I. PRAETERITUM

bygone events. past times.

District Two clung onto rules and traditions as if they were lifelines. For many of it's citizens, they were. Nothing was done in Two without all proper procedures being considered, not until everything was neatly recorded for insurance purposes. That was why, when the male volunteer and his backup both suddenly refused to, a crisis occurred just days before the reaping.

At first, the Victors argued amongst themselves on the best possible course of action. Some of the Victors like Athena and Faunus demanded another impromptu Selection Tourney be held, all to honour the systems that Two had used for decades. Others like Idola and Scylla moved to let the district's escort, Lycente decide. Naturally, the latter option had been fiercely debated against but the mayor had elected for it when he was brought in as a deciding vote.

"Let our kids go wild for once," He had said with a dismissive wave of his hand as Two's Victors crowded his office. "The Academy rules can be so... suffocating at times. We've all been there. One year won't hurt our reputation."

With that, the opinions of the Victors became void. They were to wait to see who would be the male tribute, nursing terrible pits in their stomachs as they fretted over one of the Academy's least capable being chosen.

Or, even worse, someone inexperienced in what it meant to be a Career of District Two.

All a citizen from Two needed were the rules and regulations - the order that made them the greatest of Panem's districts.

So why did Future think his dream was so important to override all of that?

He pondered the question himself in the train, chewing his bottom lip as he watched the landscape fly past him. Just a few hours ago, he was simply another twelve-year-old at the Academy; another hopeful who would one day try and claim the spot of volunteer through Two's arduous and strict process. Now, thanks to Lycente and her unabashed eye for drama, he was the male tribute for District Two. The youngest tribute District Two had sent since the Sixth Hunger Games, to be exact. The only twelve-year-old who intended to be as formidable as a Career as those around him. And, likely, the only twelve-year-old in the Career alliance that year.

He knew he should be happy - this aligned perfectly with his dream. He was happy, excited, even. The Odds had given him the unabashed chance to create history and he intended to cling onto it with everything he had. Yet, as the landscapes of Two blended seamlessly into a fast picture, he felt a pit of dread forming in his stomach.

Future hung around the door that connected him and Amazon from their mentors, inquisitive nature taking over rational judgement. Even at twelve, Future knew that he would listen to things that would discourage him - how could he not? He had seen the way the Victors of Two tried to avoid his stare as he made his way to the stage, the way they wilfully turned their heads as he walked past them. These were mentors that knew him well enough - they had taught him to fight, after all.

"Of all the twelvies I need to mentor in the fucking arena its one of our own." Future could hear Kirkor's voice through the train's door. No doubt he was talking to Athena, Amazon's mentor. "Only our kids would think they have what it takes to win at twelve."

"Lay off him Kirk." Athena's voice was sympathetic yet devoid of any real interest. If he hadn't known better, Future may have wondered if she was glad she was mentoring the allocated volunteer. "Kid can't help that Lycente chose him."

"Well, if he didn't put his fuckin' hand up, the-"

"Like we all didn't do the same when we were twelvies." Future could hear the lack of temper in Athena's voice, feeling some gravitation towards the way she seemed tired of his complaints already. "You expect him to go to Lycente and apologise for the confusion?"

There was a pointed silence before Future heard Kirkor sigh. "It'd be better than apologising to his parents that I couldn't bring their cocky kid home."

Future sighed, exasperated. Part of him knew listening to the mentors talk through the door wasn't healthy yet, there he was, wanting to see if his mentor had any faith in him. As it turned out, unfortunately, it seemed he had little. The way Kirkor had scarcely glanced at him since the Justice Building had suggested as much. He tried not to get hurt - tried not to let the utter lack of belief in Kirkor's words hit him too hard.

Amazon gave an easy smirk as she ruffled his hair when he sat back down next to her. "They're just pissed you did what we were all forbidden to do." Her voice was calm, full of unexpected warmth. Though she hadn't given him the same glare the others of Two did, Future had been uncertain on where she stood. It seemed, in a way, she found it amusing. "How'd you get Lycente's attention?"

"She just... chose me," Future said after a few clicks of silence. He supposed he could tell Amazon of his dream, of the prophecy that decreed him the youngest Victor in the history of the Games. He chose against doing so, however, deciding there would be a better time to do so. "Maybe I have promise?"

"I think you do." Amazon's words came after a second delay as she glanced over him, offering a warm smile. "'Sides, you're from Two - deadlier than most!"

Lycente stared at the crowd of District Two's young men with hunger. Never, not in a million Games, had she though that she would be able to choose the volunteer. Such a coveted privilege was guarded closely by Two's Academy. The old escort, Iridix, had mentioned how he had a few opportunities to be involved in the volunteer discussion but she hadn't - not yet, at least. Typically, as in any normal Hunger Games, she was given a portfolio on the train ride down, telling her who she was to point to. She assumed, however, that both of the allocated volunteers backing out was a sign from some higher power that she would have a place in what would be an epic story; an unparalleled saga.

She now had the privilege of choosing District Two's volunteer. More importantly, she had reassurance from both the Mayor and Peacekeepers alike that she could pick anyone with little consequence. Had the Victors known this, then it'd be of no surprise to them when she looked exclusively to the back of the square of reapees; the eyes of hopeful Careers staring back at her. She so easily ignored the brutish eighteen-year-olds, the over-zealous seventeen-year-olds and even the sixteen-year-olds who still lacked the muscle mass to lose their nimbleness. Instead, Lycente looked to the ones who put their hand up just to say that they had; the twelve and thirteen-year-olds who were so eager to please as Careers, so eager to show that they could be brutal.

Those who thought they'd never have a chance to get into the arena at such a young, arguably undeveloped age.

Had they not been in District Two, Lycente knew they would never be considered. Fortunately - or perhaps unfortunately, dependent on how one looked at it - the twelve-year-olds of District Two were far more ferocious than any other in Panem. Districts One, Four and Seven came close but scarcely held a flame to the reputation of Two's young.

And how, honestly how, could Lycente not choose the most eager twelve-year-old? The one with wide eyes and a sense of urgency, as if his dream could be snatched away from him. She heard behind her the sharp inhales of the Victors, the instant low muttering of them complaining. Trust District Two to complain - she was doing them a favour. Keepers knew they needed it; something had to spice up District Two's tributes.

Future Chronovich, he said his name was. He was confident, bold - if not a little naïve. How could he be anything less? He was, after all, only twelve.

Lycente smiled to herself. A stage name would have to be in order - Future was far too unlike District Two's naming conventions - but she could see a small Victor in him.

"A stage name?" Future blinked, head tilted. "What's wrong with my name?"

Lycente pursed her lips. Even at twelve, Future could tell she was trying to find the words that didn't offend him too much. "Well... Future isn't really... District Two, is it?" She smiled and nodded, apparently happy with her choice of words. "It's no Brutus, no Ares or Kirkor, is it? Not as grand as Maximus, nor as powerful as Jupiter. Hell, even Agor-"

"What do you want to call me?" Future interrupted her before she could finish. He liked his name - his parents had put thought and effort into it, after all - but if his escort thought it was necessary, who was he to disagree?

"Don't listen to her kid - nothing's wrong with yo-" Kirkor, for the first time since he had volunteered, moved to defend Future. He hadn't moved from the armchair he was lounging in, no, but he had moved in voice. The young Career was taken aback, no less because he had assumed all mentors and escorts were on equal pages. In the interviews conducted throughout the year, it certainly seemed that way. Yet, as Future glanced at the older man, he saw little more beyond contempt and disbelief in the man's stare.

"Kairos!" Lycente clapped her hands, silencing Kirkor with ease. Whatever fleeting thought of defending Future had passed; he simply rolled his eyes, grabbed the nearest plate of delicate food and left the carriage. "An olden god linked with the right opportunities - the perfect times to do things. I, for one, think it is simply perfect for you!"

Kairos.

The name lingered in Future's mind - already a stranger with little but the same face as him, Future. He wondered if Kairos Chronovich would have more fun in the arena than he would.

Future's parents rushed in as soon as the sleek, oak doors had opened. They were heavy doors, making a clunk that made Future wonder if many had thought the same he had; that the sound was eerily finite. His parents weren't angry so much as they were scared; his mother cupped his face in her hands whilst his father enveloped them in a hug, holding each of them close. There was a desperation to their touches - an unspoken expectation that their son was to die in the arena.

Future supposed, thinking logically, it was more than likely.

He had dreamt his dream, however, and simply smiled in their faces warmly. "I'll be back home before you know it," He said, unwaveringly positive. He focused on their foreheads rather than their eyes; the sadness and fear were too captivating of emotions to ignore. "Just don't judge what you see!"

Speaking the words he had heard the older kids at the Academy say felt foreign, as if they didn't belong on his tongue. Even though his dream assured him that he was to be a Victor, even Future couldn't help but feel out of place. There was a childlike quality attached too, far too unfamiliar for the weight the words held. It was as if every facet of the Hunger Games pageantry knew he was out of place, an anomaly. Twelve-year-olds didn't go to the Hunger Games to win; they went there to die at the hands of someone bigger, stronger.

His parents exchanged glances with one another, wincing at how foreign their son sounded. Of course they had supported his endeavours in the Academy - how could they not? It was a rite of passage for most in the district, only those who were too poor never became a trainee. They had, admittedly, expected him to come out the other end, volunteerless and unscathed. Keepers, both had even tried to dissuade him from putting his hand up as a prank when he mentioned his dream to them. Prophetic or not, neither Prometheus nor Mnemosyne trusted the Odds enough to ensure their son would remain safe.

They were right to do so - lest they stared Future's casket in the face.

Instead, they did all they could do - hold their son tightly and believe his reassurances for both their benefit and his.