Hunger Games Tree Novels & Stories

He sat on the frozen floor and cried the way men cry when they realize the war was never against the machines; it was against what they themselves had poured into them. That night he loaded the gun, pressed it under his chin, and counted heartbeats. One. Two. Seventy-three. On seventy-four he lowered the barrel, because the tree had opened one fruit while he wasn’t looking. Inside were seeds arranged in the exact shape of Eden’s handwriting: COME HOME WHEN YOU CAN BE GENTLE AGAIN. He left the gun on the table. He left the morphine. He took the tree (wrapped the pot in his only spare shirt, carried it against his chest like a child) and walked south through the ash winter until he found a sno

I feel the dangerous desire to reach out and touch his face, to trace the curve of his lips with my fingertips. I cover that up with sarcasm too. “Oh, so you listen to me only when you want to. Got it,” I say, giving them a thumbs up and an eye roll. Kian’s lips press into a firm line. “Can we focus, please? We don’t need to deal with anybody else willing to sell us out to the highest bidder. But we need to find this tree. Any bright ideas are welcome.” Frost turns back around and dusts his hands off. The door is settled back on its frame, albeit somewhat precariously. Anybody else who wanted to kick it in could do so easily. “Books. There’s a library upstairs.”

“No collars. No boxes. You get names. Beds.” He looks down at himself. “I want that.” The crown burns. Seven grounds. Seven vessels. One crown. He’s the last piece. Bind him, and it’s done. The Tree gets its set. And I don’t know what the Tree does with done. Draven presses against my leg. Not a command. An anchor. Choose. Moira laughs, soft. “Oh, Mother. He’s right. I’m Hunger. Without a stomach, I eat everything. Eventually. Even you.”

“This way. The tree should be just beyond this ridge.” They trekked onward, the excitement building with each passing moment. Eventually, they arrived at a small clearing, and there it stood—the old tree, its massive trunk gnarled and twisted, with roots that snaked out like ancient fingers gripping the earth. “Wow,” Jace breathed, taking in the sight. “It’s incredible.” Mia stepped closer, her eyes sparkling. “It feels alive, like it’s watching us.” Elara began sketching the tree, capturing its majesty and the intricate details of its bark. “This is going to be a beautiful illustration for our story.”

She did not give up trying to persuade Nara to stay here and be her daughter. "I don't let you go, Nara! We will live together in this illusory world," said the woman Tree. She tried to run her master, the tree of illusion keep Nara in the world of illusion. And the trees survive by eating other trees. Who is has strength is who will live until the end.

he says, his voice hard and flat. “You are more Lycan than you know,” my mother says, her mouth tight. "Just enough for the bond to pick him and just enough for the tree to want him." She points at the black throne behind us, its roots crawling under the ice like black veins pulsing slowly. "The First Tree feeds on royal blood. It has been starving since I left, and it calls to its own blood." The lord in blue pushes forward, his wine breath sour. "Give us the human boy," he shouts. "Let the tree drink his blood instead of our King and save the North!"

"I've spent the last several weeks observing the tree." He opened the notebook. Every page contained sketches. Runes. Timetables. Magical fluctuations. Even weather conditions. Hunter had documented everything. He pointed toward one of the drawings. "The tree isn't alive." Chaos smiled. "I knew it." Hunter continued. "It's a magical construct." "It only imitates a living tree." Order, who had silently appeared behind us, leaned over the pages. "The roots..." Hunter nodded. "They aren't roots." "They're channels." I frowned.

"It's got something to do with you and Ashton." What did Brayden even mean? Does Delaney like Ashton or something? Or maybe... Yeah, that's the only reason I could think of for the moment. "Chloe?" Hunter called out. "Are you listening to me?" I shook my head. "Sorry, Hunter." I mumbled. "I just... yeah..." "Nah, it's okay." He chuckled. "I was starting to bore myself, anyways." Hunter was a lot like his aunt, my mom. He has brown hair with lighter highlights and blue eyes. He and his sister don't really get along well, but I guess it's because Hunter is really into gaming and Barbie sees it as a waste of time.

I muttered, half to him, half to myself. I dug my heels into the frozen ground, dragging him inch by agonizing inch toward the closest cover. The cold bit into my palms, and my injured leg screamed with every pull, but I kept moving. His blood streaked across the snow, leaving a trail so obvious even the blind could follow it. My chest felt like it was going to crack open when I finally got him behind a cluster of trees. The low-hanging branches shielded us, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough.

Soon, the growing mushrooms decide to prove they aren’t completely useless because the light they create illuminates what looks like the very roots I’m looking for. “Those things aren’t real trees, this place reeks of death and hunger,” Atlas snarls so loud, I jump. “Great, just what I needed - hangry trees,” I mutter. When Ragh catches up with me, he doesn’t bother trailing after me and instead matches my stride, looking around with a bored expression. “These roots connect many realms and they’re not hangry, whatever it’s supposed to mean. The roots feed on balance and judging by how drastically the feeling is changing, I assume your presence disturbs that balance. I wonder if your child ca