Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to District11-Olive and goldie031 for Faven and Acher, respectively.


District Four
Something Always Changes


Mags Pharos, 62
Victor of the 8th Hunger Games

She hoped District Four was ready for the change.

Mags leaned back in her chair as the crowd slowly began to gather in the square. She'd hoped that arriving early might give her a feel for the crowd's mood, for whether or not there would be any volunteers this year. The training center had been rebuilt. Careers were training again. But they were mostly younger, with a few years to go before they would really be ready to volunteer. Would any of them actually want to try their luck this year?

Maybe. If anything was likely to give District Four an advantage in earning the Capitol's favor, it would be Imalia's performance over the past year. She had brought down District Thirteen. She had won the war without firing a single shot. The Capitol hadn't lost a single soldier. It had cost them nothing. It had cost District Four nothing. And it had earned them … well, everything, according to Imalia. They had the Capitol's favor. They had Eldred's trust. They had everything they had wanted.

Everything Imalia had wanted.

Oh, there were some in District Four who felt the same way, of course. Who saw the benefits of Career training. Some who were in it for the fame, or the thrill, or the better life they could build for themselves. And there were others who would shake their heads but would ultimately say nothing, because if other people's children were training for the Games, were volunteering for the Games, then their children would be safe. Career training ultimately benefited most of the district.

Except…

Except those who didn't survive. The ones who went into the Games and died. The ones who came out, but realized their new life wasn't everything they'd hoped for. And the ones who never went in, and spent their whole lives wondering what would have happened if they had, always looking back and regretting not having the chance.

There weren't many of those these days, of course. Not much competition for the spots in the Games. Last year, neither of their tributes had volunteered. It had been years since both spots had been filled by Careers.

Maybe this was the year that would change.

Or maybe not. The crowd that poured into the square seemed eager enough, but as Mags watched the nearest rows to the stage, the oldest of the teenagers, there wasn't that same feeling of anticipation, the coiled energy ready to strike, that there had been years ago when the Career system was at its peak. Oh, they would get there again, if Imalia had her way. And she probably would. But maybe not just yet.

One by one, the other Victors joined her onstage. If any of Kalypso's trainees were planning to volunteer, she was keeping it to herself – perhaps to help them save face if they decided to back out. Imalia's face was carefully neutral, but she shook her head slightly as she took a seat next to Mags. "None of the ones I've talked to," she whispered in answer to Mags' unasked question. "What's wrong with them?"

Mags said nothing. Everything had happened so quickly – the fall of Thirteen, the district's new training center, and so many hopeful young trainees – that Imalia had hoped, maybe even expected, that this year would bring a pair of Career volunteers. But not everything changed that quickly.

But things did change. They had changed before, the Career system slowly growing after Naomi's victory. They had changed when Misha's had encouraged the rebels during the 41st Games and then burned the training center to the ground. And they had changed now. No, not quite had changed. Things were still changing. Whether that change was good or bad … well, that remained to be seen.

Probably, it was neither. Neither wholly good nor wholly bad. Most things weren't. Even the Games. Oh, it was tempting – especially after years of losing children who hadn't volunteered – to see them only as something to be dreaded, as so many had when she was younger. But that was wrong. For some, the Games offered an escape from a life of poverty, neglect, and even abuse. And there was no denying that some of the Victors were a positive force in their districts.

But not all. Maybe not even most. The Games weren't all that the other Career districts saw them as, either. They weren't about glory or honor or even victory. They were about survival. She had survived the Games. There had been no pleasure in it; she had simply done what was necessary, because she had wanted to live. And she had survived.

But twenty-three others hadn't.

So did the good outweigh the bad, or the other way around? Maybe it didn't matter one way or the other. They both existed – the good and the bad. District Four had always been well-positioned to understand that. She just hoped they wouldn't lose that perspective in the rush to become a full-fledged Career district again.

Mags managed a smile as their escort, Renata Maldonado, joined them onstage, absolutely beaming. She'd volunteered for District Four after the last Quarter Quell, when no one had wanted a district whose Career days seemed well behind them and whose Victors had a growing reputation for discontent. She'd seen something in Four, she said, and now her patience had paid off. "Hello again, District Four!" she gushed. "It's so good to be back. I have a feeling we're in for quite a year. Don't you think so?" she added, turning to Imalia.

Imalia kept her expression blank. "I certainly hope so."

Mags' eyes swept the crowd as Renata made her way over to the first reaping bowl. If Imalia's words had stirred any hesitant potential volunteers, there was no sign in the crowd. But maybe there wouldn't be – not until the moment came.

"Faven Aldana!"

Silence. Absolute silence. Dead silence. For a moment, that was all that happened – as if the whole crowd was holding its breath, waiting to see if anyone would volunteer. When it was finally clear that no volunteer was forthcoming, the fourteen-year-old section slowly began to part, revealing a girl in a light blue, knee-length dress and flat beige shoes. She was staring straight ahead, terrified, unmoving, maybe still hoping that someone would volunteer. That someone would save her.

After a moment, a Peacekeeper stirred on the edge of the crowd, making his way towards her. That seemed to stir her to her senses, and she took a few shaky steps forward. Satisfied that progress was being made, the Peacekeeper stepped back, and she slowly took a few more steps towards the stage. She was about average height, with pale skin and long, dark hair that hung in waves down her back, almost reaching her waist. She was still shaking as she climbed the steps to the stage, her eyes bright with tears – tears that were spilling down her cheeks now that the weight was sinking in. She wiped away a few of the tears and carefully adjusted the light blue bow in her hair. Then she took a deep breath and turned to face the crowd.

Renata flashed Faven a smile and turned her attention to the second reaping bowl. After giving the slips of paper a few swirls, she drew one out and carefully unfolded it. "Acher Ernetut!"

Once again, silence filled the crowd. A few of the older boys avoided looking at the stage – avoided looking at Kalypso and Imalia. Finally, the fourteen-year-old section parted once more, revealing a boy in a well-worn tan shirt, baggy khaki pants, an plain brown shoes. His gaze darted from side to side for a moment before landing on one of the Peacekeepers, who was starting to make his way through the crowd. Immediately, the boy turned and ran the other way.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mags saw Imalia shake her head. The boy had barely made it to the edge of the section before the Peacekeepers caught up with him. Two of them took him firmly by the arms and began to drag him towards the stage. "Wait!" the boy screamed. "Wait! Please! Someone will volunteer! Just wait a little longer! Please!"

Mags held her breath as the boy was dragged past the older sections, begging now – begging for one of the older trainees to take his place. But the seventeen and eighteen year olds avoided looking at him as he was dragged past them, carried up the steps, and dumped onstage beside his district partner.

Mags had to fight the urge to rush over and help him up. Better for him to regain his composure on his own. Well, better in the Capitol's eyes, at least. In the audience's eyes. After a moment of watching, however, Faven let out a deep sigh and reached down, pulling Acher to his feet and straightening his outfit. Acher wiped a few tears from his eyes. He was an inch or two taller than Faven, with olive skin, brown hair, and hazel eyes. For a moment, he looked like he might try to run again, but apparently thought better of it when he saw the two Peacekeepers lingering nearby. "Thanks," he muttered.

Faven nodded, a small smile finally forming. "My pleasure. You obviously needed the help."

Mags glanced over at Imalia, who was watching the exchange curiously. Renata, meanwhile, beamed as the pair shook hands. "Your tributes, District Four! Faven and Acher!"

Acher muttered something under his breath. "What was that, dear?" Renata asked.

Acher opened his mouth to repeat himself, but Faven cut him off. "He said it's pronounced AH-cher, with a 'ch' like in challah."

Renata nodded. "Why thank you, young lady. Faven and AH-cher, District Four! Let's give them a hand!"

Unsure what else to do, the crowd applauded. Maybe they weren't the tributes they'd been hoping for, and they certainly weren't Careers, but tributes had surprised them before. They knew better than to write anyone off because of the way they acted at the reaping.

After the tributes were led away, Mags turned to Imalia. "You and me, then?"

Imalia nodded. They'd been waiting to see whether any of Kalypso's students would volunteer to decide who would be mentoring, but Imalia was a clear choice. Even if their tributes weren't the most appealing to the sponsors, her presence alone would give District Four a bit of an advantage. And they would need every advantage they could get.

"I'll take Faven," Imalia answered before Mags could even ask the question.

Mags nodded. She'd expected as much. Imalia had seen something during their brief exchange – something she liked. "All right with me," Mags agreed. She'd seen something, too – something promising. Something that District Four could use a bit more of.

Something that she hoped wouldn't change.


Faven Aldana, 14

Some things just didn't change.

Faven twirled her mother's wedding ring in her fingers as the door closed behind her family. They were proud of her – that was what her mother had said. But not because she was going to bring the family honor of glory or whatever was supposed to happen. They were proud because she had helped her district partner onstage. That spoke volumes, her mother had said, about the way she'd been raised. Faven cringed. She might be dead soon, and they were just relieved that she hadn't made them look bad in front of all of Panem. That she had been helpful.

Helpful. Polite. Sweet. That was what her parents had always wanted, so that was what she had learned to be. But those things wouldn't help her in the arena. They wouldn't save her life in a fight. What chance did she have in a fight? None. She was going to die. She was going to die, and all anyone cared about was how it looked.

Tears began to flow again now that her family was gone. It didn't matter. No one could see her now. Faven made her way to the door and sank to the floor, leaning back against it, hoping no one else was coming. No one who would see her like this. No one who would remember her like this.

Then the handle turned, and there was a pressure from the other side of the door. "Faven?" asked a voice. The door was nudged a little farther. A chuckle came from the other side. "Really?"

Faven froze. She knew the voice. The whole district knew the voice. Immediately, she sprang to her feet and away from the door. "What are you doing here?"

Imalia stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "I'm your mentor."

Faven wiped the tears from her eyes, wishing they would stop. "You got stuck with me, huh?"

"I chose you."

Really? "Well, I guess considering the other option…"

Imalia smirked. "I would have chosen you anyway."

"You would? Why?"

"Because of what you did onstage."

Faven looked away. Great. "Because I helped him?"

"No. Because you didn't want to."

Faven blinked. "What?"

"You didn't want to help him. But you did it anyway."

"You could tell I didn't—?"

Imalia chuckled. "You obviously needed the help. That's sweet. Too sweet. Sugary sweet. No one is that sweet. But someone who can pretend to be just after they've been chosen for a fight to the death, someone who already realizes that the Games are all about doing things that you don't want to do … that's someone I can work with."

Faven's heart leapt. She wiped a few more tears from her eyes, muttering an apology. "Can't seem to stop crying."

Imalia waved a hand. "Tributes crying at the reaping? They've seen plenty of that. No one will pay it a second thought, trust me. What they see at the reaping doesn't really matter. What matters is what you do now – whether you're going to sit here feeling sorry for yourself because no one came to save you, or whether you're going to have a good cry, get it out of your system, and move on – and figure out a way to save yourself."

Faven nodded. Imalia was right. No one had come to save her. No one had volunteered. She had hoped, when her name was called, that someone might step up. Careers were beginning to train again in Four. She had hoped that maybe someone might be ready, or that someone might take pity on her.

Pity doesn't put food on the table. That was what her parents always said. No one was going to help, anyway, so it was better to never let them see how much you were struggling. Better to put up a good front. And maybe they cared too much about appearances, but they were right about pity. Pity hadn't saved her at the reaping. And it wouldn't do her any good in the Games. Tributes didn't win by getting other people to feel sorry for them. It might help them survive a little longer than some, but it didn't help them win, because eventually, other people's pity ran out.

Faven realized Imalia was watching her. "So … how do I do that?" Faven asked softly. "How do I save myself?"

Imalia smiled – a real, genuine smile. "That's what we'll have to figure out – together. And there'll be time for that, but there's a reason I came to see you now, before we're on the train. While it's just you and me, I think we should figure out which angle you want to take with your district partner."

"Angle?"

"You helped him onstage. You'll have to figure out whether you want to keep that up, or whether it's best to discourage that sort of thing now – before he gets any ideas. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't be looking for allies, but—"

"But you think I can do better."

"I think you can probably find someone who has a bit more to offer in return."

Faven nodded, and realized she was relieved to hear Imalia say it out loud. "Do you think he'll understand?"

"Does that change anything?"


Acher Ernetut, 14

Nothing had changed.

Acher breathed a sigh of relief as the door finally closed behind his family, leaving him alone in the room. They had been … well, they had tried to be kind, but they'd all spent more time consoling the youngest of his eight siblings than they had trying to comfort him. He was the one going into the Games, and he still wasn't the first one on their mind. He was just another one of the Ernetut children.

Just the one who was going to die.

Acher slumped down in the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees. It wasn't fair. He was going to die, and his family … of course they would care. No one wanted to see one of their family members die in the Games. But they would get over it. They would go on with their lives, and he … well, he woundn't. Because he would be dead. Dead, before he'd even had the chance to really do anything with his life, to be anyone that people would notice, someone that people would be sorry to lose.

It wasn't fair.

Acher nearly jumped as the door opened again. He couldn't imagine who else might be coming. Who else would care? Who else would even notice? Who—

Acher scrambled to his feet as he saw who it was. "Is it time to go already?"

Mags shook her head. "No, but I wanted a chance to talk to you – alone. Without your district partner."

Acher looked away. Right. His district partner. Faven Aldana, the girl that everyone seemed to like. The girl everyone was drawn to in the school cafeteria. And she had noticed him. She had finally noticed him, and what had it gotten him? Pity. She just felt sorry for him. You obviously needed the help. Did she know how much the words had stung? And the worst part was, it was true. He had needed help. He'd tried to run away. He hadn't been able to get to his feet on his own. He'd barely had the guts to say anything out loud onstage, but she … she had gone and corrected the escort. She'd stood up for him.

But only because she felt sorry for him.

Acher could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He blinked them away, then looked up at Mags. "Why?"

Mags took a seat in one of the chairs. "Because I know Imalia's doing the same thing – trying to get a jump on the situation. She's probably in there telling Faven not to work with you."

Acher looked away. "Because I'm hopeless?"

"Because she thinks you are. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

Mags smiled warmly. "What do you think?"

"I tried to run away."

"Yes."

"Because I knew I wouldn't have a chance."

Mags shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't think it was anything that conscious, that deliberate. Running is instinct. You tried to run away, even though you knew you probably wouldn't make it. You knew the Peacekeepers would probably catch you, and you ran anyway. Someone who knows the odds are against them and is willing to try like hell anyway … that's someone I can work with."

"You mean that?"

Mags flashed another smile. "I try not to say things I don't mean."

"Of course not. I just … I guess it's just hard to believe that someone like you really thinks I have a chance."

"Someone like me?"

"A Victor."

Mags shook her head. "I'm a Victor now. But almost fifty years ago, I was a tribute. Not a Career. Not even one of the stronger contenders. Just a kid who knew she might die but tried her hardest to survive, just the same."

Acher's eyes narrowed. "And you're about to tell me that if you could do it, so can I? Is that what you told your tribute last year? And the year before that? And the year before that? And–"

Mags shrugged. "That's why we're here – mentors. We're here as an example. Proof that winning the Games is possible. Why do you think the Victors mentor rather than the Capitol mentors they used to have? I know what it's like to be sitting here in this room, wondering if there's really any chance that you might be the one coming home." She shook her head. "I can't promise that you will be coming back. Only the newest mentors even think of promising that. But I can tell you that you have a chance."

Acher swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. A chance. That was more than his family had thought he had. They had told him how sorry they were, how much they wished someone had volunteered, how unfair it all was – but not that they thought he might be the one coming home. But Mags … Mags, District Four's very first Victor, thought he had a chance.

He just hoped she was right.


"That's one of the great tragedies of life: Something always changes."