Chapter Text
By the time she was seventeen, Korra had already seen enough people die that she’d stopped believing in any kind of a change for the better.
Even in District 4, one of the wealthier ones – if her teachers were to be believed – it happened all the time. People drowning at sea. Killed by Peacekeepers. Starving when they were too old or sick to work. Dying of illnesses that couldn’t be treated without tech from the Capitol.
And then in the Hunger Games.
As a little girl, she’d hidden her face in her mother’s shoulder when the Games were on. As she grew older, she would watch, sick with horror, because she had to, and because she had some desire to bear witness, somehow, to these people’s lives and deaths. And maybe because she had some kind of hope, somewhere, that there was a way for them to defy the Capitol, that the tributes, as the only district people who really got up close to the people in power, could do something, anything to change things.
But when her father, Tonraq, grew too ill to work, Korra stopped hoping.
Because she knew what happened next.
Her mother, Senna, tried her hardest, but they were from the poorest part of 4, and things kept getting more difficult there, every day.
Korra had never seen the Games as a chance for glory, fame, prowess, like some in 4 did. But they could be an opportunity. If someone from 4 won, which wasn’t too rare, then the whole district would be fed. At least for some time.
Of course, it was still better for a victor. They would have a house in the prosperous Victor’s Village. A ‘life of ease’.
But to become a victor, the things you would have to do... Korra would rather starve with her parents than enter the Hunger Games.
But of course, you didn’t always get a choice.
So, like many of the other young people from 4, she trained. Technically illegal, but people did it all the time, especially in 4, 1, and 2.
Korra was strong, she was good with a trident, she was an excellent swimmer, and honestly, she would have enjoyed training if it hadn’t been for such a terrible eventuality.
Some of her companions actually wanted to enter the Games. They volunteered. Korra had known three people who’d done that. None had come back.
It was a good thing Korra trained, because she had to put her name down for tesserae after her father got sick. Which meant that this year, in addition to the compulsory six entries that a seventeen-year-old must have in the reaping, she had six more for tesserae – one for each member of her family for the last two years.
Twelve times wasn’t too bad. Well, it could be worse. One of Korra’s best friends (and ex-boyfriend), Mako, had his name in there no less than twenty times. He and his brother, Bolin, were orphans, and had had to have tesserae every year. Mako refused to let Bolin take any, which made sense. He had always been very protective of his younger brother.
But many in 4 had only as many entries as was compulsory, which meant the odds were not in Korra’s favour.
Still, though. There were a lot of people in District 4. There was no reason for it to be her.
Reaping Day. It left a cold sensation in Korra’s stomach, and she couldn’t slow her heart down. It thumped against her chest almost painfully. She tried to force herself to breathe deeply and not throw up.
Her mother finished fixing her hair up and stood back.
“There we go. You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Korra croaked. She coughed, trying to clear the bile that was rising in the back of her throat. Senna hugged her tightly. Korra wanted someone to tell her that it was okay, it was going to be all right. But, of course, it wouldn’t be. Whether she was chosen or not, life wasn’t going to be all right. Ever.
Her father shuffled out from the other room, his face drawn. Korra hugged him, and he patted her back gently for a moment.
“We should go,” Senna said anxiously.
Korra breathed in, forcing the fear not to overpower her. The best she could do was force it back a little. It wasn’t going away.
She opened the door.
In the square, the twelve to eighteen-year-olds had to stand in roped off areas. In Korra’s segment, there was no-one she knew. She looked to one side. Mako stood in the area in front of her. He caught her eye and tried to smile, but his mouth twisted. Korra raised her hand slightly in greeting. She wasn’t sure she had full control of her limbs right now. Her arms felt like lead weights.
Three days more, and she’d be in the pen in front of her, with one more name in the reaping ball. Her birthday falling around Reaping Day meant... well, nothing, really. She supposed it was convenient that she was older than almost anyone in her age segment, but age didn’t exactly mean much in the Games, except where there was enough disparity to give you an edge in strength. And the fact that it was so much more horrifying when a twelve- or thirteen-year-old was chosen.
On stage, the mayor was reading the obligatory history that preceded every reaping. A reminder of why this happened, and of what must never happen again. Korra bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. This was unbearable. The suspense. The waiting.
The Capitol escort, Ginger, a young woman with dark red hair, sat on the stage beside him. Behind them was a line of people. District 4’s former victors. The mayor read off their names and then introduced Ginger, who stepped forward.
“Happy Hunger Games!” she said with a little laugh. “And may the odds be ever in your favour!” She crossed lightly to the glass ball with the girls’ names in it. “So, ladies first.”
She was pulling the slip out. Korra could hardly register what was happening over the pounding of her heart.
The woman said something. Korra didn’t hear. Her breathing was too loud, blood thumping in her ears. It was not until her mother looked at her in horror that she was able to sort out the words that had been spoken.
Korra Ocean.
No. It didn’t make any sense. Why her?
“Korra,” the girl next to her whispered. “You need to go up there.”
Korra wasn’t sure her legs could hold her up. But if she was doing this, if she had to do this, she had to look strong. You didn’t get sponsors if you couldn’t look strong.
“Korra?” Ginger asked again.
Korra walked forward, focusing on keeping herself from falling. She climbed onto the stage and stood to one side, forcing her tears not to fall. Ginger asked for a round of applause. Korra heard the clapping as if through a tunnel.
“Any volunteers?” Ginger asked.
And Korra couldn’t help but pray that there would be, even though she knew she was praying for someone else’s death.
But no-one stepped forward. Korra knotted her hands together tightly and breathed deeply.
Okay. If she had to do this, she would be strong. They would not see her cower. She was strong. She could use weapons. She could fight. And if she won, life would be better for her family, for her friends.
“Time to choose our boy tribute!” Ginger said excitedly. Korra crossed her fingers tightly, praying it wouldn’t be Mako, wouldn’t be Bolin. Ginger pulled the slip from the box.
“Tahno...”
Korra didn’t hear his surname over the shout that rang out. It sounded celebratory. Maybe he was a true Career tribute, one who’d not just trained but who genuinely wanted the ‘glory’ of winning the Games.
Her first look at him confirmed that she’d been right. She’d seen him around once or twice. He was dressed in fancier clothing than one normally saw here, with carefully styled dark hair and very pale skin. He strutted up to the stage arrogantly, striking a pose. Glancing sideways, he looked at her as though she smelled bad. Korra glared at him.
Traditionally, tributes from the stronger districts – including 4 – would ally in the Games to take out their weaker opponents, before turning on one another. But if all the other Careers were like this boy, they probably wouldn’t want Korra, and she sure didn’t want them.
The mayor began to read the Treaty of Treason after the applause for Tahno ended. Then they were taken off the stage, into the Justice Building.
Korra steeled herself. This was when the goodbyes would happen.
She was taken to a large, luxurious room, fancier than anything she’d seen before. She fisted her hands at her sides, digging her nails in, trying to breathe normally. She couldn’t cry. If she could be seen to be crying when she reached the station, which always had cameras, then she’d be seen as weak. An easy target.
Mako and Bolin were the first, which surprised Korra, who’d been expecting her parents. But maybe they wanted to be last, to say goodbye at the latest possible moment.
Seeing her friends was almost enough to break her. Bolin clung to her, sobbing hysterically, whilst Mako told him to stop, that this wouldn’t help her.
Eventually he was able to contain his tears enough that they could speak to each other.
“Korra, remember everything you’ve learnt,” Mako said earnestly, staring at her. “Fight like hell in there.”
She managed a smile which didn’t reach her eyes. “I will.”
“We love you,” Bolin sobbed into her shoulder.
“I love you too,” Korra said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“I’m sorry if things have been awkward between us,” Mako said in a rush, clearly forcing himself not to cry too. “But I’m always going to love you and care about you and... I believe you can come home, Korra.”
“Come home a killer,” said Korra flatly. There was no running away from that.
“Come home a survivor,” Mako responded, but he sounded like he understood, so Korra didn’t yell, even though part of her wanted to.
She hugged them both goodbye tightly. For the last time. If she was being realistic. The last time.
The next person to come in was Katara. She’d lived near to Korra’s family for decades. She was a talented healer, and Korra had gone to her more than once over the years. She was in and out a lot these days, trying to help Tonraq.
As soon as Korra saw her she got up and went straight into Katara’s arms. This woman was like the grandmother she’d never had. Korra had always felt safe with her. But she couldn’t protect her from this.
“I don’t know how to get through this,” Korra admitted when she sat down. “If I survive... it will mean killing people. Kids. How am I supposed to do that, Katara?”
“I don’t know,” said the wise woman gently, laying a hand on Korra’s arm.
Korra forced herself not to cry. There was nothing more to be said.
When the wise woman got up to leave, Korra stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Katara, thank you for everything.”
“Thank you as well, my child. And Korra... don’t lose yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll... they’ll make you do terrible things in there. Don’t let those things become who you are.”
“I’ll try.” It was all she could say.
Then her parents were there, and Korra really was going to sob. She choked it back, trying to smile.
“You have to fight, sweetheart,” her father said hoarsely.
He was telling her to kill. And she would, of course she would, because when it came down to it, they all did. It was kill or be killed.
“Promise you won’t give up, Korra. Promise you’ll try to come home,” Senna said tearfully.
“Mother, Father... I’m going to come back to you,” Korra said fiercely. And she meant it. The knowledge of what she’d have to do pierced her heart like a knife, but if she could only come back... her father could be cured. They could live comfortably. Katara, Mako and Bolin, their other friends in the district, they would all have more food for a year. And Korra could keep providing for them after that, making sure Bolin would never have to take tesserae, that Katara could have some proper medical supplies. “I promise.”
They all three held onto each other tightly.
“I love you,” Korra said, her throat tight with emotion.
“We love you so much,” Senna replied, Tonraq echoing her.
They clung to each other until they had to leave, the Peacekeepers taking her parents away.
Then Korra was taken to a car, and driven to the train station, ready to embark on the worst experience of her life.
“Our District 3 female tribute is... Asami Sato.”
Wait, what?
Asami had been scared, of course she had, but she hadn’t exactly thought her name likely to be chosen. Her father was the wealthiest man in their district, and Asami had never taken tesserae, so she only had the seven entries mandatory for an eighteen-year-old.
And yet here she was, the cameras finding her face, her father staring at her in horror.
Asami tried not to show emotion. She was a master at it normally, but right now it was almost too difficult. At least she could keep the tears from falling.
She walked slowly towards the stage, trying not to trip in her heels.
The thought came very clearly, suddenly, as they chose the male tribute, a tall, muscular young man named Iroh. I’m going to die.