Hazel's heart thundered in her chest as the Peacekeeper's commanding voice pierced her bloodstream. "All citizens are required to be off the streets. Orders from the Capitol. What are you doing out? It's past curfew," he demanded.

  The man was more imposing in the golden light of the setting sun, his fingers tapping against the weapon at his belt.

  Hazel managed a faint, nervous grimace, glancing down at her wrist, "Just running a bit late, officer. Watch must be slow."

  She gestured towards her home, the porch light painfully close. "House is right there. Just lost track of time; you know how it is."

  The Peacekeeper's attention didn't waver in the slightest. His posture remained rigid. "There are no exceptions to the rules."

  Her heart battered her ribcage, each beat hammering in her ears.

  Hazel smiled weakly, "I guess my time management could use some work, huh?"

  A slight stiff tilt of his head was the only sign he had even heard her.

  "Let me see your identification."

  She hastened to comply, her fingers trembling as they rummaged through her pockets. Extracting her identification card, she extended it towards him.

  "My name is Hazel Marlowe. I swear I live right there, sir."

  The Peacekeeper accepted the card, examining it with excruciating scrutiny.

  The growing chill of approaching nightfall seeped deeper into her bones.

  His eyes lifted from the card to meet Hazel's. "Well, Miss Marlowe, it is past curfew, and the Capitol was clear. It is non-negotiable, even for Oren Starling's daughter."

  Hazel's heart sank at his words, simmering dread settling over her.

  The Peacekeeper reached up to his shoulder without breaking eye contact, barking into his radio. Hazel's ears picked up the static crackle as he requested backup.

  Over the officer's shoulder, two more Peacekeepers closed in.

  "Sir, I apologize. I'm not trying to break the rules. My home is just right there." Hazel pleaded.

  As the two additional Peacekeepers joined them, Hazel's heart sank as she noticed one loosening a pair of handcuffs from his belt. Panic-laden goosebumps prickled over her exposed skin.

  This can't be happening.

  The sound of her home's front door swinging open and slamming shut snapped their attention away.

  Oren strode toward them with his characteristic smooth, unhurried gait. Her mother, Fern, huddled on the porch, chewing her nails.

  "Good evening, officers," Oren greeted. His tone was calm and completely controlled. "I see our Hazel has caused a bit of a stir."

  The lead Peacekeeper seemed to soften slightly under Oren's charismatic approach. "Mr. Starling," he acknowledged, a hint of respect in his tone. "Curfew is curfew."

  "You know how young people are with time. And our Hazel struggles more than most." Oren chuckled lightly, clamping a firm hand on her shoulder. "Isn't that right?"

  "Uh yeah," she squeaked in agreement.

  Oren squeezed her shoulder in response. "I understand she is cutting it awfully close. But as I see it, she still has two minutes to spare before the curfew officially begins. "

  Hazel risked a glance at her watch.

  6:58 PM.

  Two minutes left, indeed.

  She noticed the Peacekeeper covertly glancing at his timepiece.

  The tension in the air eased marginally as a few neighbors peeked through their curtains.

  "So it seems." The lead Peacekeeper returned Hazel's identification, his scrutiny pausing on Oren. "Make sure it doesn't happen again. We'll be keeping a closer eye on this area. There have been... concerns."

  Oren's expression remained amicable, but his eyes were sharp. "We appreciate your diligence. We'll make sure Hazel here gets a better watch for her next birthday."

  With a final nod, the Peacekeepers retreated.

  Hazel exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as Oren guided her toward the house. "What did I tell you about keeping your head down?"

  "Sorry, I was almost home. It's absurd to get stopped within sight of my porch, isn't it?" Her voice was a hushed murmur, acutely aware of the peacekeepers' proximity.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "Funny, huh? Almost like they were waiting for an excuse." Oren's statement caught her off guard.

  Hazel looked up at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. His expression was contemplative for a moment as he met her gaze squarely. Before she could ponder further, they reached Fern.

  She let out a relieved sigh, cinching her daughter in a tight hug. Despite her relief, irritation colored her tone. "You're going to be the death of me, I swear."

  Hazel wrapped her arms around her mother, "Sorry, Mom." She could discern Fern's fading worry in her embrace. She detested that she was the cause. "Lost track of time," Hazel explained, though it sounded feeble even to her.

  Inside, her siblings were clustered near the front windows, their attention previously captured by the television's pre-announcement live-action drama unfolding in the front yard.

  Silus's expression was a mix of concern and relief, though his eyes screamed, I warned you.

  Hazel met his glare briefly before shifting her gaze away. A later conversation was all but inevitable. For the moment, she preferred to avoid his lecture.

  Mustering a smile, albeit a strained one, she mumbled, "Sorry, everyone."

  Fern's expression melted at the edges as she donned a pair of mismatched oven mitts. "You missed dinner, but you're just in time for dessert."

  Reaching into the oven, she extricated a broiling pie.

  Fern beamed with excitement over her creation, and Hazel found herself indulging as well. She couldn't resist the simple joy her mother found in sharing her homemade pie, even if she might never eat apples again after the dust settled from this apple apocalypse.

  "It looks great, Mom."

  Accepting a warm, fragrant slice, Hazel moved to join the rest of her family in the living room, the scent of spices wafting from the plate in her hands.

  The family gathered before the television to tune in for their night's required viewing. Each held a plate with a slice of apple pie.

  The twins, Lily and Linden, sat cross-legged on the rug, their attention divided between their notebooks and the TV screen. Rowan, positioned in a sturdy wooden rocking chair, listlessly pushed his pie around with a fork.

  Choosing a spot on the family's oversized, worn, burnt orange couch, Hazel settled next to Sage, the youngest of the siblings.

  His chestnut eyes sparkled as he looked up at her, his youthful face framed by tight curls. They had always had a uniquely close bond as the oldest and youngest siblings.

  Hazel bent toward him, wrapping him in a one-armed embrace, still balancing the pie in the other. "How are you, bug?"

  Sage responded with an enthusiastic hug, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist. Hazel hoped he would continue to accept her hugs for a few more years before he outgrew such displays of sibling affection.

  Without any further prompting, he launched into a detailed recount of his day, his words tumbling out in a rush of enthusiasm. He described everything from his morning routine to the new topic they covered in history class.

  His eyes lit up as he discussed his current favorite dog breed, an ever-changing preference. Sage's voice took on an extra note of pride as he recounted how he'd helped their mom bake the pie after school. Chewing quietly, she did her best to absorb as much information as she could.

  However, his story was abruptly disrupted by a sharp static buzz from their television. Its screen burst to life, illuminating the entire room in artificial light. The Capitol's anthem swelled in a bold, imposing melody that demanded immediate silence.

  Gem of Panem,

  Mighty city,

  Through the ages, you shine anew.

  Onscreen was displayed the emblem of Panem: a solid crimson backdrop with a stylized gold eagle at its center.

  We humbly kneel

  To your ideal,

  And pledge our love to you!

  Encircling the eagle were thirteen 4-pointed stars, each representing the remaining twelve districts and the Capitol itself.

  Gem of Panem,

  Heart of Justice,

  Wisdom crowns your marble brow.

  A sweeping camera revealed the grand expanse of the Hunger Games arena. It had been reduced to a coliseum of faded glory.

  You give us light.

  Your reunite.

  To you, we make our vow.

  Weathered maroon banners, the gold eagle at their center now frayed at the edges, waved lethargically in the stagnant air. Their once vibrant hues were dimmed by the sun and stained with dust.

  Gem of Panem,

  Seat of power,

  Strength in peacetime, shield in strife.

  Jagged grooves and scratches littered the walls and cement barriers where weapons had struck in bygone games.

  Protect our land

  With armored hand,

  Our Capitol, our life!

  As the anthem faded, the screen filled with the haunting figure of Coriolanus Snow. He stood at the heart of the decrepit arena, clad in a long maroon suit, a snow-white rose pinned to his lapel. Black leather gloves covered his folded hands, and his pale gold hair was coifed neatly back. His blue eyes, nearly translucent, scoured the ruins.

  "Ladies and gentlemen of Panem," Snow began. "For fourteen years, we have gathered in unity to honor the resilience and sacrifices that uphold our nation. The Hunger Games have been a beacon of stability, a reminder of the rebellion's cost."

  He strode through the crumbling battleground. "But the Games," he intoned, "are more than history. They are a reflection of the present, a truth we must not forget—civilization is but a thin veneer. In upheaval, even the virtuous reveal their brutality."

  He halted for a fraction of a moment, allowing the weight of his words to penetrate. "Each year, we witness the courage of the tributes. We see the strength that runs through the veins of Panem."

  The camera followed as he approached the morbid gates, the last threshold between past carnage and the modern world beyond.

  "We see not enemies, but the faces of our collective soul, striving, reaching for a future where such sacrifices are no longer needed."

  His polished black dress shoes tapped a haunting rhythm as he advanced toward the vacant street. Seeing the Capitol so empty was peculiar, unnatural.

  "But until that day comes, we remember. We learn. And we grow ...together."

  Snow paused, stretching his arms wide as if to embrace the captive audience.

  "Today, we stand on the precipice of a new era."

  He gave a minute nod, and the air constricted.

  Then, there was the first spark. A detonation. A blinding flare that signaled the beginning of the end.

  With a suddenness that clawed at the chest, the arena erupted in a series of deafening blasts. The once-imposing walls, steeped in history and horror, shuddered. Bricks shattered. Concrete buckled.

  Flames hungrily licked the arena's base, engulfing the structure. The very foundation of the arena seemed to scream in its final moments before it collapsed into dust.

  Fern's hand was clamped over her mouth. Oren's jaw was set in a grim line. The three youngest were wide-eyed while Silus's worried gaze met hers.

  The screen captured the last vestiges of the arena as the earth swallowed it, the air filled with the hiss and crackle of burning history.

  "The 15th Hunger Games will mark the inception of an arena unlike any before." Plumes billowed into the sky as Snow stood motionless, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "Welcome, everyone, to the dawn of a new era."