A/N: Hello, readers! This story is a companion to my Victor's story, 500 Years of Penance. Each chapter is a short from the POV of a Victor. In the format of 500YOP, you don't really get to know the Victors or hear their voices or what they think of the Games and Panem. With this story, I can explore the 500 Victors I'll eventually create, and see how they interact with each other and how their lives play out. So here is our first Victor, Kelan Thather, of District 4. These aren't meant to be too long, though they will have varying lengths. Enjoy.

KELAN THATHER OF DISTRICT 4, VICTOR OF THE 1ST ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES

AGE 17 AT VICTORY

4 KILLS

GAMES LASTED 21 DAYS

SMALL FOREST ARENA

60, 59, 58, 57, 56, 55, 54, 53, 52, 51, 50...

My eyes dart around crazily, and I heave in deep, agonizing breaths. I've proven my strength and skill in training, garnered from a lifetime of working at the docks. A lot of the kids around me are weak, malnourished children of rebels. I'm one of the few "normal" kids. My mom, an innocent, was slaughtered in a bombing of our District. The hovercraft that dropped the bombs in our District did not bear the Capitol seal. My father remained, steadfast, at the wharf, fishing and bringing in a variety of fish every day, even when smoke clogged the skies and the casualties reached the hundreds. He would bring his fish to his last remaining buyers while I, his able son, cleaned up the boat and the nets and skinned the catch we kept to eat ourselves. We survived, narrowly. We survived without becoming involved.

49, 48, 47, 46, 45, 44, 43, 42, 41, 40...

To my left is the scrawny little girl from 8, shivering. She's only 13. While watching the Reaping re-runs on the train ride, my Mentor pointed out that her father had been a rebel general, executed soon after District 13 was obliterated. 13 seems to correspond with that girl's life.

39, 38, 37, 36, 35, 34, 33, 32, 31, 30...

To my right is the tall, sinewy boy from 12. It seems that the black ash from his District's foul mines has stained his darker skin eternally, and his eyes dart around in fear. He slowly shuffles around on his pedestal so he's facing the forest. I guess he's afraid of the supplies. Why wouldn't you go and get some? They aren't explosive.

29, 28, 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20...

Speaking of supplies, my eyes focus on something familiar glistening inside the mouth of the Cornucopia. A trident. Memories quickly flooded back. The sea slowly tossing our boat up and down as me and my father dragged the nets across the soaked deck, hauling them over the edge and into the ocean. Dozens of silvery fish, glittering in the net, as the overcast skies cleared and the ship arrived at the dock. The two deckhands, Brine and Season, helped us dock the boat, and then we were freeing the dead fish from the net, preparing to sell them...

GONG!

I start into action. The rest of the countdown has slipped away from me. I stumble off of my pedestal, looking around frantically. Most tributes are similarly dazed, some jogging into the forest, most stumbling towards the Cornucopia. Only two tributes seem to have their minds right and clear; the boy from 7 and the girl from 10. The girl sweeps up a few long, serrated knives, and the boy from 7, Zeller, I think, picks up an axe. But the boy from 5, diagnosed with cancer, tries to grab it at the same time. Zeller, screaming, buries the axe in the boy. He dies in moments. The boy, Lowe, I think, flops to the ground, and Zeller dashes off. The rest of us move into action. I dart into the Cornucopia, picking up a loaded backpack and the prized trident, leaning against the mouth of the grand Horn. Then I sprint away, hearing a single, strangled scream. I look back to see the girl from 10 bury one of her wickedly curved daggers into the back of a boy. I sprint into the woods, not looking back.

4 days later...

I've found a secure place deep in the woods, by a tiny little pond. In my pack was a lot of food, enough to last me at least two weeks if I stretch it. There was also iodine tablets I remember from a survival book I read as a kid, along with an empty water bottle, two small throwing knives, a sleeping bag, a mortar and pestle, and some matches. My little camp by the pond is nice and secure, and I'm set up.

Lowe and the boy from 3 died in the Bloodbath. 2 others have died since; the girl from 7, the day after we entered the arena, and the girl from 1, late yesterday. It's early morning now on Day 5.

Around noon, another cannon fired. A half hour later, a second cannon. By the end of the day, 2 more cannons had rung. That night I found that they had belonged to the girls from 2, 8, and 9, and the boy from 12 who'd been on my right on the pedestals. The girl from 8 had been on my left. Maybe I, too, would die today. I chuckled at the thought. I hadn't seen another tribute since the opening minutes.

Days seem to slur together here. I don't remember much of what I've done or heard or seen besides the cannons during the day and the faces during the night. I'm becoming restless and forgetful. My guard's down. Someone smart could take out the boy with the highest score, Kelan Thather, easily.

The next morning...

I wake up to here the careless blundering of a nearby tribute. I spring to my feet, my trident fitting perfectly in my suntanned hand. I slink away from my camp to the sight of the noises. When I brush back some bushes, I see the little girl from 5, Daqua, knelt over a sleeping boy, a small dagger in her hand. Her frightened eyes meet mine, and I let her scamper away into the bushes before I trot over to the still slumbering boy.

I quickly identify him as the District 9 Male. His District partner died just yesterday. He seems to be in pain, and I look down at his twitching leg to see a long, infected cut dripping yellowish pus. I recoil, and I mercifully put my trident through the suffering boy's back, ending his pain.

BOOM!

Only hours later another cannon booms. We're down to 14. 10 dead. 10 corpses, waiting to be buried.

This is terrible. But I can't be another corpse. I need to get back to the wharf, to my dad, to the boat. Without me, he won't be able to fish. He can't afford another paid deckhand. I need to make it back to him, or he's sunk, too.

9 days later...

9 of us left on Day 15. I've tried to make my food and water last as long as I possibly can, but it's no use. I'm running out. My throat constantly feels dry. My pond dried up on Day 10. My stomach grumbles insistently every few minutes. I haven't eaten in a day, at least. My last strip of jerky went down my throat on Day 14. This needs to end soon. More than 2 weeks without me working the fishing boat. My dad's struggling, that's for sure. He'll be losing clients if he shuts down, so he'll just try and fish with three people. It won't work well and he won't get a good catch. He'll lose customers. Only a loyal few will stay with him. That's not enough money from those loyal customers, though, to pay the deckhands' wages. They'll leave for a better job, and my dad will have to mop the docks just to get some bread in his stomach.

I snarl. I will make it back.

Suddenly the ground starts to contort beneath me. On the horizon, trees crack as the ground ripples, rising in large hills. I begin to run, scooping up my now basically empty pack and my trusty trident. The hills rise around me, herding me in one direction. Maybe this is their way of ending it. Maybe I'll be heading home now.

When the hills stop, I'm faced with two other tributes; the tall girl from 6, and the tall, strong oaf from 2, Orrin, my only real competition in these Games besides Zeller and the 10 girl. The girl from 6, Listra or Lissa, something like that, chances running up the hills. While she struggles, pulling herself to the top, Orrin and I begin to circle each other. The oaf grins, brandishing his thick mace at me. He's unbalanced and tired, though he's hiding it. I slash at him with my trident as a cannon fires. It slices across his shoulder, and he growls as the blood drips down his torn shirt. His mace whacks across my calf, but it barely hurts. I see the wound on his right arm, his fighting arm. He's weak. This will be easy.

As I rake my trident's prongs across his hip as he screams in agony, another cannon fires. I spare a moment to look at the hill where 6 was climbing. She's gone, escaped. Now, if I kill Orrin, there'll only be 6 of us left.

I show off the skills that earned me a 9, using my brute strength and agility and skill with a trident to stab at his hands until he drops the mace. He howls, and I end it, smashing my trident deep into his chest. The cannon rings, and I tug my trident free. The hills start to recede, and I run off in the direction I saw 6 go. This Games needs to end. I need to go back to the ocean, to the ship, to my father. The guilt and the grief and the pain and the realization that I've killed people, followed by tears and nightmares and hallucinations, can come later. For now, I must kill. I must make it home.

3 days later...

Goddamn 6 is quiet, quick, and cunning. She's evaded me since the hills receded, but I'll find her, I know it. One other girl, the one from 12, died the day after the hills rose. Just 5 left. 4 others I have to kill. 4 others, Kelan, 4 others.

Near the end of the day, I finally spot her light blonde hair splayed across a tree branch. I sigh in relief. She's asleep. Everyone has to sleep. I'm happy that I'm the hunter, not the prey. If I were the prey, I'd never be able to sleep, and I'd probably become so tired I'd stumble off a cliff or something stupid. It's nice to be in control.

I creep up the tree trunk, digging my fingers and my sharp, long, uncut fingernails deep into the tree bark as I haul myself up to the limb 6 slumbers on. My trident almost slips from my grasp, and knocks against the tree trunk loudly. I quickly slip onto her branch as she awakens. She barely has recognized me by the time my trident is buried six inches into her chest, and her vitals are shutting down. She dies, there is a cannon, and I begin to shake as I tear the trident from her chest and drop to the ground. I...killed her. I've killed three people. The boy from 9, Orrin, and now this girl, this tall, pretty beautiful girl from 6. I look away from her bloodied corpse and jog away, keeping my emotions in check. The wharf. The ship. Your father. Those thoughts calm me until I settle enough to fall asleep.

3 days later...

A cannon. I've been hunting for a while, but I've found no one. Someone else, dead, near the end of Day 21. 3 weeks had passed since I'd entered. I could barely remember a time not being here. My father and the boat and the wharf were always filling my mind, sure, but they seemed distant. I was beginning to worry about my chances. Three people I did not want to face were left. Zeller from 7, who'd proved his menace when he killed Lowe in the Bloodbath. Elora, that was her name, from 10, the brutal girl with a talent with knives and not a lick of mercy in her entire body. And little Daqua from 5, the supposed underdog. I'd seen how she was about to slit the boy from 9's throat. She was sneaky, cunning. I squeezed my eyes shut. Whose cannon? I hoped it was Zeller. Not that the girls weren't menacing enough, but Zeller was strong and tall and could wield an axe well. He was who I was most afraid of, though Elora was a close second.

Suddenly the darkening arena turns pitch black. I couldn't see anything. Suddenly a fireball, half the size of my dad's fishing boat, flies nearby, lighting dozens of trees on fire. Their flickering light guides me forward. I'm not far from the Cornucopia clearing. How fitting, to have the final fight there. Two deaths in the beginning, two in the end.

Only, as I stumble into the clearing, choking a bit on the smoke, a cannon rings. Elora emerges from the other side of the clearing, still alive, all her blades clean and shiny. So the fireballs have claimed either Zeller or Daqua. Now it is only me and the girl from 10.

I charge her outright, tackling her and drawing back my arm to stab her with my trident. She rolls out of the way, kneeing me in the groin. I hiss in pain and bury one of my weapon's prongs in her left hand. She shrieks in pain, in return slashing a cut on my shoulder. It is a back and forth fight, making small cuts on one another. But, after ten or so minutes, we could both tell she is slowly deteriorating. She lets out a hellish roar and gives her last effort, trying to stab me as she swings her arm around towards my head. I bat away her arm with my trident and bury the weapon deep in her side. She gives one last tired, defeated gasp of pain, and then she falls still, and her cannon rings. Then trumpets begin to play a merry tune, and the high pitched voice of Charlize Conratha, the host for only the First Games, announces my Victory.

And, as I'm lifted out of the darkened arena, I have only one thought on my mind.

I'll be back on my father's fishing boat soon enough.

"Mr. Thather," President Sombray chuckles. "So nice to finally meet you."

We shake hands. He is dressed in an impeccable black and white tuxedo. I'm dressed in a similar getup, only all in sea-toned blues. He doesn't mention that he placed a crown on my head only hours ago, but I guess that doesn't really count. All I can think about is getting home, but my Escort keeps blabbing about how there's SO much to do, to see, and, oh, you're touring the entirety of Panem in 6 months. Oh, yeah, and you have twenty interviews scheduled the moment you step foot back home in 4.

"The same to you, Mr. President," I grunted.

"Please, call me Narciso," he said with a pleasant smile. Maybe this man wasn't too terrible. He didn't have any surgical alterations like most of the Capitols, my Mentor included.

"Then, I guess, you'll call me Kelan," I replied, and he just chuckled. We sat down at the white wooden table in the room we stood in. Some snacks had been laid out on it, but neither of us ate anything as we sat there for a moment in silence.

"Kelan, being the First Victor is an immense responsibility."

"First? You mean there'll be more?!"

"Yes," Narciso said. He could see me fuming, but he either didn't care or understood, somehow, my anger, and had expected it. "They are grotesque, but necessary. I've petitioned for them to last 4 more years, just a brutal 5 year showcase to beat the Districts back into order and submission. But everyone else, all my advisers, even the Vice President, want them to last indefinitely."

"And, if I may ask, are my 'responsibilities'?" I couldn't even keep my anger in check.

"You will have to go on the Victory Tour. You will make public appearances annually, at the least, outside of the Games. You will Mentor tributes every Hunger Games until you have produced two Victors, and then they will take over the process. The two newest Victors always take over the Mentoring process, that's how we have it planned. Anyway, you'll also be encouraged to pick up a pastime and make regular appearances in the Capitol."

"What if I just want to return to my father and his fishing boat?"

"No one told you?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Kelan, but your father's gone. His ship crashed out at sea because he didn't have enough crew just five days ago."

And, with that, I know Narciso Sombray is the person I hate the most in the entire world.

"Kelan?" Tania's voice echoes from the house.

Almost a year since I entered that goddamn arena. My Victory Tour was hapless but supposedly satisfying enough for the Capitol. I've resided quietly in the Victor's Village of District 4, partaking in my chosen "hobby", fishing. Currently, I've casting out into the ocean, and I'm ankle deep in the soothing tepid water, my toes buried in the damp sand underwater. I turn, setting down my pole, to see my high school sweetheart and wife of 4 months gliding over the sand to my side.

"Yeah, babe?" I ask. I'm topless, only in my blue swimming trunks. I pull on a ratty old teal t-shirt and turn to my wife.

"The Reaping's today, Kelan," she murmurs. "In half an hour. Come on, let's get dressed."

I slide on my worn brown sandals and trudge back into the Victor's Village. Tania, my dearest love, holds open the door for me, her beautiful blonde hair flapping in the breeze rolling off of the ocean. I give her a deep kiss on the lips before running insides and pulling on jeans and a gingham dress shirt. By the time I'm downstairs, Tania's ready, makeup applied, in a sexy green dress. The woman's a wonder, I tell you.

We rush out of the Victor's Village. Thank god the main town of our District, Waverly, is only a two minutes walk away. Tania and I break out into a brisk jog, arriving at the Justice Building a minute before the Escort, wretched Albania Stork, will take the stage. Tania and I stand respectfully in the corner of the stage as Albania recites her speech for the second time and plays the video. Everyone watches the video intently. It's not super boring, but I have a feeling in several years no one will pay it any attention as this Reaping thing, the entire Hunger Games, becomes solidified in our lives.

Then Albania's long, slender fingers are slipping into the bowl and picking a slip.

"Rosie Trinibog!" Another terrified 12 year old girl totters onto the stage. I freeze in terror. I remember Mitzi, my 12 year old District partner from last year. I remember watching her get stabbed to death by Elora at the final interview when Charlize played the 3 plus hour ensemble/summary of the Games. Why do 12 year olds come out of 4 both years? Bad luck.

"Zoryn Temper!" A muslced 14 year old, nearly as tall as me already, and still so young, trudges onto the stage, looking like he wants to rip off Albania's fake eyelashes. Then Zoryn and Rosie shake hands, and we take them back to say goodbye to their families.

About a month later...

I shake as I watch Dillon Tripp of District 9's mandatory final interview. They spend extra, agonizing time during the Games' summary video on the death of tiny little Rosie, torn to shreds and then torn even further to pieces by the vicious hyena mutts. I openly wept while all the other Capitol Mentors looked at me in confusion. Why was he crying? That had been a good death, dude, why are you crying? the Mentor for 7 had said. Both his tributes had died in the opening minutes, and he was staying to watch the "fun". I punched him, sent him to the hospital with a broken jaw. The rest of the Capitol peacocks stayed away from me after that. The little girl placed 16th.

Zoryn had made it to the Top 8, but not far past that, placing 7th after Pumice, the brute from 2, had smashed his sword into the boy's throat. But Zoryn had not gone down without a fight. He'd cut off Pumice's left hand, a serious wound that would help bolster one of the Tripp twins to Victory.

Dillon had been a fighter, for sure, and smart and cunning. He'd saw his sister die. And yet I felt envious that he'd won, and not my tributes. It was only then that I realized that I'd lose a lot more than Rosie and Zoryn in the years to come.

I just buried my face in my hands, crying for the first time since my father's funeral. Tania just hugged me and cried along with me, holding me tight.

A/N: Here's Kelan's! It's a little rough, a little fast, I know. But once I get into the groove of writing these things, they'll get better. I doubt many people will read these, but if you are, I hope they're giving you some background on the characters of 500YOP. Not all chapters will follow this format; in fact, most of these shorts will not even focus on tributes' Games because that's all 500YOP is about. I just wanted to write one like this, and then we'll have other, different POVs.

Thanks for reading!

Until next time,

Tracee