Hi everyone! First off, sorry this chapter took a bit long to write, due to finishing my dissertation + the sinking ship that is French politics. But anyway: thank you so much to Paradigm and AstralKnight for your reviews! I really appreciate them! Thank you as well to all the submitters so far! I may take some time to write, but believe me when I say I'm so excited to work of your guys, gals, and non-binary pals.

Speaking of submissions: I'm planning to change the submission system a little be. From now on, it will be first come first serve, wherever you reserve a spot or directly send me the form. For now, here's the second Prologue of Ad Astra Per Aspera. Hope you'll enjoy!

Eugenia Breeze, 18 years old

Honor student of Breeze Academy

Mentor of the District Eight Female

Eugenia Breeze expected the worst when she arrived in District Eight. But she actually found it endearing in some way.

Sure, District Eight was grimy and foggy, basically a smelly bastion of factories where their inhabitants were left to die. But strangely, as she started to accommodate herself in the well-to-do lodgings reserved for Mentors when they arrived, she discovered some charm to the hot and dusty smoke rising tall over the buildings' chimneys to build an almost-human cloud. District Eight was a soggy mishmash of worn-out homes, and it would be lying to say she felt at home there, but there was that character that she grew to miss when she was in a Capitol.

Unlike most of her friends and relatives, she always appreciated the few trips she took to the Districts. She just had a hard time sharing the contempt most Capitolites had for their defeated vassals. In fact, despite everything she was taught since her toddler years, she enjoyed the little particularities each District she visited had. As a child, while on vacation with her extended family in one of Four's wealthy resorts, she spent almost every day looking at the sea and algae floating on the rocks near the coast. As a teenager, as she learned about the many businesses her family had in the Districts, she oftentimes followed her mother to District One as a secondary overseer of the family's riches. But truthfully, her eyes often looked towards the city lights, which shone both brighter and duller than the Capitol. It was no secret for anyone that One was the corrupt little sibling of its glorious neighbor, with its own riches partly gained through the crimes that vanished under the casinos and studios' shadows. What stopped Smyrne's administration from raiding the District's street and throwing these neer-do wells in Twelve's prisons was triple: the Capitol earned a share of One's ill-gained money, its citizens were often friends and colleagues of Capitol citizens, and, most of all, they tended to seamlessly reach stardom, whether as Victors, as actors, authors, or anything that could outshine most Capitol citizens. All of this to say, Eugenia always enjoyed leaving the blinding lights of the Capitol, even for little time, and was fine exploring the shadows haunting those defeated places.

One who did not take too kindly to being stranded in what may be the poorest District since the Defiance of the Stones, however, was Eugenia's fellow Mentor and classmate, Caeso Blyflower. Though in the same class as Eugenia, Caeso always felt quiet, brooding, and unremarkable to her. When it turned out Head Gamemaker Sparks picked for him the boy from District Eight to Mentor, this gloominess seemed to grow tenfold. She tried her very best to plan with him the best course of action when it came to contacting stylists and potential sponsors. But Caeso said little, let her plan alone, with rare scathingly depressingly words and a gaze of resentment. It posed little problem to her, she was used to all of this in Breeze Academy. It did not help her daily life to study in an Academy named after her family, after all. What bothered her was how quickly he seemed to have thrown the towel after things did not go his way.

She should not care that much about Caeso's feelings. She could make her tribute a Victor on her own, thanks to her skills and influence. Yet, she was intent on putting all luck on her side, and most, of all, to have at the very least an ally.

That is why she knocked on Caeso's room door during this grey morning.

He did not answer right away but, as Eugenia started to feel restless, he finally opened his door. His eyes were red, his skin ashen, as if struck with sleeplessness or intense depression. But for now, it did not matter. She prepared to speak, but he got the jump on her :

"Is it about preparing for the Reaping ?"

"Yeah. And also I'm worried about you."

He scratched his eyes. "Right, let's go then."

It went much better than she expected, she thought. But his state was clearly worrying. Was he missing his family? Was he too dejected by his situation to sleep peacefully? Or was he struggling with allergies in this inhospitable District for him? She did not know him enough to tell. But either way, she walked towards the main room of the building they were now living in, Caeso diligently followed her, and sat down to brainstorm.

Thanks to the new mayor, Eugenia's mother's cousin, they had access to data on the eligible tributes her "rivals" were not likely to have (except her twin sister, that is). So through the morning, they scoured through some potential tributes selected by their grades, discussing what kind of advertising they could give them.

It was clear Caeso was not really invested though. While he did his best to keep his eyes open, they often were distracted or perturbed by the noises surrounding him. When it became increasingly clear he was struggling to focus, Eugenia said :

"We can do that at some other point if you want. Are you okay ?"

He grunted. "I'm fine but, yeah, I need some sleep right now."

"Don't worry. Have some rest, we'll work on that later."

"Yeah, sorry."

"That's okay," she insisted.

He started to leave, but she stayed in the common room, looking at him worryingly. The boy just waved back with an awkward smile, before climbing up the stairs.

Eugenia sighed. Her mother, as a strong tenet of her education, did not teach her to feel pity. But she could not help but feel overwhelmed by it when she saw her fellow Mentor.

She decided to skip lunch to continue her overview of the potential tributes. She jotted down a few names, read the paragraphs outlining the family background of the more interesting ones. Nothing too gripping to be fair, but she enjoyed doing it. More so, she enjoyed secretly delving into these lives she could never had the opportunity to explore otherwise.

Time passed, and by the end of the afternoon, she was done with the pile. It flew by for her, as she wanted to explore the District more. "It was not safe for her to go outside alone," she was told, but what was there to do otherwise? She could not stand being cloistered from what the real world was like, in fact, she could not imagine how anyone could lead from the comfort of their home. Her alternative for a walk, for today, was to go to Eight's mayor's office to give him back the tribute files. It was a poor alternative, and she was not happy about it, but it would do she supposed.

After all, Eight had seen some shakeup recently, just before Eugenia and Caeso arrived in the District. The former Mayor, who ruled these lands for twenty years, was found to have compromising files linking him to rebel circles. The evidence was so damning that an investigation was not needed: the Peacekeepers kept them in their jail for barely two days and executed him right away. He was then quickly replaced by Leonel Breeze, a hardworking administrator who worked in the Ministry of Industry for ten years and has proved himself time and time again.

That was the "official" version, though.

Eugenia was inclined to believe it, but only up to a point. Whether the files found in the former Mayor's drawers were about rebels or not, she could not say. What she could say, however, was that her mother is the actual Minister of Industry, that she had known Leonel Breeze, her cousin, since her youth, and that she loved her twin daughters dearly.

She also knew, as well, that her mother's cousin was a loaf. A decent, competent loaf, but a loaf nonetheless. He could fill in papers without a typo or mistake (Eugenia never saw him in the act, but she could imagine that he could do that), but he was in no way cut out to become Mayor. From the family dinners she had with him, she knew he had an adenoidal voice, wheezing lungs, and, unlike most of the grand and tentacular Breeze dynasty, struggled to move beyond his paranoia to make solid arguments at the dinner table.

Ever since she arrived in Eight, Leonel has done his best not to show his complacency towards her, even if they shared the same name. He could not hide his obsequiousness, but she had no doubt he tried. Eugenia entering his office to give him back these files would be the first time they would see each other in private since she was there. She was not particularly eager to discuss with him, but if anything it would be the first sincere conversation she had in weeks. Sure, the Peacekeepers and administrators talked to her, but out of politeness only, without asking too many questions, on the basis that she is a Breeze.

It happened once again when she entered the Justice Building. It was late in the afternoon, meaning official business was slowing, yet the Peacekeepers only nodded back at her as greetings, without asking what she was doing there. The same thing happened when the welcome desk only smiled at her and let her pass through the hall and offices. It was a privilege, she knew, as the mayor's entourage would be more suspicious towards the District citizens. On that instance, though, she did not mind that undue respect at all: it only made sense those citizens almost saw her as royalty.

She knocked on the door of Leonel's office, but he did not answer right away. This can't keep happening, she thought. Why the world seemed to be so intent on making her wait? That might be the cardinal flaw of districts: things felt agonizingly long here, compared to the Capitol. But finally, Leonel opened the door :

"Oh! Good evening, Eugenia. Why are you here ?"

"To give you back the files you lent to me, of course." She said succinctly.

"Oh, right, come in."

She entered and immediately put the files on his desk. Ideally, she would have loved to leave already, but the mayor seemed more interested in using her as someone to rant to instead :

"Sorry, I didn't have time to see how you were doing. I mean, you don't want excuses from me, I know, but being mayor is definitely not an easy job! Your mother makes being the Minister of Industry so easy, but it's far from a piece of cake. There's the factories you need to keep in check, the unions, make sure the tesserae are given - though they are not important this year, of course, and then Peakeepers that must be happy, the executions that need to be set in place, the potential rebels-"

"I'm sorry the rebels ?" She was about to zone out from this unwanted discussion, but the word "rebels" made her ears perk up.

Nowadays, with three rebellions and District-led regimes being crossed off in the history of Panem as mistakes, the idea of rebels was almost a myth told to Capitolite children to scare them off. But for the adults handling these matters, they were viruses polluting Districts, that needed to be eradicated.

Leonel seemed rather shocked at her surprise: "Well, yes! We are investigating some leads, since as you know my predecessor, Mayor Brock, was executed because they found files linking him to rebels in his drawer…"

"I know that, I just assumed my mother planted these documents to give you a job." She was not sure whether it was genuine worry, a joke, or sheer stupidity on his part.

"Well if I wanted another job I would have not asked to be a mayor!" He grumbled. "I have received death threats since my investiture, the people don't want me here, that much is clear."

The people don't want you here because you suck, Leonel, she would have replied bluntly if she did not have to maintain her facade of liking him, and if the matter did not seem that serious.

"Can I see those death threats?" She asked.

"No, I won't annoy you with that, I'm sorry I had an outburst, I'll deal with these."

"This is still worrying though. Have you talked to anyone about these? Have you told my mother ?"

"I did, investigators from the Capitol are working with us on that. I had a tough day, but don't worry, Eugenia, this should not impact your Tributes, nor the Reapings." As he saw her stunned silence, he concluded. "Thank you for the files, let me know if you or your partner need anything."

"Will you update me on the matters of the rebels when you have more info?"

"Sure, it will make the news anyway when we find out more about that. But I'll tell you more when I know more, of course."

As she said goodbye to Leonel and walked back to her accommodations, for the first time since she stepped foot in Eight, fear seeped into Eugenia. Being in the middle of potential riots did not please her, at all.

Hadrian White, 18 years old

Honor student of Snow Academy

Mentor of the District Two Male

A month and a half ago Hadrian White earned the lion's share, mentoring a District Two tribute, through sheer luck. He was obviously overjoyed about it, and fully aware of his privilege.

However, truth be told: he hated District Two ever since he stepped foot there.

It was not even the first time he was there. Two often was a privileged family vacation when he was young, due to their shares in the Career academies over there. It was, after all, one of Capitolites' favorite underrated choice of vacation, because Capitolites were drawn towards scorching sunlight and sandy air, it seemed. But it never, never pleased Hadrian, not even once. He would have preferred staying in any other place, truly, rather than feeling like he burned alive every time he went outside.

He never was the most healthy kid, after all. After the many, many operations he had, he was feeling much better, but it took time to recover. It was still painful to walk with crutches on that District's ground, though. Ever since he could walk again, the idea of tripping and falling was even more so terrifying. And District Two was never friendly to those who tripped and fell, as part of their culture.

To add salt to the wound, the building he was staying in stood right next to Sector 1's Academy. He wished it did not annoy him as much as it would. It felt really odd and humiliating to have such a close view of kids training every single day of his stay, another insult to his predicament. Truthfully, his whole life felt like a long and draining humiliation that he tried to spit out his pride back at. Others easily forgot he was a White, a descendant of Coriolanus Snow, but Hadrian never did.

Luckily, the staff out there in Two, who took care of him did not forget as well. They made sure, every day, that he had what he needed, whether it was luxurious food, help to dress up, or to shower. And with that, they came and went with their jolly smiles, hiding all the frustration they could feel to help him if they had any. It was nice, definitely. An attempt to make him feel at home, though failed before it even started.

Preparing himself for the day took time, as usual. But it was, if anything, more comforting than the chaotic wildcard that was Caracalla Quymark, his mentoring partner. Unlike the mental calmness Hadrian needed at all times to hold on to his crutches, Caracalla seemed always restless as if his body was always close to bursting out due to his sheer energy. He would have fit right in among Two's careers, which made even more sense as he was a tribute from the Flare Institute, where physical wellness was held with as much respect, if not more as mental wellness. Now that he knew Caracalla well, he suspected it was the former that got him into this situation.

"Sup Hadrian! How are you doing today?" he asked while consuming a frankly shocking amount of scrambled eggs.

"I'm good, and you?" he lied. Best not to mention how much he hated Two was how he approached everything ever since his name was picked up.

"Great! You know, I had an idea of things to do for the day, but I wanted to see how you feel about it."

"Sure, go for it."

"How do you feel about going to see some career training?"

Hadrian stayed silent for a couple of seconds. He dreaded that this kind of thing to happen. Ultimately, with two weeks of stay in a District, especially one like Two where training was so important, it always was a matter of time until they were going to observe the District's industry and specificities. Mentorship could get really boring, he knew from his brother. Nevertheless, he was uncomfortable just at the thought of seeing kids doing things he would never be able to do.

"Sure." He lied again. He would never accept this normally, but he also needed to consider things logically. Ultimately, it was useful to see the standard ways of training. And he would just bite his tongue and take notes, as he always did in class. It was a sort of class, after all.

Caracalla seemed surprised by his blunt acceptance: "Really? Don't want you to… well…"

"Don't worry, that's okay. It's not the first time I've seen people do sports, and it won't be the last I suppose."

It was his fellow mentor's turn to stay silent: "Well, great then! Best thing to do is to go to the Academy right nearby, right?"

Hadrian nodded. He was more than glad to let Caracalla be the guide of their little adventure. As he finished his breakfast while excitedly talking about some of Two's iconic victors and their backgrounds, the descendant of the Snow carefully followed him through the motions of his last preparations before going out.

Even if the Academy was right nearby, Caracalla was still intent on making sure his fellow Mentor was safe. Even if Hadrian appreciated that amount of care, his way of caring could often get annoying.

"We don't need a taxi to cross the street, Caracalla."

Somehow, he did not expect that reply: "Really? Hey, it'll be faster than crossing the street!"

Hadrian sighed: "And crossing the street won't take that long. Come on, don't take me for an idiot."

Thankfully, his mouth stayed shut at that. It still could not help but notice the worry in his fellow Mentor's eyes as they walked. It was frustrating sometimes, that people forgot he was a White first and a teen with cerebral palsy second.

The Sector One Career Academy was standing right before them, with its rigorous walls mirroring the rigorous training taking place behind it. They could already hear, as they entered through the huge doors, many different blades and blunt weapons clashing with each other.

With only one step inside the hall, the intense pressure in the air was utterly clear. Even before seeing any of these Careers, it was obvious that only excellence was expected here. It was after all the richest Academy in the District by a mile, but Hadrian was not prepared for this amount of vigorous force emanating from only the halls. It followed them when they walked through the different areas, separated by transparent walls and transparent doors, behind which instructors were showing fencing tributes to children no more than twelve, teenagers yelling as they threw hatchets in sync on ballistic dummies, and others battling in what seemed to be a mud pit. As he observed them all, he remembered his brother's stories about Two's culture, their values of honor and strength before all, which made them such loyal citizens of Panem. And there was not much to contradict that story here.

They could, at first, apparently roam freely, without any secretary or administrators in the hall. Their Mentor uniforms, wearing proudly their respective Academy colors (the pure white of Snow Academy, and the Flare Institute cardinal red), made them stand out, and catch the curious looks of inattentive pupils and intrigued trainers. One of them, a young man with a shaved head and a clean beard, walked up to them.

"I assume you are this year's Mentors?"

"We are," Hadrian replied, his pride slowly rising again. "I'm Hadrian White, and this is Caracalla Quymark."

"I see," the bald trainer smiled. "I'm Head Trainer Andros, and I supervise the weapon training. Do you mind if I make you visit?"

"Absolutely not!" Caracalla said excitedly.

Andros' smile broadened further. "Let's go, then."

The visit in question was slow-paced, and strangely calm at times. Hadrian appreciated it. The training spoke of itself perfectly, without any need for an addendum. Even with the occasional curious looks the visit brought them, they were nevertheless the witnesses of an acute physical form, in the shapes of obstacle courses performed with great agility, and mock combats close to being a work of art. Maybe the most surprising was how fun it looked. After being defeated, thrown off the ground, or tripping and falling, the Careers were still smiling and were excitedly preparing to try again.

Seeing all that did not hurt as much as he imagined. Perhaps it was the pacing of the visit or the moments of silence, these shows of physical peak let his thoughts drift, rather than sticking them into a place of frustration.

Maybe, at last, he accepted his role was not being an imposing figure, but the crippled, on the side, calculating the next best move. Being an advisor, not a leader.

On the other hand, Caracalla and the Head Trainer were talking pleasantly:

"You seem young for being a Head Trainer, I'm not gonna lie." His fellow Mentor quipped, not menacingly, but fully out of curiosity.

At that, Andros laughed. "Yeah, I'm being told that a lot. But I was just a star student who didn't have the opportunity of being the chosen volunteer, and I love it here, so I decided to stay."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's as simple as that. I'm 29 by the way, so I'm not that old."

Caracalla chuckled back. Damn, they could be flirting if it weren't for the age gap and the situation, Hadrian thought.

As they reached what Andros called "the control room", where executives were calculating and analyzing statistics for each of their students, he chimed in:

"Sorry for the blunt question, but how are the Careers feeling about the Quell? Since the format does not allow for volunteers and is based on an entirely different system."

"Oh, they actually didn't mind that much", the Head Trainer replied. "There was grumbling at first, sure, but they went on and passed the tests without complaining. Everyone knows here that being a Volunteer was based on merit and hard work, after all."

Hadrian wished his question rattled Andros more. But no, he continued to be fairly joyful and polite with them, and that annoyed him. He's hiding something, or just showing his best side to us.

They entered the control room, and the descendant of Snow felt his irritation wane. Despite its smallness and how crowded it was, the room was something much more of Hadrian's speed. Blackboards stood on each of the walls, with numbers and names marked on them. In the center, all sat around a small table, people in suits and formal wear, whom he assumed were the executives Andros was talking about, were keenly reading papers and reading notes. Some of them were finishing either their cigarettes or their coffee as their brains were working hard. They were exchanging, but, when they entered, one of the older executives stood and walked to them:

"Oh! you must be the two Mentors this year. I'm Trebonius Wansky, Headmaster of this Academy." His voice was gruff, but his demeanor amicable enough, especially towards Hadrian. As they shook hands, he said:

"I knew your parents, bless their soul. And now I often discuss with your brother!"

"Really?" It did not happen often, but Hadrian was genuinely surprised. "Don't see this as an insult, but I don't think I have heard your name before."

Luckily, Trebonius only chuckled. "Oh do not worry, I assume I'm not the only one talking to your dear brother! But your family's company is our insurance company, and due to our activities, we have to work in close steps together."

"Oh, I see."

He was happy to let his guard down. Friends of Harlan White were always friends of his younger brother.

Ever since he took the reigns of his parents' company after their death, Harlan was inescapable. He was already seen as a representative of the bright future of the Capitol when he successfully mentored a Victor tribute, but with his charisma and his ever so charming authority, it became rare that he was not interviewed on some Capitol TV show, seemingly seducing everyone he talked with, and most likely the spectators as well.

Behind closed doors however, this facade faded quickly with anyone who vexed him and went against his decisions. Thankfully, Hadrian was not one of those people.

"Would you like to see what we do here, you two?" Trebonius proposed. "We might just know who will be the tributes of District Two this year, surely you might want to know too!"

"Of course!" Caracalla jumped in excitement.

Trebonius ordered his colleagues to show them what he called "class rankings", while explaining the statistics behind what they found out. The atmosphere grew more and more electric, more enjoyable than the Games could ever be.

At last, the two Mentors were presented with two names. Trebonius, Caracalla, and Andros went on to talk about their "outstanding capabilities", but for Hadrian, the numbers did not need any more explanations.

He was definitely lucky. That was for sure.