THE FINAL MENTOR CHAPTER! Next is Training, day one. In one of the POV's, you get some hints to what that is. I hope this is okay, I am not very well tonight.

Oh yes, as some of you might know, I have a new SYOT. Submissions are open until the 31st October and after that, I will be figuring out the plot line. So, it will not affect this story. But yes, if you want to submit, it is called Realism: 167th Hunger Games. The submission process is a bit different this time so my stories do not get taken down but if you would like to submit via PM, just let me know and I will send you a form :)

I hope you submit to my next story and don't worry about the victor from this not being part of it, there is a 36th Hunger Games after this story. A resurrection Games. I just want to wait until after this story so people can submit characters from this.

So yes, enjoy our final mentors and let me know what you think.

District 9

Roberto Sallie, Victor of the 6th Hunger Games

At the base of the grain mill, adjacent from the water wheel was a small office. A lap of luxury for anyone who might own the mill. Although he had failed to notice the door up until this point, he knew it would be there. A place the owner of the mill could hide from the common folk. However, it was also a place most people would want to me. A warm fire and a door you could brocade yourself into. Although not there was only one other person aside from Roberto, it was the only place he could think his final kill could be waiting.

As he approached the room, he found the door slightly ajar, the bright, warm flames from the fireplace reflecting a dancing light in his brown eyes. Roberto flinched, stepping quickly to the side as he tried to hold his breath. He stayed still, his breaths small and silent as he listened for any sign of life. Fortunately, the only sound was the crackling of the burning logs and the low howl from the storm outside.

He stepped forward slightly, pressing his eyes against the crack near the hinges, not trusting the silence enough to look through the large gap. As his eyes darted across the room, he didn't take much notice of the dark furniture unless they were vaguely human-like. When his eyes made their way over to the fireplace, though, his breath hitched.

There, in the armchair that had been strategically placed in front of the fire for warmth, was a sleeping boy. His features were hard to make out but his brown hair was enough to alert Roberto to his identity. The boy from Five, his final hurdle.

The boy looked asleep but to make sure, Roberto tapped on the wooden door frame, knowing that if he was awake, the boy would make some sort of movement. He didn't move, he continued to lay there, silent, his arm dangling by his side, a fallen dagger by his feet.

He must have planned to ambush me but fallen asleep while waiting. Roberto thought as he slowly made his way into the room, trying his best to avoid squeaky floorboards. The only sound was the soft squeak of his leather boots, not enough to wake the boy from his slumber.

As Roberto pulled his knife from his right boot, he stopped, thinking of the best way to go about killing the boy. It was not like it was hard, Roberto had killed many people during his time in the arena, even if it did feel wrong to kill someone while they were defenseless. What he truly was worried about was not doing it correctly. He needed to render the boy useless before he woke up, so he couldn't fight back. The next was the obvious option, even if it was risky.

As he started to move again, his eyes drifted over to the window, the snow falling thick and fast outside. A stark contrast to the warm interior, adorned with a warm, flickering, orange light. The room was cosy, only a small writing desk, a table, a cupboard near the window and the chair. Not a book case in sight. In fact, the only sort of personalization was the antlers that were chained to the wall. The room had a distinct scent of blood that mixed with the warm smell of burning wood. The dark haired boy thought nothing of it, this was an arena. He had no doubt that murder had taken place in the room, the blood soaking deep into the floorboards. Maybe it even came from the District Five male's clothes.

When Roberto came to the armchair, the boys legs just visible, he noticed a large wound on the boys leg. His pants leg was torn at the thigh, exposing a deep slash that showed off some of the bone. The blood that had seeped out was mostly congealed but it still seemed to have a sticky texture to it from inside the gash. What made Roberto's stomach turn the most was that no attempt had seemingly been made to tend to the problem. Not even a dusty old bandage or a torn piece of clothing. And more alarmingly, there seemed to be no blood trail leading to the armchair, not even a bloody rag. Not fitting with the time frame of the cut on his leg or of the final moments before a child passed out from blood loss.

Roberto didn't want to question it, though or maybe he just did not want to, as he made his way around the chair, ready to slit the boy's throat. However, as he maneuvered his way around to get the best angel of the jugular, Roberto felt his stomach turn. After all the deaths he had caused, all the throats he had slit during his time in the arena, nothing frightened him more than that. The boy from Three, his head barely hanging on as blood still trickled out of the deep slash to his throat. His eyes were stuck in a state of panic, most likely as he tried to keep in the blood that gushed from his neck.

Roberto stepped backwards, the creaking of the cupboard behind him causing him to turn around swiftly. There, from inside the darkness was the District Five male, covered in blood, a crazed smile on his face. He gave out a manic fit of laughter as he plunged the tip of his knife into Roberto's right eye, causing it to pop.

He ran for the door, stumbling as he went, like he had a few too many to drink. Roberto, meanwhile, tried to drag himself to his feet, screaming in pain as he did so, his tears only spilling from his left eye. He watched through his tears as the District Five male stopped, his smile dropping, his body sagging.

"I-I am sorry," he whispered, once again sounding like a small child, like he did before the arena. "They made me hurt you all," and with that, the boy continued to stumble down the dark hallway. A few moments later, the sound of a cannon shaking the arena but doing little to comfort a sobbing Robert. The screams of the District Five male dragging the knife across his own stomach ringing in his ears.

District 10

Amire Mellan, Victor of the 3rd Hunger Games.

Amire Mellan stood on the other side of the glass window that looked into her niece's house. She watched as her redheaded family member dance around, holding her newborn daughter tightly in her arms. The child, a blonde haired girl with grey eyes, her lips slightly parted as she slept, brought a flutter to her great aunt's stomach. Yet, her mother's proud smile pierced envy into Amire's heart. It happened every time a baby was born into the family, the pain that it was not her own.

She knew by now that she was far too old to have a child. Fifty-years-old meant that she was no longer fertile, even with Capitol technology. Then again, she was made sterile long before her old age.

Her and the District Five Victor, Lujza, had a romance for many years, even when President Howlette barred their attempts to get married but no punishment was ever forced upon them. Until Amire got pregnant just before the twenty-sixth Hunger Games.

She knew there would be issues with it so her and Lujza tried to keep a secret for as long as possible. Sadly, the bi-monthly check ups on victor let her secret out. She hoped it would be something small, like they would barred them from mentoring or punish her after the child was born. She would never have thought they would force her to terminate her pregnancy, making her sterile in the process.

She had done her weeping over her lost child and although he would never show it, Lujza had done his share too. Both had the luxury of having children taken away just because someone high up decided it was not what they wanted. That was why Amire hated The Capitol.

They controlled people in cruel, unnecessary ways just to prove that they could. She did what she did to Amire to prove to the other victors that they had no say in their futures. The Capitol decided everything about them, who married who, who produced children.

A rebel by nature, Amire might have rebelled when she was younger but now in her old age, she was starting to not care. A rebellion was down to someone much younger than her, she was just happy that she still had Lujza to care for.

Her niece turned to the window and smiled, waving at her aunt but Amire just offered a small smile in reply. In The Capitol, it was customary to bring a new mother a balloon. Amire had even been given one by Pallas to give to the new mother. Amire, however, had brought a simple raw chicken. In District Ten, food for the new mother was far more important than any silly bit of plastic filled with helium.

MaybeAmire should have felt guilty about leaving Pallas and Belinda so close to The Games and being their only mentor. She had to be away though, they were her children she had raised the best she could. She couldn't bear to lose any more children to The Capitol.

District 11

Archie Moon, Victor of the 27th Hunger Games

If Archie Moon was not looking at a boy that was most likely living through his final days, he might have laughed. Vulcan was dressed from head to toe in a shiny black suit that reflected the spotlights in the dimly lit hovercraft. Other than Vulcan's body shape and height, you had no clue it was him under the fabric. However, it seemed the boy could see his mentor and the world around him due to no accidents occurring since he put the suit on.

There were some things the black suit could not hide, such as rapid jiggle of his thigh as he tapped his foot against the metal floor repeatedly, sighing loudly as he did so. Archie could see he was nervous and he knew the situation was not easy. They had both come to associate the hovercraft with The Arena. Although it was a week away, that did not change the dread that filled both of them. The pure fear that death was closer than it truly was.

"Do you remember what we disgusted this morning, the strategies?" Archie asked Vulcan who in return hung his head low, letting out a defeated sigh.

"Does this really count towards anything?" Vulcan asked, his voice heavy and his gloss covered body, shaking.

"I think so, this is in place of the normal training sessions, it's not going to be all fun and games-"

"Is it ever is?" Vulcan muttered under his breath. Archie did not reply. Instead, deciding to listen to the small, mechanical beeps that were just audible above the roar of the engines and pressure release doors. The rumble resembled that of a submarine although, that would have been a more enjoyable place to be.

Although no one had died on the hovercraft, built just for the training sessions of the Warriors, it smelt of death. A cold, empty feeling looming throughout the cabin. Maybe it was a trick of his mind, the knowledge of where this craft would be taking Vulcan in a few weeks. Or maybe it was the thousands of children who would sit in the very same seat as them on the way to their death. However, in a morbid way, Archie was just happy it was not his cousin in Vulcan's place. Not that he would be mentoring her.

She came second place for the female Warrior, Clarissa beating her to the crown. Not that it was much of a victory. At least Archie knew she could not live her life instead of dying young.

District 12

Lujza Darejan, Victor of the 22nd Hunger Games.

Lujza Darejan looked at both of his tributes, a wide smile on his face. In return, they offered him an annoyed look as they shivered against the cold night air. Even their hiking jackets could not keep them warm. Their pouting faces were lit up by the crackling campfire that burned a few feet away from them, filling the clearing with a warm glow.

"Are we camping?" Venus grunted, her breath freezing before her.

"You are camping, I am going to be inside-"

"That's hardly fair!" Berik protested, stomping his foot on the ground slightly.

Lujza let out a little chuckle as he tossed the pair a small, fresh, hot water bottle. "I'm an old man, this is not the type of place for me." Lujza had earned a reputation over the years for being the uncaring victor and after everything that had happened to him, did they really expect anything different? They took away his child, chance to be a father, normal life and marriage just so he could gain them more victors? He had learned that it was easier from the start to be cold than suffer any more loss.

"It's freezing out here, what will we gain from this?" Berik bellowed, clearing flustered but accepting the warmth of the bottle.

Lujza gestured towards the fire, tent and the supplies that littered the camp from small slices of bacon to kindle. "You have everything you need, I think I have been slightly generous if you ask me. I want to see if you can survive."

"You know we could just walk back to our rooms," Venus sighed, pointing towards the tribute building that overlooked the small clearing they were in. At the window was Grover and Ares, the pair pulling faces at the unfortunate tributes. Venus sighed, her eyes pulling away from the window. "We could just come back in the morning-"

"Vee, I have been mentoring for thirty-three years, I know when a camp has been slept in plus, what would walking away teach you?" Lujza asked, flinging his now empty backpack over his shoulder and turning towards the brightly lit city.

"No wonder you ain't a father, you would be shit with kids," Venus laughed, earning a chuckle from Berik. Lujza understood it was a lighthearted laughter but his heart sank. The lost child with Amire bringing on a crushing weight.

"Never want them, raising you brats just turned me off," Lujza laughed along with the two, refusing to turn around just in case they saw his tears. "Wrap up warm, eat and I shall see you in the morning!" he shouted back at the pair as he vanished into the night.