there was still so much left to endure. The silence of the night pressed in around her, and the only thing that kept her going was the thought of what lay ahead, the hope, however faint, that soon she would leave this place.

The seventh day in the arena ed in an eerie stillness, much like the previous days. Liora awoke with the first light, her body aching and stiff from the cold of the night. The days had begun to blur into each other, each one feeling like the last, and yet, each one pulling her further away from the girl she had been. The girl who had entered the Games with an innocent hope that, despite everything, she could make it out alive.

She had spent the early part of the morning moving through the dense trees, carefully making her way across the uneven terrain in search of any sign of life. She had found nothing, not even a footprint, nor the faintest rustling of a squirrel or bird. It seemed the avalanche from the previous day had killed more than just the animals, it had wiped out any sense of normalcy in the arena. It felt as if the forest itself had gone silent in mourning, the world holding its breath.

Liora’s stomach growled relentlessly, the hunger gnawing at her insides, but there was little she could do. She had long since run out of food from her supplies. She had searched for more, but there was nothing left. She had even been forced to abandon the small trap she had set the day before when the ground became too frozen to dig into. Desperation was creeping in, but there was nothing she could do but keep moving forward. There was no time to sit and sulk, not when there were only eight tributes left, and each of them was a potential threat.

The day ed slowly, with Liora hardly encountering anything worth mentioning. There were no other tributes in sight, no signs of conflict or danger. For once, it felt as though the arena had paused, like it was giving her a brief reprieve. But Liora knew better than to take that as a sign of safety. The Games were always changing, always shifting. The moment you felt safe was the moment you should be the most afraid.

The silence of the day was broken by three sharp cannon shots echoing across the arena. Liora froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She had heard those sounds before, each one a reminder that another life had been claimed, another tribute lost. But today, she felt a strange chill crawl over her skin, an unsettling sensation that lingered long after the echoes had faded.

Three tributes had died. Liora didn’t know who, or where they had fallen, but the feeling in her gut told her it wasn’t a coincidence. Unbeknown to her, Titus, the district 6 tribute who had been big enough and scary enough during training to have ed the career alliance, has brutally killed three of his allies. He had torn their hearts out and eaten them, a grotesque act. No one knew didn’t know what had driven him to this madness, possibly starvation or stress, but even those in the capitol were revolted by the boy's actions.

Liora, thankfully, was oblivious and mostly safe On the other side of the arena. It was not until night fell and the anthem started to play that Liora found out who had died that day. She watched as the faces of the three tributes who had died that day flashed across the sky. Three careers. The tributes Liora knew to fear the most, and yet three of them were wiped out in just one day? At least, she supposed, if the previous games she'd watched were anything to go off, the career alliance turning on each other, as she assumed had happened, meant the games would soon be drawing to a close. The image of their faces stayed with her as the anthem continued to play, and the arena fell into a heavy silence once again. She counted off the remaining tributes on her fingers; Titus from district six, both of the tributes from District four, and one of the tributes from District three.

By the time the night settled in, Liora found herself in a familiar, empty stretch of woods. She had spent the day navigating through the trees and over rocky terrain, but there had been no sign of other tributes, no pursuit or attacks. She was alone. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to wonder if it would stay that way. If the others were as exhausted and wary as she was, maybe they would leave her alone for a little while longer. But the Games didn’t work that way. Liora knew better than to believe that silence meant safety. She climbed into the nearest tree, securing herself in the crook of its branches, hugging the trunk for warmth and comfort. Her body ached with exhaustion, and the night brought with it the same bone-chilling cold. Hunger gnawed at her, but there was little she could do about it.

The darkness felt endless as the sky slowly turned from deep purple to black. The stars, usually so beautiful in the peacefulness of the night, now seemed distant and uncaring, shining down on her like cruel reminders of how far she had fallen from everything she once knew. The Games had transformed her into someone she hardly recognized. She no longer ed what it felt like to sleep peacefully, to sit around a dinner table, to laugh with her family. All she had now was the cold, the silence, and the looming presence of the other tributes.

As Liora lay curled against the tree, her thoughts wandered to the faces of the fallen tributes from the anthem. She thought of Titus, the monster who had killed his allies, and shivered at the thought of what he might do next. The game was changing, and Liora knew she had to be ready. There was no more room for mistakes, no more chances to hide. The stakes had been raised, and the only way out now was to fight.

The eighth day dawned like so many others in the arena: chill, still, and devoid of hope. Liora awoke to the familiar discomfort of being alone in the wilderness, her muscles stiff from a restless night in the tree. The cold had seeped into her bones, and the hunger gnawed at her insides. She had barely slept, plagued by the constant hum of her own anxious thoughts, the weight of her circumstances pressing down on her chest like a suffocating blanket. But this was the Games. Rest was a luxury few could afford.

The first few hours of the day were quiet. Liora did not immediately sense anything out of the ordinary. There were no cannons, no sounds of distant fights, just the normal, foreboding silence that blanketed the arena. She moved cautiously through the trees, trying to avoid making any unnecessary noise, knowing full well that any slip-up could mean the end. She hadn’t seen another tribute in what felt like days, but she knew the remaining tributes were still out there, lurking like predators in the woods.

By midday, the sun was high in the sky, but the air remained bitterly cold. The land around her was still eerily quiet, almost as if the world itself were holding its breath. Liora had just found a small patch of vegetation, the only sign of life she had seen in what felt like an eternity, when the ground beneath her feet suddenly rumbled.

At first, she thought it was just the shift of the earth, an aftershock from the previous day’s avalanche. But then it came again, louder this time, deeper. A violent tremor rippled through the earth, a low, menacing growl from the depths of the arena. Liora’s heart raced, and she instinctively knew what was happening. Another avalanche was coming.

Her first reaction was to flee. Without hesitation, she darted toward the nearest tree, her mind screaming to get as far away from the falling snow as possible. She didn’t have time to think, to question why the avalanche was happening, only to run. The snow began to fall in thick, fast-moving sheets, cutting off her vision as the earth itself seemed to shake beneath her. Liora’s feet pounded against the frozen ground, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts. The snow was closing in, rushing down the mountainside like a wave. She could hear the roaring of the avalanche, the deafening crash of snow crashing over rocks and trees, and she knew she had to keep moving, keep running, or she would be buried alive.

In the chaos, Liora didn’t realize she had twisted her ankle until she felt the sharp pain shoot up her leg. She stumbled, losing her balance, and crashed into a tree. The force of the impact jarred her, but she didn’t have time to recover. The snow was already too close. She pushed herself up, gritting her teeth against the pain, and kept running, limping on one foot. The avalanche was still coming, relentless in its pursuit.

The ground beneath her was slick, and she felt the snow pull at her feet as she struggled to stay upright. She was losing precious time. But then, just as she thought the snow would overtake her, the rumbling stopped. The avalanche came to a sudden halt, leaving behind a heavy silence in its wake.

Liora collapsed against the nearest tree, gasping for breath, her heart still racing from the close call. The pain in her ankle flared, but she ignored it, pushing the injury to the back of her mind. The snow had stopped, but the damage had already been done. The avalanche had taken two lives.

The anthem began echoing across the arena soon after, revealing the deaths of the day. One for Titus and one for the District 4 female tribute, both of whom had been caught in the avalanche. Liora could only imagine the chaos that had ensued for them. Liora’s heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach twisted. She hadn’t killed anyone yet but she couldn’t deny the truth. Only two tributes remained now: Liora herself and the District 4 male tribute, a fisherman by the name of Cael. She had seen him at the Cornucopia, and though they hadn’t interacted during their time at the Capitol, she knew enough to recognize him as a pretty big threat. He was capable, cunning, and had the advantage of being from one of the career districts. But now, there were no alliances, no partners to rely on. It was just the two of them.

When the anthem ended and the arena fell silent once more, Liora knew that tomorrow would be the final day. Whether she lived or died, the Games would end. Only one victor could emerge, and she had no illusions about her chances. She wasn’t stupid. She had made it this far by keeping a low profile, by surviving and avoiding the fights. But now, with only one opponent left, there would be no escaping the inevitable. The night descended quickly, and Liora limped to the nearest tree, climbing high enough to stay out of sight. Her ankle was swollen, and every movement sent a sharp sting through her leg, but there was no time to waste. Tomorrow would be her last chance.

Alone in the dark, Liora closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath. She couldn’t afford to think about the outcome. She had to focus. She had to be ready. And when the sun rose, she would face her final challenge head-on.

Tomorrow, the arena would crown its victor.

The final day in the arena dawned cold and unforgiving. The sun was just rising, casting pale light across the forest, its early rays barely managing to penetrate the canopy of trees that loomed over the arena. Liora had spent hours already moving through the woods, the pain in her swollen ankle growing more unbearable with each step, but she pushed it aside. She had only one goal: find Cael. The end was drawing near, and if she didn’t find him, the Capitol would make sure they were forced together. She couldn’t let that happen. She had no choice but to track him down before it was too late.

Her every movement was calculated, but her frustration was mounting. She knew he couldn’t hide forever, but even with her injuries, she was determined to end this on her own , not leave the Capitol to manipulate the game any more than they already had. Hours ed with no sign of him. Liora found herself growing more desperate as the shadows lengthened. Her only weapon was a small dagger, but Cael was sure to have better weapons, and the knowledge of how to wield them. If she didn’t find him soon, there would be no room for evasion. She would have to fight.

The silence of the woods made everything seem more menacing. Her breath came in short bursts, and the only sounds she could hear were the steady thrum of her own heartbeat and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot. The world felt too still, as if it were waiting for something. Her unease grew as the sky deepened toward dusk.

Then, it came. A low, rumbling growl echoed through the trees, sending a jolt of terror through her. Mutts. She didn’t have time to brace herself before the first signs of them appeared. Her stomach tightened, and her mind went blank for a moment. These were no ordinary creatures, they were grotesque, their bodies a twisted blend of beasts and something far worse. Their fur was matted, dark, and coarse, their mouths dripping with saliva, and their bodies were unnaturally large, almost grotesquely so, with teeth that could tear flesh in seconds. Their eyes glowed with an eerie, sickly yellow light, and as they loped toward her, Liora felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The noise they made, grating and primal, was the last sound she wanted to hear in her final moments.

Liora’s instincts kicked in, and without thinking, she started to run. She didn’t look back; she couldn’t afford to. Her legs were screaming in protest, the pain in her ankle flaring with every step, but she didn’t stop. The mutts were gaining on her, their vicious growls echoing through the trees. She was breathing hard, her chest tight with terror, but she kept pushing, knowing there was only one place she could run: the Cornucopia.

The clearing loomed closer, but the mutts were closing in on her, faster than she had anticipated. Liora heard their growls, felt the rush of wind as one of them came too close for comfort, its hot breath nearly on her heels. She had to make it.

Then, just ahead, she saw Cael. He was running too, just as desperately as she was, but his pace was slower, his movements more staggered. His face was twisted in a mask of fear, and Liora’s heart skipped when she realized he had seen her. He was running toward her, just as she had been running toward him.

It felt like time slowed. She wanted to call out to him, but the mutts were too close now. There was no time for words.

And then, the mutts, once so close, suddenly halted. Liora’s breath caught in her throat as they stopped, their eyes narrowing, watching her and Cael with malevolent curiosity. The growls ceased, and the creatures stood still, their twisted forms barely moving. They weren’t attacking anymore. They had done their job.

Liora’s mind raced. The realization hit her with a sickening clarity: the mutts weren’t after her anymore. They weren’t interested in killing her. The Capitol had orchestrated this. They had used the mutts to herd her and Cael into the clearing, where they could face each other. The mutts had completed their task. They had led them to this point.

As Liora and Cael stood at opposite ends of the clearing, the world around them seemed to vanish. Everything els, tthe mutts, the arena, the Capitol, faded into the background. There was only one thing left: the fight.

She glanced around, the mutts still motionless behind her, as if waiting for something to happen. She couldn’t help but wonder if they had been waiting for her to make the first move.

And then, without another word, they both sprang into action.

Cael was fast, his sword swinging with deadly precision. He lunged at her, but Liora sidestepped, her ankle throbbing with pain as she moved. The fight began slowly, their eyes locked, sizing each other up. Each of them knew that this would be no easy battle. Both were injured, both had seen too much death.

Cael moved quickly again, his sword slashing through the air. Liora barely managed to block the attack with her dagger, the steel scraping against her blade, sending a shock of pain up her arm. She gritted her teeth, trying to maintain her balance. Her ankle, swollen and stiff, gave out for a split second, causing her to stumble. Cael saw the opening, and with a swift movement, his sword came down at her, grazing her shoulder.

Pain shot through her as she staggered back, but she wasn’t finished. She retaliated, stabbing her dagger toward his chest, but Cael parried with his sword, forcing her back once more. The momentum of their fight was relentless, their movements a blur of strikes, dodges, and near-misses. Liora was struggling, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and her vision was beginning to blur. She couldn’t let him overpower her. She couldn’t let him win.

The fight dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Both tributes were bleeding, their movements slowing, but neither one was willing to give up. Cael’s hand was slick with blood from his injuries, and Liora’s side was beginning to burn with the weight of her wounds. Her ankle was swollen to the point where every step felt like a new wave of agony.

But Liora couldn’t stop. She couldn’t give in.

The final blow came in a moment of clarity, when Cael’s sword slipped from his grasp. It was a mistake, one that left him vulnerable. It was then that she knew. She had to finish this. Without hesitation, she plunged the dagger into his side. Cael gasped, his breath caught in his throat, and he collapsed to the ground, his eyes wide with disbelief. The fight was over.

Liora stood over him, trembling, her breath ragged, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. The Capitol had won. She had won.

As the first rays of dawn crept over the arena, Liora collapsed to her knees. She was victorious, but the cost was heavier than any victory she had ever known.