"Though I do admit, it came on fast,

still I do believe that it can last,

and I will be loathing, loathing you

my whole life long."

Naya Illumina, 17, District Four Female

Naya walks along the ocean and breathes in the salt air, letting her muscles relax after her long day of training, followed by yet another unsuccessful "Save the Whales" speech. A plastic bag floats by on the clear blue water and Naya frowns, picking the treacherous piece of plastic from the lapping waves, before some poor unwitting fish can choke on it. She feels hot anger gathering in her chest as she thinks about the careless way that people live. Don't they understand how each of their lazy actions decimates the defenseless Earth?

One thought consoles her: the Reaping is tomorrow. One step closer to meeting the President and stating her case. He will have to hear her out. For once in her life, her voice will be louder than the ocean, than her father's rebukes, than-

Caldwell Kingsen. If Naya had been angry before, she is now livid. Enraged and incensed, any sense of tranquility melting away. He is the only person who can do this to her.

The dear Mr. Kingsen in question is sitting, looking idiotic as usual, beside an intricately constructed sand castle. But that's not the problem. Oh no. Caldwell has a pile of trash beside him, and he is callously picking out pieces of glass and discarded bottle caps to use as towers, adding them to the castle.

She doesn't understand him. That sand will blow away in the wind soon enough, pointless, leaving no mark on the world. And when it does, the treacherous garbage that the scum of the Earth have left on the beach will be cast into the water, wreaking havoc and poisoning whatever it touches.

And that sends her right over the edge. She sprints across the beach, glare firmly in place, chin lifted and back straight. "Caldwell Kingsen!" Her yell rivals the shrieks of the seagulls. "Just what in heaven's name do you think you're doing? You are using that trash for your own gain? Fraternizing with the enemy? When you could've just thrown it away, removed the threat so that our beautiful Earth could continue to thrive! But no... instead of saving the entire world, you choose to defile it! I cannot believe you."

Overwhelmed with passion and without even a second's pause, Naya hefts her surfboard and brings it mercilessly down upon the treasonous sandcastle, destroying it completely. Sand puffs out in a cloud, and Naya is so focused on making sure she catches the trash before it does any further harm that she is not prepared for Caldwell's fist connecting with her face.

"That's for my sandcastles!" he cries, seemingly full of righteous rage as well.

Let him be angry. She'll be the one who is right in the end; she'll always be superior. Besides, she doesn't even know what he's talking about, what's gotten him so worked up.

"I've destroyed many over the years," she says loftily, standing on her toes. "You'll have to be more specific."

To Naya's puzzlement, this seems to enrage him further. "They were all mine!"

"Well, don't you think that the environment was trying to tell you to change your ways?" she says, not letting him think for a moment that he's surprised her.

"Well, interpret this!"

And he throws a large rock at her foot, before storming away. Naya hears the sickening crack of the rock hitting her right foot, sending her sprawling across the sand. She is dazed for a moment, uncomprehending, before her brain kicks back into gear.

Caldwell Kingsen just seriously damaged her foot. On the night before her big day, the single event that was going to propel her into her mission. Sometimes she wonders if everything she does to try and better the world will be all for naught, if nobody will even notice, when finding her voice and becoming an activist means so very much to her. The only thing to bring her out of that cycle is thinking about how someday, she will win the Hunger Games and be able to make a real difference. And now Caldwell has potentially ruined that for her.

But no. She isn't even going to entertain that thought. She's come so far, finding her purpose, conquering her insecurities, and she simply cannot let this excuse for a human being ruin her day. A simple act from him will not—cannot—send all her years of arduous training crumbling down like the castles that she has destroyed. She simply won't allow it.

Soon he'll see. Naya is doing real work to make the world a better place, and she does not care about a silly sandcastle artist. There are bigger, more important things deserving of her attention. And soon the whole world will see why they're so important. She will make a change in Panem, she will save the world from itself, if it's the last thing she does.

...

Caldwell Kingsen, 17, District Four Male

Caldwell sits back, admiring his masterpiece. This latest creation took him four hours to build. His arms are sore and his head aches, but he knows that this work of art will be worth a large sum, and he knows that's the most important thing. It just needs a final touch.

He surveys it one last time, admiring the stately walls, the towering turrets, each subtle detail masterfully designed. It gleams under the setting sun. In the distance, Caldwell hears the screech of Naya's voice, calling out useless messages about saving the whales to her one supporter. But he tunes her out easily enough. His castle needs just a little bit more, one final stroke of inspiration that will set it apart from the rest. If he ever falls behind in his artistic efforts, if he ever makes a mistake... well, that will mean he isn't perfect anymore, no longer Panem's next prodigy.

And he can't allow himself to even think about that. So he searches for something unique, something resplendent.

What he finds is trash. Bits of broken glass and bottlecaps gleaming in the dying light. For any ordinary mind of average intelligence and questionable artistic ability, this refuse would look like castoff junk, worth nothing. But to Caldwell, these gleaming pieces of metal and plastic are tools meant just for him, their sole purpose being to further his prowess. And so he begins strategically placing the fragments lying in wait on the sand, molding them to his will like a sculptor with clay.

And that's what he is; a master of sand, a God sent down from the Heavens meant to bless Panem with the beauty he etches into his medium. It's not only castles, either; Caldwell also brings extravagant sand paintings into the world. He is unrivaled at his craft, and Caldwell doubts there will ever be anyone quite so skilled as he.

(Caldwell ignores the way that he feels nothing as he continues placing the towers and spires. He doesn't acknowledge the way his passion and inspiration has slipped through his fingers like the tiny grains of sand he works with. Because that would mean... a lot of things he isn't ready to think about. Will never have to think about, if he's lucky. Which he is.)

Eager to finish his work before the sun sets so he can get his check, Caldwell works quickly to polish the last tower. But before he can add the final flourish, he hears the pierce of an all-too-familiar voice.

"Caldwell Kingsen!"

He sighs. He knows for a fact that what she has to say is not nearly as important as his need to finish his work. And he needs to finish it, quickly. If he doesn't get a paycheck, then he doesn't get his parents' approval, and if that doesn't happen... Caldwell reels in his thoughts. While he appreciates and values his incredible imagination, sometimes his mind goes down roads he'd rather not think about. Being even a notch below blessed... he can't fathom it.

She's standing beside him now, hands on hips, six feet tall and glaring at him like he's personally wronged her. He hates her. Hates that she can get into his head, keep him awake, make him wonder. She's jabbering something, but he isn't listening, not really, until her surfboard comes down like a hammer. She bludgeons his beautiful sandcastle, his greatest pride, into dust. And to Caldwell, it feels as though she is doing the same to his ego, his self-worth.

Tomorrow is Reaping day. He'll have to attend, and that means he'll have less hours to work on his art. That sends him over the edge, and he leaps to his feet, spins and punches Naya in the jaw.

"That's for my sandcastles!" he cries.

But it's more than that. It's much more.

She has the nerve to look indifferent. "I've destroyed many over the years," she drawls. "You'll have to be more specific."

How can she say that? How can she not even recognize his creations, when she's so pitilessly destroyed them, over and over again. Which is not to say that he hasn't retaliated—there have been glorious occasions where he ruined her surfboard and got her in trouble with the Peacekeepers. But he can't help but feet a fierce hatred possess him every time she treats his talent like a mere child's hobby. He is good-natured most of the time, a kind person, an upstanding citizen. But Naya Illumina always manages to get under his skin, and he doesn't like it.

He makes a last-ditch attempt at recognition. "They were all mine!"

She doesn't even seem phased, doesn't seem to understand how enormous this all is to him. "Don't you think the environment was trying to tell you to change your ways?" she says, raising her eyebrows.

That offends him on a deep level. The environment is practically his canvas, and those small acts of destruction—creating his art where turtles would hatch, using trash for his own gain—′ simply small sacrifices for the greater good. Caldwell wishes he could just shake it off, feel secure in his own worth and not let some silly words from an unenlightened soul define him. But Caldwell is a creature who needs attention and validation, and who shrinks beneath the contrary.

So he says, "Well, interpret this!" and hurls a rock at Naya's foot.

Satisfaction calms his racing mind as Caldwell watches her grunt in pain and fall to the sand. Nobody else but her can do this to him. Nobody but Naya can unravel him and make him doubt his destiny as Panem's greatest sandcastle artist. She deserves everything she gets.

He walks away from her, already dreading what will happen when he comes home emptyhanded. This is all her fault. And he will make sure that she pays for making him feel anything but important. Even suggesting that his gift, the very thing he dedicates his life to, could be wrong—it's a crime. And so Caldwell makes a solemn vow that she will feel his wrath, that she will lose something precious to her, and that he will make it happen.

...

Hellooooo friends, and welcome to Intros II! In this chapter, we met the lovely Naya Illumina and Caldwell Kingsen. They were very fun to write and I hope that you've enjoyed reading them, and that I have done them justice. I just wanna say really quickly that these intros are just a snippet of these Tributes, and I will definitely be revealing more about them along the way. I've loved hearing all your opinions so far, and I forgot to thank people in the last two chapters, but I'd like to express gratitude to Rising-balloons, Nautics, Paperthorn and QueenofFunerals37 for your reviews. I really appreciate them!

Next chapter is the first part of Reapings, where we will meet our next two Tributes! I hope that you are all having a great weekend and taking care of yourselves, and I'll see you (hopefully) on Monday! We'll see if I can maintain this schedule. Much love,

Miri