I’m going to be writing a piece of fan fiction which was inspired another popular fan fiction: League of Hunger. I too loved the Hunger Games and want to pay tribute to books and fan fiction with my own version of them. For my own sake, I’ll be writing in first person throughout the entire story as I feel it does help with this type of fan fiction. As always, if you have any suggestions or comments feel free to throw them at me and I will try to fix them and take it all into consideration. I will try my best to catch all spelling errors! Thanks to MajesticRaven for their idea on the story! Anyways, here is the story.
Chapter 1: The Drafting
When I wake up, the Demacian sun seems to be just peering through the cracked drapes. My hands seem to linger towards the other end of the bed, finding the slow beating chest of my friend: Ezreal. His face seems to look at peace when he sleeps, wrapped in his cocoon of blankets and sheets. I know he used to be care-free to some extent before the corruption of the Institute, but with the hours of protecting the citizens; there hasn’t been much time to take it easy.
Propping myself up with one arm, there happens to be enough light for me to make out my surroundings and pin down my clothing. I fling myself from the bed, sliding into small cloth shoes that have formed to my feet, a tunic and leggings before loosely tying my blonde hair up into a ponytail. Slowly, I slip from the sleeping quarters and into the kitchen, throwing a variety of things into my satchel while the news is being played.
“Well Cheryl! I hope that peasent Fiora is drafted for Demacia, never liked her anyways,” a reporter says while I finish packing my goods. “Please! I’d much rather see the wretched halfing be thrown into the arena!” My cheeks begin to burn red as the duo begins to laugh and snort over their comments; the rage inside me beginning to spark up as their laughs die down, “And what of the Crownguards?” My eyes fixate on the radio, hand curled ready to bash the piece of technology no matter what they have to say.
“Well I-!” The sounds cut off- my rage begins to quell. My hand falls from its fist as I look up to see Ezreal staring at me with a look of genuine concern, “Are you alright, Lux?” It takes a moment of breathing for me to recuperate and force a smile, “Yea, yea. Just, anxious for today. That’s all.” He chuckles throatily, leaning over the counter and placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” His words do little to comfort me, though; I flash him a smile to comfort him. “Well, I’ll see you later,” he says backing up from the counter and moving to the bedroom. I stand there alone for a few minutes, contemplating the possibilities for the day.
Minutes later, I push through the door to the streets of Demacia; or what used to be known as Demacia. The grand paragon of virtue had been invaded by summoners and troops alike, our own military defeated in their invasion of the city. Most of the city sits in slums with mediocre living conditions and unsatisfactory amounts of food. Yes, the once shining paragon of Valoran now sits in dirtied, filthy ruins and waits for the day it will rise up again.
Many of us sit in waiting, wondering, what they will do with the innocent people they’ve taken control of. Every city-state seemed to be flanked so quickly and harshly, there was no time to recover from it. Everyone knew the summoners were getting more and more dangerous, I guess we were too slow to stop it in time.
I stop at the city square for a few seconds, one of the few regions that remain nearly recognizable to Demacians. Old buildings line the large plaza where large screens are being plastered against houses and the stage for this afternoon is under construction. I catch a glimpse of the small, clear balls that contain the names of the pawns. All I can think to myself is that my name is on 10 of those slips of paper, and chance is the only thing extending my life while waiting to be drafted.
Rushing away from the plaza, I attempt to banish the thought of being drafted from my mind; but it’s too late, it lingers and torments me from the inside. I let it rattle around inside my head as I make a couple stops to a bakery, butchers and flower shop; I want to eat well if this is my last meal in Demacia.
Shakily, I wander back down from the market district and into the housing district, sliding through a slim alley way that I often use as a short cut home. My arms quiver as if the bags way tons, but I know the nerves are getting the best of me right now. To my left are two slums dealers; they got the worst of the invasion as they seem to set up housing in two large cardboard boxes. Ahead, I notice a bulky and intimidating figure with what could be presumed a sword slung across his back.
My pacing slows from rapid to nearly frozen within a matter of seconds as I see him walk in my direction. I breath slowly, Don’t worry about him Lux; that’s all I can tell myself as he draws closer and closer to me. I manage to get beneath a candle-lit street lamp and stop to investigate him ever more. Slowly yet surely, he draws more near, yet his face is well concealed with the shadows of this alleyway. It’s when he calls my name that the fear and anxiety melts away, his voice is so recognizable I could punch him for scaring me like that. It’s Garen Crownguard.
“You’re just like you were as a kid; timid and over-cautious.” My eyes roll into my head; even after being scared to death of his figure he has the nerve to crack a joke. Garen looks good for what he has been through with fighting against the summoners. His clothing still remains kempt and his appearance hasn’t changed much expect for a long scar running over his cheek he got a couple years back. “Come here. I don’t bite.” He says before I realize how long I had been standing there in an awkward silence. I shuffle over to him and fall into his war-torn body. It feels normal for me to push up against him for support, but this is one of the first times I’ve slowed to savour the moment of being with him.
I am is the first to break the silence, clearing my throat and backing off of the embrace. We rubs his arms awkwardly, even after being bound by blood for twenty five years there is still that sibling awkwardness that we never shook off from our childhood. “Are you nervous, Garen?” He bites his bottom lip, mixed up on his feelings for the day, “Of course. Aren’t you?” I manage a small nod, adjusting my grip on my bags after the embrace. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure they’ll rig the event like they have been doing lately to take the crowd favourites into the arena.” He shook his head in disapproval, crossing him arms. “I just hope that,” his voice trails off as his finger lifts and flutters to point back and forth and him and I.
I close my eyes, the thought never having occurred to me that they would be as so sadistic to pit brother against sister. “Let’s hope they have half a heart,” I mumble, kicking the dirty alley way street. Garen chuckles not nearly as fazed with his comment as I am, “Yea, I’ll make sure to give them hell if they even think about doing that.” I warm up by his mockery of the Institue and flash a genuine smile.
Garen begins to slide around to exit where I entered and he warmly embraces me once more, flashing his signature wink to me. I always seemed to chuckle at it, the rampart poverty and sickness hasn’t drowned down his spirits. “Remember sister,” he yells to me as he nears the ending of the alley, “Demacia; now,” he glances to me, brows furrowed as he waits for his response. I manage to gain the courage to yell back to him, “and forever!” With that, he turns the corner and I find myself feeling the slightest bit better about the day. My footsteps quicken and I soon finding myself jogging back to my apartment.
Within the hour, Ezreal and I have sat down to have what could be our final meal together. We roll out a tattered table cloth and lay out the main course: fresh bread with real butter and a small amount of fish. My mouth exudes with saliva; I can barely control myself around the rich foods that are in front of us. “Where’d you get the gold to buy this, Lux?” Ezreal inquires, his eyes roaming around the table with confusion, “We haven’t had enough gold to buy soap lately.”
I slowly butter a piece of bread, sinking my teeth into it and relishing in the richness of it. “I dug up some gold from my family vault, wasn’t a lot in there, but it got us all this.” I chuckle, slowly biting into the bread again. The meal extends for what could have been an hour or two; we share laughs and kisses across the table before we finally take a last bite of the food.
As I am tidying up the table and cleaning the dishes, I notice Ezreal leaning back with a glazed look about him. Concerned, I stop the dishes and slowly approach him; hands tucked behind my back and lips rolled into a small, re-assuring smile. “Everything alright, Ezreal,” My voice sounds meek and nervous, but he knows I only want to help him. He is fiddling with his thumbs like he has always done when he is nervous, his eyes are lowered and he is hunched over. “I just- don’t want to lose you, Lux.” His voice is shy and honest, and my cheeks are turning rosy red. “You’re one of the most special people in my life and I-“, he reaches to take my hand into his own, “don’t want us to end so quickly.”
His words are so genuine and sincere, I find myself stumbling over my feet to land into his muscled chest, his arms securing around my back. I know this isn’t the best time to cry; with the drafts coming in an hour, I try my best to contain them. His breathing is rapid, his grip tightening on me as if he feels I am slipping away. “I’ll be fine Ezreal. If anything, I’m worried about you.” I tell him, flashing a smile. He backs off from the hug, reaching up so that his lips touch my own. I can’t tell you the last time we kissed; it has been so long ever since we had to split up to protect Demacians. His lips remind me of the old days, or as we call it: the golden age. And after the kiss breaks, I am gripped from the distant memory and plucked back into reality.
Ezreal smiles as our lips break, and he wipes a tear that is trickling down my cheek. “I promise, I will try to protect you as best I can.” I fling my arms around his neck one final time, planting a dry kiss on his cheek. The most I can whisper into his ear is a “thank you”, but I doubt he could hear it. It takes a few minutes for me to pull myself from his lap, but eventually, I manage. I leave the kitchen as it is, moving back to the bedroom to prep myself for the drafts.
The games have always been conducted the same way; the drafts, the showcase and finally, the games themselves. The first two stages are used for the citizens and summoners of Valoran to learn about the drafted and decide who they wish to sponsor. And getting a sponsor out in the arena could be the difference between life and death out there, but getting a sponsor for you is easier said than done. Typically, the drafted are dressed in the finest clothing and tend to shift towards one character, in a sense, that is unique to them: the blood thirsty killer, the elusive assassin and so forth.
I find a long white dress that seems plain and elegant; I decide to slide into and let my hair cascade down to my shoulders like it normally does. I apply a small amount of eye make –up and slide into a pair of simple cloth shoes. I stare at myself once more in our mirror, playing with my hair and wondering what will happen to me if I do get drafted. I twirl the end of my hair, lost in thought. Would I die? Who would I fight alongside? Could I even get through the first day? I sigh softly, leaving my hair alone and exiting the bedroom for what could easily be my last time.
I barge into our small living space and Ezreal is already waiting at the door, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Are you ready? I guess I will just be dropping you off since the Piltover drafts happen about an hour after your own.” I nod quickly and quick step towards him, standing on my toes to plant a quick kiss on his lips, “One, for good luck.” Ezreal laughs and opens the door for me as we leave hand in hand.
Emotions and tension runs high at the drafts; you could cut the tension with a knife as they begin to pick out the names of the drafted. As I approach the sign in table, Ezreal is dragged off by a guard and I am forced to give blood to prove my identity. The ***** doesn’t hurt all too much, but the thought of giving blood has always made me slightly queasy. “Luxanna Crownguard? To the left, please.” I’m ushered down the much longer path leading to the front row seats, or as we call them in the slums, ‘death’s doorsteps’. There is no doubt in my mind that I am the fixation of every camera in the plaza right now, very few people walk down this ‘prestigious’ path during the drafts. I try my best to look brave, if worst case scenario were to come my way; I would need to start fighting right now.
I find a seat on the end of the row of seats, it looks like it could fit twenty to thirty of us draft picks, but the Institute likes to come prepared. I awkwardly settle into my seat, glancing at the armed guards and media evenly distributed around the premises. This is their way of dominance, pitting the strongest individuals Valoran has to offer against each other. I lower my gaze as my brother seems to happily stroll past me to the other section designated for male draft picks. I notice that only other three in my row are rather close friends of my own; Sona the Maven of the Strings, Shyvana, the Half-Dragon and Fiora, the Grand Duelist.
I exchange quick nods with all of the women before sizing up who will be my real competition: the men. Garen, Xin Zhao and Jarven are all that remain of the men of Demacia. I purse my lips as I remember what they did to Galio in the last year’s games; his lack of speed was a true downfall for him. It’s when I am scavenging through my thoughts about my fellow champions and the games that the deep, commanding voice of High Summoner Heywen Revilash echoes throughout the speakers of the plaza, “Welcome, Demacians!” And if as on cue, the crowd gives a half-hearted applause for the man; Revilash revels in the cheers and clapping, seeming to get lost in it for a split second before he began to stop the people, “Enough, enough!” He chuckles, waiting for it to die down, which honestly doesn’t take too long. “Now, as many of you do know one brave man and woman to have the honour of representing Demacia in this year’s Legendary games!” Silence falls over the crowd, there is nothing more hated then losing one of your own kinsmen. Picking off the strong without an effort is something that keeps the public in line, it’s one of the reasons that outbreaks stopped occurring so frequently; or so we think.
Now, if you will direct your attention to the screens to your right and left, we have a film to show you from the Institute itself. He backs off of the podium, and the crowd lets loose a mediocre applause as the same clip is played. It talks about the wars between the city states and the Institute and how they are re-forming Valoran into a shining image. It honestly sickens me, but I manage to sit through it every year. As the anthem of New Valoran comes to an end, High Summoner Heywen Revilash steps up to the podium with a beaming smile. “I’ve always loved that film,” his tone is almost sinister, “Now! We shall begin the pickings for this year’s games! Let’s hear your enthusiasm!” He almost speaks of it as a threat, and the crowd responds with a thunderous cheer and clapping which seems to amuse him, “Ladies first!”
My heart begins to quicken as his steps guide him to the clear ball with forty slips of paper inside it; ten of those say Luxanna Crownguard on them. He stops in front of the orb, licking his lips before he drops his hand into the bowl and begins to fish for his victim. It feels as if time stops every year when this happens, the thought of being a human sacrifice never sat well with me. Finally, his arm stops and is seen clutching a slip of paper. His strides are slowly and steady, he is savouring the moment of having the entire city under his control.
He stands firmly at the podium, unraveling the slip of paper and clearing his throat, “For Demacia, please welcome...” I take one more deep breath before I hear the words that let my heart drop, “Luxanna Crownguard!” My breathing stops, as if all the air has been kicked from my lungs. My eyes fall to the ground, and I only imagine how much longer I will last in their game.
And that is chapter one! I hope you liked it and I am really looking forward to see how it is received by the community! I will start writing chapter 2 fairly soon, so keep checking for constant updates from the story! Goodbye for now, summoners.
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