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Chapter Text

Reading of the Card

Mandatory viewing was required today, since the rules for the Quarter Quell were about to be set.

My mum mentioned that her merchant friend, Maysilee Donner went that year and that she was also Madge’s aunt.

As the television began to flicker to life, we patiently waited on the couch that was given to us as being a victor.

On the TV screen, President Snow began his ramble about the treaty of Treason and why we have the hunger games.

He announced, “Since each Quarter Quell had a twist, the third one should have mentors from a different district that killed both tributes from that district. Reaping day will be held a month early, with no volunteers and they are allowed to be trained only in the victors’ expert weapon.”

“For example, the mentors for District One will be Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason and Katniss Everdeen, who all have unique skillsets, but also are experts in long range weapons.”

As shock and awe overtook me, I missed the announcement that my mentor, who brought me home after my arena was heading towards District Four, but my co-victor was stuck with District Eight, since that was his only intentional kill.

Chapter Text

List of Mentors

District One- Katniss Sienna Everdeen, Johanna Mason and Finnick Odair

District Two- Cashmere Belotti, Mags Flanagan, Porter Tripp

District Three- Enobaria Golding, Gloss Belotti, Seeder Alexandrin

District Four- Blight Smithers, Haymitch Abernathy, Beetee Latier

District Five- Megan Hayes (6), Berglind Harrison(2) and Chaff Adrieux

District Six- Wiress Plummer, Augustus Braun, Grey Fretta (1)

District Seven- Paylor Thomas, Kurt Bonatz (2), Ivette Sanchez(5)

District Eight- Peeta Mellark, Jackson Spidell (10), Marian Nelson (9)

District Nine- Woof Mcfarland, Alto Combe (10), Cassandra Reynolds(7)

District Ten- Muscida Selkirk (4), Thorburn Allardyce (5) and Indigo Weaver (8)

District Eleven- Magnus Anderson (2), Librae Oglivy (4) and Jomilee Lapworth (9)

District Twelve- Lyme Hernandez, Brutus Jonasson, Parry Ogilby (11)

Chapter Text

Travelling across the countryside, I began to ponder how best to help the tributes that would come from District One, especially with being resourceful. Because last year, both tributes did not survive long after losing their supplies, which I took out. However, I could work with this, especially with Johanna, who had a similar strategy to mine, when she was in the arena. Finnick is the one I’m unsure about working with, however he can deal with the Interview aspect.

As I continued my journey, the lush green fields and rolling hills provided a serene backdrop for my thoughts. The tributes from District One were known for their strength and agility, but their downfall last year was a stark reminder of the importance of resourcefulness. Losing their supplies had left them vulnerable, and it was a mistake I was determined to avoid this time.

Johanna's approach in the arena had always intrigued me. Her ability to adapt and use her surroundings to her advantage was something I admired. Working with her could be beneficial, as she understood the importance of strategy and quick thinking. Together, we could devise a plan that would ensure the tributes were well-prepared and able to handle any challenges that came their way.

Finnick, on the other hand, was a wildcard. His charm and charisma made him a natural fit for the Interview aspect, but I was unsure how he would fare in the arena. His past experiences had shown that he could be unpredictable, and I needed to find a way to harness his strengths while mitigating any potential risks. Perhaps focusing on his ability to connect with others and form alliances could be the key to ensuring his success.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the countryside, I felt a renewed sense of determination. The tributes from District One had the potential to be formidable contenders, and with the right guidance and support, they could overcome the obstacles that lay ahead. It was up to me to ensure they were equipped with the skills and knowledge needed to survive and thrive in the arena.

Recently, The Capitol sent forms regarding our favoured weapon, which I was hoping was in District One when I arrived. I had asked for my bow to be made out of Yew, since that was often readily available, but also had a second made which could be adjusted and was made of metal.

The train quietly arrived in District One, where I was welcomed by Johanna and Finnick. I introduced myself, stating, "My name is Katniss Sienna. It's a traditional Covey name."

"Covey? I have never heard of them," Johanna replied flatly.

"Is that why you sing so well?" Finnick inquired.

"Indeed, it is an inherited talent. Additionally, the first victor from District Twelve was a Covey girl," I responded and then turned to Finnick. "Are you acquainted with Tigris? I would like her to be my stylist alongside Cinna."

"So, you are standing up to Snow," Finnick chuckled, while Johanna, who stood beside him, laughed quietly.

Johanna then considered, "I hope we do not encounter arrogant tributes. This is unlikely since there are no volunteers."

They were promptly escorted to their seats by Persephone Pulvius, the guide for District One. She proceeded to introduce the mentors for that year individually. However, the introduction was unexpectedly interrupted when Katniss asserted that she would prefer to be addressed as Katniss Sienna or Miss Everdeen by the tributes. Behind her, Finnick and Johanna discreetly laughed at the perceived breach of decorum.

Persephone began, “There are to be no volunteers this year. All tributes will be drawn from the bowls. Now for the ladies, Jewel Delarossi.”

Katniss swiftly surveyed the crowd and observed an auburn-haired girl, slender and tall, emerging from the fifteen-year-old section. The girl proceeded towards the stage with confidence. Her gait conveyed not arrogance, but rather a keen eagerness to gain knowledge from the victors, as reflected in her sea green eyes.

Once Jewel had made her way to the stage, Persephone then began her spiel to introduce the male tribute. “And his name is Reuben Rosartino.” Katniss noted that the individual with dark hair appeared burly and might be more suited to using an axe rather than ranged weapons such as a bow.

They both then shook hands, before greeting the victors and being guided to be trained with their new mentors. The mentors decided that they needed to learn how to survive in the wild, so a piece of land outside the district was approved to be used for training by President Snow.

Chapter Text

District Four Reaping

As the sun began to set on the coastline, the mentors planned for the quarter quell, the potential tributes were put into their pens. The air lost its stickiness, due to being coastal and boiling all day. Arriving dressed in gold linen, was the Capitol Escort for district four. But she had no wig, since it would have fallen off with the humidity.

She introduced herself to the mentors as Prosperina Creed.

She began, “Due to the new rules for the quarter quell, there are to be no volunteers. But be thankful that you have the one person, who is very wily, and has won the Second Quarter Quell, Haymitch Abernathy from District Twelve.”

“Now ladies first, and the female tribute for the 75th Hunger Games will be Lola Jenkinson.”

Haymitch made a quick observation of a young lady, that was quite short, but had lots of muscles. She was perfect to teach to wield a dagger, which was his preferred weapon. She came from the pen that held seventeen year olds and strode confidently towards the stage, without a concern or anyone needing to encourage her.

Prosperina then began, “And the male tribute for District Four will be Ronald Silva”. Out of the pen of 14 year olds, came a young boy, who drew gasps.  The cries of his sister, who had narrowly escaped the reaping, echoed in the air.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the coastline, the mentors gathered to strategise for the upcoming quarter quell. The tributes were corralled into their pens, and the air, which had been thick and oppressive all day, began to cool. The Capitol Escort for District Four arrived, dressed in shimmering gold linen. Her lack of a wig was a practical choice, given the humidity that would have rendered it useless.

Chapter Text

Prepping and training

As the tributes began to get ready to train, they were notified to meet in the woods near District One at the brink of dawn. All the Victors who were mentors for District One, noticed that their tributes seemed tense in the shoulders, whilst looking wary of those who had won the Games.

If they were not, they would have to expand their survival knowledge with no use of weapons for a week. Both tributes ran towards their suggested starting point. Waiting within the woods were their mentors, with looks of approval at their ability to follow instructions.

Katniss Sienna began speaking, “We are going to teach you how to survive the Hunger Games. However, I have one question: How do outlying districts win the games usually?”

Jewel answered, “The removal of supplies from their sponsors, such as you did with your arrows and the mines last year.”

Katniss Sienna grinned and asked, “What did I say after removing supplies”

Johanna and Finnick both snickered as they remembered what she said.

Reuben answered, “Let the real Hunger Games begin now”

Johanna took over, “Strategy is at least 75% of the games nowadays, we all had our own strategies”

Finnick explained that he used his looks to gain sponsors, however Katniss Sienna pointed that she hid her skills, but knew how to forage.

Johanna explained, “We are going to teach you how to forage to ensure survival”

Reuben asked, “How do we know what the arena landscape will be”

Katniss Sienna nodded and responded, “Great question, my mentor was wily. He told me that the plants station will always give you clues, but also unusual stations will help identify the landscape”

Jewel points out, “You and Johanna both embraced your arenas, since they were forests. Must felt like home for you”

Johanna laughs, “These are brilliant questions. You survive if you listen”

Finnick puts his hand up and goes, “Here’s how the training will go, you learn Archery and Foraging with Katniss Sienna. Strategy and Axes with Johanna. But with me, you will learn the most important aspect of the games, which are the interviews. They decide whether you will get sponsors.”

Reuben wants to know how Katniss Sienna got her 11 last year. “I lost my temper is all I am allowed to say”

Jewel questions, “If stylists give us gimmicks. Will the Gamemakers follow through with the gimmick”

Reuben deadpans, “Of course they will”

Katniss Sienna points out, “I’m the Girl on Fire and almost got burnt”

Finnick also reminds them that they cannot go too far in the arena, or they will turn you around.

Gradually, the tributes began to follow Katniss Sienna into the woods for their initial foraging lessons, as morning presented the optimal time for such activities. Katniss carried three wooden bows and a substantial quantity of arrows. One bow was specifically hers, distinguished by flame etchings along the limbs where the string was attached. The other two bows were appropriately fitted and measured for the tributes.

Katniss showed them how to test the tension on the bows, by plucking the strings slowly backwards and forwards. She then gently passed the smaller bow over to Jewel, who handled it with care. However, Reuben showed little care and almost dropped the bow.

Katniss Sienna then asked Johanna to pick a sturdy tree to use as target practice.

Johanna sauntered towards a large looking oak tree, and said, “This guy is perfect for target shooting.”

So, they stored the bows, as Katniss Sienna explained how to tell plants apart and which are safe to eat or not.

Jewel wanted to know if there was saying to help them out.

The motto is hearts are smart, and points disappoint. Reuben questioned, “What if we are unsure”

Finnick just went, “Simple, don’t eat it then”.

Jewel then seemed eager to learn. However, she was completely different to her appearance of long blond flowy hair, with sparkling emerald eyes that took in the natural beauty surrounding her. Observing their tributes' behaviours, the mentors noted that Reuben could either be perceived as very confident and sarcastic, or overly self-assured. They decided to address the issue of overconfidence to improve the tributes' chances of survival within the arena.

Chapter Text

As the group of mentors and tributes were strolling along the forest, they were bought to a sudden halt. This was due to Katniss Sienna noticing that the only thing she could hear were the footprints, since they were scaring away the prey. The forest was only lightly illuminated and covered in shadows, which meant that the tributes were often covered in lowlight settings. Within the trees, there was a lot of rustling- soon the tributes glanced upwards and saw many squirrels climbing the trees.

“Arrogance and recklessness will get you killed” Finnick announced

“Also, silence is beneficial within the woods” Katniss Sienna emphasised.

“I could hear steps, but then the scurrying went further. Is that due to our footsteps.” Jewel asked

“Indeed” Johanna scoffed

Reuben was desperate, and wanted to know how they would get their direction in the woods. Katniss Sienna explained, that the sun will be your most useful tool, but be confident knowing how to use it.

“Now, I want you to find a safe berry” Katniss Sienna announced

“Does that include you mentors” Reuben asked

“Nah, we survived. Not won our games” Johanna declared proudly.

Within five minutes, Jewel had returned, after finding a bramble bush. She handed over a bushel of berries, that glistened dark purple- almost black. Katniss Sienna then studied them and said that these were blackberries and safe to eat straight from the bramble. She shoved one in her mouth and then claimed, “Perfectly ripe- you try”

Jewel then tried the berries and noticed that the juice was flavourful and seemed to last. Then out of nowhere, Johanna jumped down from the tree, whilst the tributes were distracted.

Johanna snickered as she explained that it’s what you can’t see that will kill you in the arena. “Patience is a virtue. Look at how I won my games”

“Don’t think we would get away with that strategy to be honest” Reuben deadpanned

“Nope, you wouldn’t, but be wily” Finnick answered

“Also, when will interview practice occur” Jewel pondered

Finnick sat up straight and stood up to his full height. “We are only going to do two hour sessions once a day, separately for each of you. You also still get the mandatory training and scores as well. They’re your most effective method for sponsors.”

“Now, head back whilst we discuss your chances” Johanna decided

“I think we got good tributes, but Reuben is overconfident. Whereas Jewel is rather curious, but seems to be taking our knowledge to heart” Katniss Sienna said

“Did you see their faces, when we said ‘you only survive, never win’” Finnick asked

“I stole that line from my mentor. Its how I learnt my Covey roots. Snow hates Covey Girls, due to our nature. But also the forgotten victor.” Katniss Sienna declared

Johanna laughed, “The forgotten victor is who?”

“Ahh, Lucy Gray Baird. It was her lullaby I sang to Rue”

Finnick had a mental image of Snow breaking down into tears and becoming reckless.

Chapter Text

District 8

District Eight felt surreal to Peeta, with vast buildings of factories settled across the district. Very unlike twelve, which was simple and stuck to mostly nature. The air felt thick and almost impossible to breathe in. The victor/mentors for the quarter quell were guided to the stage where they were greeted by their escort. His suit was a stylish dark grey, that outshone his blue eyes, whilst also adding a simple sunset orange eyeshadow to bring out the blue to his eyes.

“My name is Julius Harrington. My father taught me that he was once a mentor,” Julius introduced.

“Very well, how long have you been with District Eight?” Peeta asked.

“I’ll be going into my tenth year as an escort now.”

“Bloody hell,” Jackson responded.

“Crikey, almost as long as I’ve been a victor. I won the 66th games,” Marian announced.

“How’s Katniss?” Jackson asked Peeta.

“Doing well, but probably complaining that she doesn’t have any cheese buns. I will be teaching camouflage if you don’t mind.”

They sat down on their seats to the left of the stage. Julius began his speech about the Treaty of Treason and the Hunger Games. He then reached into the glass bowl on the right and goes, “Ladies first and the female tribute for District Eight is Azalea McGraw.”

Peeta spotted the girl that came from the 17-year-old section and was tall and slender, but had barely any muscle. But that was ok, since behind her eyes was determination that he had only seen once before when Katniss volunteered for Primrose.

Julius then reached into the left-hand bowl and announced, “The male tribute for District Eight is Brock McFarland.”

Peeta noticed that he came from the thirteen-year-old section, but was also a carbon copy of Woof. ‘It is probably Woof’s grandson,’ Peeta thought and noticed that both Jackson and Marian had come to the same conclusion.

Chapter Text

Tribute Parade.

As the lights began to flicker down the Corso for the tribute parade. The crowd was interrupted by a spotlight that seemed to focus on a stage.

Within the spotlight stood Katniss Sienna dressed as she was the embodiment of fire, whilst she was accompanied by a band that made President Snow flinch in his seat upon the presidential balcony.

Johanna giggled and whispered to Haymitch, “Covey girls know to get the attention right”

“Damn, I knew she knew the songs, but didn’t know she was Covey.”

Katniss Sienna declared to Snow, “I’m Covey, and Primrose Cerise is the last of the Covey. Covey girls will always be your ruin. So, I wrote a special song just for you”

Katniss Sienna began to hum, as a piano and mandolin played in the background and then sang

I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm
And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold
My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones
It keeps my veins hot, the fires find a home in me
I move through town, I'm quiet like a fire
And my necklace is of rope, I tie it and untie it

And our people talk to me, but nothing ever hits
So people talk to me, and all the voices just burn holes
I'm going in (ooh)

Then suddenly, two more voices began to harmonise with Katniss Sienna. A voice that Coriolanus hadn’t heard for sixty-four years which still haunts his dreams to this very day.

This is the start of how it all ends

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it

I'm speeding up and this is the

Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart

We're at the start, the colors disappear

I never watch the stars, there's so much down here

So I just try to keep up with them

Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart

As soon as the colour orange was mentioned, the lights illuminated Lucy Gray Baird. A person familiar with the Covey would recognize her. When the light turned yellow, Primrose Cerise appeared in a gentle yellow dress reminiscent of candlelight. They sang together and moved through the crowd until they reached the stage, where they continued their performance.

I dream all year, but they're not the sweet kinds

And the shivers move down my shoulder blades in double time

And now people talk to me I'm slipping out of reach now

People talk to me, and all their faces blur

But I got my fingers laced together and I made a little prison

And I'm locking up everyone who ever laid a finger on me

I'm done with it (Ooh)

The vocals were beginning to wow the crowd as they waved their hands to the  beat of the music.

They finished their song with

This is the start of how it all ends

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it

I'm speeding up and this is the

Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart

We're at the start, the colors disappear

I never watch the stars, there's so much down here

So I just try to keep up with them

Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart

 (Ooh, ooh, ooh)

And this is the red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart

(Ooh, ooh, ooh)

And this is the red, orange, yellow flicker beat-beat-beat-beat.

Katniss Sienna then handed the microphone to Lucy Gray.

I told you that it is not over until the Mockingjay sings and “Now is the time for Katniss.”

Then a bell chimed as the tributes were pulled onto the parade by their horses.

Two magnificent white stallions led District One. Jewel and Reuben wore elaborate costumes adorned with sapphires and bright blue lights, giving them an almost ethereal appearance above the throng. Jewel acknowledged the crowd's admiration with waves and smiles, while Reuben remained silent, looking straight ahead and displaying no emotion, thereby maintaining an air of mystery.

Peeta, still captivated by Katniss Sienna's singing, almost missed observing his tributes. They were dressed in an argyle pattern made of silk, which was tailored to their body shapes, contrasting with some of the cumbersome designs that had been used previously. He appreciated the effort that the stylists had put into creating these designs for his tributes. Brock McFarland's face displayed anger, as he was not surprised by his selection. However, he intended to leverage the fact that his grandfather was a victor to his advantage, particularly during training. Peeta also noticed that Azalea was in awe and tried her best to maintain the demeanor of a tribute while graciously accepting hospitality. The District Eight chariot was pulled by two tan horses.

As President Snow began his speech, the cameras were focused on the Covey Girls just as much as President Snow.

“For your rebellious actions within the Dark Days. We applaud your courage as tributes. Have a Happy Hunger Games” Snow spoke slowly and pronounced.

Funnily enough as he finished his speech, he began to approach the band and was worried how he would be perceived by his first love. But the band completely ignored him and turned towards the tribute centre that was left behind for the Quarter Quell. “Have fun” Lucy Gray announced and “Remember rules can be bent”

“Indeed, it was fun last year. But be careful, Snow will be watching me” Katniss Sienna noticed. “Oh, Coryo doesn’t scare me in the slightest”

“How can you call him Coryo?” Johanna asked

“He was my mentor for the games” Lucy Gray says as she scampers back towards the train station in the Capitol

As night fell, the Covey band made their way back to District Twelve by train.

Chapter Text

Tribute Centre

Within the well-furnished apartment, where the walls were made of marble to reflect the luxurious nature that was designed into District One, Jewel and Rueben were in awe at the way the walls seemed to fall in front of water and through the marble. The opulence of the apartment was a testament to the grandeur of District One, a place where every detail was meticulously crafted to exude elegance and sophistication. The marble walls, with their smooth and polished surface, created an illusion of fluidity, as if the very essence of luxury was cascading down in a gentle waterfall. Jewel and Rueben, captivated by the sheer beauty of their surroundings, felt a sense of wonder and admiration for the architectural marvel that enveloped them. The apartment was not just a living space; it was a masterpiece, a reflection of the district's commitment to providing an unparalleled experience of comfort and splendour.

Katniss Sienna guided the tributes to their tables and began to suggest to eat dinner but also discuss how to predict the arena.

“Gamemakers always leave hints to the arena. That’s how I knew I had a forest last year. But also, plants are essential to the environment” Katniss Sienna said

Jewel questioned this and asked, “Isn’t that cheating?”

“Nope, not in the slightest. I had a tropical environment just like District Four” Finnick proudly announced

Reuben wanted to know what the strategy going through training would be and should they form the usual alliance, or one that was more suited to the arena.

“Hide your skills. For example, Me and Finnick had no idea how good Katniss Sienna was at archery, until the explosion of supplies last year” Johanna says

“Haha, Haymitch fooled you all. I hid it and its how I got my eleven last year” Katniss Sienna explained

“Now, are you working as a team or as separate people. This will decide how we can help you with sponsors, but also how you can survive.”

“Let’s work together and then we can decide an alliance once we trained” Reuben answers with a nod towards Jewel. She looked up from her breakfast and agreed with him.

“Perfect, now be on time” Katniss Sienna instructed

“We are going to hide what we learnt. Maybe try something new or enhance our weakest skills” Reuben decided

“I’ll work on more snares, whilst you work on plants and identifying. We leave weapons training this year.” Jewel decided

“Ok, training is starting in ten minutes and get there soon” Johanna ordered

Jewel and Reuben promptly got up and proceeded towards the training floor. They observed that they were the first pair to arrive, while the other districts were gradually making their way in. This permitted Jewel an opportunity to observe the training routine. What stood out was the presence of both a rock-based climbing course and one based on trees.

The Gamemakers had implanted a circular aged oak tree into the middle of the room. Reuben quickly winked at Jewel and then mouthed, “Do you see the climbing”

Jewel nodded and mouthed back, “Report to mentors later”. Training flew by during the day, however they knew they needed to report to mentors, so were silently observing the other tributes from different districts.

Chapter Text

Strategy Discussions

As the tributes, Jewel, and Reuben, sat around the ivory table, they knew that they would be questioned on what they observed during their training, but also who their ally should be based on these observations.

Jewel started the conversation by mentioning that there was a tree in the middle of the training room. She also explained that one had platforms, whilst the other had no platforms, suggesting that the landscape is likely to be along the appearance of a wood or orchard.

“So, what you’re saying is that Districts Seven and Eleven are who you want for allies,” Johanna hinted.

“Exactly, but their other skills will also be useful,” Reuben pointed out.

“Did you notice anything else in your training grounds?” asked Katniss Sienna.

“Yes, we tried more survival skills and also there is a plant with white flowers and a long stalk,” Reuben mentioned.

“Indeed, that be water dropwort, but be very careful. It kills you quickly,” Katniss Sienna told the tributes.

Jewel and Reuben exchanged glances, realising the gravity of their situation. They knew that their survival depended not only on their skills but also on their ability to form strategic alliances. The training sessions had been intense, and they had learned a lot about the strengths and weaknesses of the other tributes.

Reuben continued, “We also noticed that the training grounds had various terrains, from dense forests to open fields. This means we need to be prepared for any kind of environment.”

Jewel nodded in agreement. “We should focus on honing our skills in different terrains. We need to be adaptable and ready for anything.”

Katniss Sienna smiled approvingly. “You two have a good strategy. Remember, it's not just about physical strength but also about mental agility and quick thinking.”

Finnick also adds onto this, saying, “Your sponsors are made before the games start, so make angle that suits you.”

Johanna added, “And don't forget to keep an eye on the other tributes. Observing their behaviour and tactics can give you an edge.”

The tributes spent the rest of the evening discussing their strategies and preparing for the challenges ahead. They knew that the road to victory would be tough, but with careful planning and determination, they believed they could succeed.

Once Jewel and Reuben have retired for the night, Johanna, Katniss Sienna, and Finnick convene to develop strategies that align with the personalities of their tributes, thereby maximizing their chances of success. Katniss Sienna outlines her plan to formally establish an alliance with District Eleven, ensuring that the tributes remain unaware until they reach the Stockyard. Johanna states her intention to pursue a similar strategy with District Seven, considering it the most viable approach for ensuring their tributes' survival.

“Interview training should be led by me” Finnick says with a smirk plastered across his face.

“Yeah, I’m no good at interviews” Katniss Sienna answers.

“Same here, but we could help with how their personality shines through” Johanna ponders.

They begin to discuss the implications of how their tributes should be perceived. The mentors all agree that Reuben needs to be snarky, but not arrogant. However, discussing Jewel’s personality was more of a problem. This meant that they had to observe her behaviour more, leading up to interview day. This would help them figure out the angle that Jewel should portray.

As the mentors continued their discussion, they delved deeper into the nuances of each tribute's personality. Reuben's snarkiness was seen as a double-edged sword; it could make him appear confident and unflappable, but it also risked alienating potential allies. The mentors decided that Reuben should temper his sass with moments of genuine humility, showing that he was not just a sharp-tongued competitor, but also a team player who could be trusted.

Jewel, on the other hand, presented a more complex challenge. Her quiet and introspective nature made it difficult to pin down a definitive persona for her to adopt. The mentors debated various approaches, from portraying her as a mysterious enigma to highlighting her intelligence and strategic thinking. They ultimately concluded that Jewel's strength lay in her adaptability. By observing her closely in the days leading up to the interview, they hoped to identify the moments when she shone the brightest and use those to craft a compelling narrative.

The mentors also discussed the importance of body language and non-verbal cues. They advised Reuben to maintain eye contact and use confident gestures to reinforce his snarky yet approachable persona. For Jewel, they suggested subtle but deliberate movements that conveyed thoughtfulness and poise. The mentors knew that the tributes' success in the interviews would hinge not just on their words, but on the overall impression they made.

As the meeting ended, the mentors felt a renewed sense of confidence. They had a clear plan for how to present their tributes, and they were determined to see it through. Reuben and Jewel, for their part, were ready to embrace their roles and give their best performance. The path ahead was uncertain, but with careful preparation and a bit of luck, they believed they could navigate the challenges and emerge victorious.

Chapter Text

Training scores and Interviews

On the day scheduled for individual evaluations of the tributes, the mentors and participants from District One gathered over breakfast to discuss potential outcomes. Katniss Sienna inquired, "Have you kept any abilities hidden from the other tributes?" Jewel responded, "Yes, I have concealed my skills in foraging and archery, as most assumed I concentrated on staying warm." Finnick remarked, "That is a strategic approach; hypothermia can be just as decisive in eliminating tributes. Reuben, what about you?" Reuben replied, "I chose to hide my proficiency with an axe, as it proved to be my strongest asset during training." Johanna commented, "Indeed, you could easily be mistaken for someone from District Seven."

Subsequently, their escort arrived to guide them toward the training grounds and directed them to a bench. Reuben took a seat at the edge, being the first tribute scheduled for evaluation. Jewel sat alongside him, and together they discussed strategies to secure favourable scores from the Gamemakers.

Reuben enters the room with confidence and selects a range of axes to demonstrate proficiency in various tasks. He begins by evaluating the balance of smaller axes in his hand, noting that five of these are suitable for throwing. Demonstrating accuracy, he consistently hits the bullseye and retrieves the axes for subsequent use on training dummies, again achieving perfect precision. Reuben then utilizes a larger axe designed for chopping and effectively processes a considerable amount of lumber, showcasing his skill. Upon direction from the Gamemakers, he exits the training area, and Jewel is summoned. Jewel proceeds to the archery section, initially positioning herself out of sight to practice her shots before establishing a steady and consistent rhythm. She shot towards the targets, hitting them all, including a few bullseyes. Climbing up the rafters as the Gamemakers were watching, she saw a dummy and let her arrow fly, and it pierced the dummy’s eye.

As Jewel descended from the rafters, a hush fell over the room—a subtle acknowledgment from the Gamemakers that her performance had not gone unnoticed. With poise, she gathered her arrows and offered a brief salute, then departed as silently as she had arrived. Outside the evaluation chamber, nervous anticipation rippled through the remaining tributes. Johanna paced back and forth, her sharp eyes tracking every movement, while Finnick offered encouragement with a self-assured grin, masking his own anxiety.

After some time, the scores were posted on a digital board in the main corridor. Reuben’s name appeared first, accompanied by an impressive score of nine. Jewel’s performance earned her a remarkable ten, drawing murmurs of approval from both tributes and mentors alike. The District One team exchanged hopeful glances, realising they had set a formidable standard.

Dinner that evening buzzed with speculation about the other tributes’ performances and the strategies the Gamemakers might be favouring this year. Katniss Sienna urged the group to maintain their composure and focus on the coming interviews, where impressions could be further cemented or undone in a single moment of candour. Under the glittering lights of the Capitol, each tribute silently prepared their story, knowing that tomorrow’s stage would be as treacherous as the arena itself.

Scores for tributes:

Reuben (District One) -9

Jewel (District 1) – 10

Nero (District 2) -9

Artemis (District 2) – 9

Watson (District 3) -7

Nova (District 3) -6

Lola (District 4)-9

Ronald (District 4)- 7

Onyx (District 5)- 5

Paxon (District 5)-5

Rysa (District 6)- 4

Bryn (District 6) -4

Fern (District 7) -7

Rowan (District 7)- 5

Azalea(District 8)-3

Brock (District 8)- 3

Ceres (District 9)- 4

Sheaf (District 9)- 4

Sadie (District 10) -5

Jackson (District 10) -6

Rose (District 11) -7

Silas (District 11)-8

Ember (District Twelve)- 6

Ashton (District Twelve)- 5

As the night wore on, whispers of strategy and speculation drifted through the dining hall like shadows. Quiet alliances seemed to form and dissolve with each cautious glance, while the mentors held private conferences over low voices and half-finished plates. The Capitol’s dazzling cityscape glittered beyond the windows, but inside, tension was palpable—each tribute acutely aware that every gesture, every word, might be remembered by sponsors and opponents alike. Katniss Sienna comments on each score but mentions that she stills holds the record for the highest score. Both the tributes and mentors want to know what she did, but she just waves it off. Both tributes press on, so the simplest explanation that Katniss Sienna uses is that it was inline with her fiery personality.

Later, in their private quarters, the tributes pored over their scores, drawing conclusions and revisiting the day's performances. District One’s suite echoed with quiet pride, Reuben and Jewel exchanging a few understated words before retreating to prepare for the next challenge. Elsewhere, Finnick practiced his signature charm in the mirror, rehearsing answers to questions he could only guess at, while Johanna’s restless energy kept her up long after curfew, pacing beneath the ornate ceilings.

The next morning dawned crisp and expectant. Stylists and attendants descended upon the tributes, transforming them with silks, sequins, and careful brushstrokes. In the hours before the interviews, nerves frayed, and excitement built. When the first tribute stepped onto the stage, smiles were bright and voices steady, but beneath the surface ran an undercurrent of determination—a silent promise that, in this arena of words, none would yield their story lightly. Jewel was up first, dressed in a glittery silver gown, that flowed around her ankles. She took her seat next to Caesar and greets him warmly.

Caesar asks her, “How did you feel about the twist this year?”

Jewel responds, “I have experienced mentors who are considered strong competitors, so my skills with weapons have developed accordingly. However, interviews are a different challenge for me.”

“What do you mean?” Caesar continues.

She replies, “It’s commonly known that Johanna and Katniss Sienna find interviews challenging.”

“Oh yes, but what about Finnick?” he asks.

“Finnick is highly capable, but let’s focus on my experience,” Jewel redirects.

“Indeed. Do you think you have a chance to win this year?” Caesar asks, as the stage lights reflect off Jewel’s dress.

“With the current group of competitors, if I perform well in the interviews, I might have a competitive edge. Many believe strategic thinking is more important than physical strength,” Jewel answers. The audience responds with polite laughter.

Caesar then asks, “And what would winning mean for you, Jewel, beyond the obvious benefits?”

She thinks for a moment before stating, “For me, it’s an opportunity to show there is substance behind District One’s reputation. I want that to be recognized and we are not glamorous, but also toughened.”

Caesar asks, “Is there anything specific in District One awaiting you?”

Jewel responds, “A lady does not reveal her secrets.”

Caesar then inquires, “What do you like about the Capitol?”

Jewel answers, “The food, especially the cakes,” which prompts several audience members to nod in agreement.

“Indeed. Do you think you have a chance to win this year?” Caesar asks, as the stage lights reflect off Jewel’s dress.

“With the current group of competitors, if I focus and give my best in the interviews, I believe I stand a strong chance,” Jewel answers, her voice steady and sincere. “Many believe brains are just as good as the brawn that it comes with, and I’m ready to prove that.”

The audience responds with appreciative laughter.

Caesar then asks, “And what would winning mean for you, Jewel, beyond the obvious benefits?”

She meets his gaze, considering her words. “Winning would be more than a victory for myself. It’s a chance to show the real spirit and determination that District One stands for. I want people to see what’s possible when you’re dedicated.”

Caesar asks his final question, "Any parting words for your fellow tributes?"

Jewel lifts her chin, confidence shining in her demeanour. “May the odds be ever in our favour—and whatever happens, I will be an unforgettable storm.”

The crowd erupts in applause as Caesar thanks her, ushering in the next tribute, the tension and energy in the room mounting as the interviews continue.

Reuben dressed in a three-piece suit, which is blue, resembling the darkest gems, that reside within the earth. He shakes Caesar’s hand and sits down.

“Quite a fine grip there, young sir” Caesar comments

Reuben replies with a smirk, “My parents taught me that strength is beneficial wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh absolutely, and my good sir, how are you finding the Capital”

“I wish I wasn’t living in a light up world here.” Reuben says, which gains a round of laughs from the assorted crowd.

Caesar chuckles, drumming his cue card with mock gravity. “So, a bit of homesickness, or do our dazzling lights make it hard for you to sleep?”

Reuben leans back, an impish glint in his eye. “Honestly, Caesar, I’d swap half these bright bulbs for a proper night sky. Here, it always feels like the sun’s showing off—and I’ve never trusted anything that doesn’t know how to set.”

The host laughs, shaking his head. “Quick with the wit, and a bit of a rebel, are we? Tell me, Reuben: if you could sneak just one thing from your district into the Capitol, what would it be?”

Reuben grins, mischief radiating. “Easy. The rooster from my neighbour’s yard. Loud, stubborn, impossible to ignore—he’d fit right in with this lot, wouldn’t he?”

A ripple of laughter and surprised delight passes through the audience. Caesar’s eyebrows arch, delighted. “A troublemaker after my own heart! Anything else you’d like to share?”

Reuben flashes a cheeky wink. “Just this: may the odds be ever in my favour—and if they’re not, well, at least I’ll keep everyone on their toes.”

The audience responds with enthusiastic applause. Caesar, while still smiling, signals for the next tribute, resulting in a slightly lighter atmosphere following Reuben’s display of wit. The subsequent interviews proceed smoothly; however, Ember distinguishes herself among the tributes by maintaining a poised and resolute demeanour despite her youth. Both Jewel and Reuben observe that Silas demonstrates considerable potential as an ally, particularly through his thoughtful analogy comparing the other tributes to various types of trees native to District Eleven. The sequence of interviews concludes on a positive note, notably highlighted by Ashton’s display of modest assurance. As the Capitol’s theme music gradually fills the venue, the attendees begin to disperse. Finnick offers his congratulations to Jewel and Reuben for their composure during the proceedings, and further confirms the formation of their alliance, the details of which are to be disclosed the following morning.

Chapter Text

Jewel nervously waited in the stockyard, ready for her mentor to explain the alliance that she made for the arena. Katniss Sienna begins her spiel about how water is key to survival. Jewel asks if there is any alliance and Katniss Sienna tells her how Seven and Eleven will use Twelve’s farewell signal, when they get away from the Bloodbath and have their weapons.

Jewel's heart thudded as she tried to memorize every detail. “But what about us?” she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Katniss Sienna cast her a level gaze, the shadows of the looming glass tubes flickering across her face. “You watch for the signal too. You’ll know it when you see it—a three-fingered salute. When you spot it, it means the alliance is in motion.”

The weight of strategy settled on Jewel’s shoulders.

“Stay close to the edges. Trust your feet, not your nerves,” Katniss Sienna said, her tone softening for a moment. “And remember, water is life. Find it, guard it, and let it draw the others to you.”

Jewel closed her eyes for a moment, letting the plan root itself in her thoughts. She felt the cold bite of fear, but also the spark of hope that had brought her here. With a final nod, she squared her shoulders and prepared herself for the chaos to come.

Reuben stood waiting as his launch tube was being prepared. He was being lectured by Finnick, about the importance of grabbing a weapon, but also the knowledge of finding water, ensuring his survival.

Reuben questions Finnick with considerable snark, “Are any alliances planned out?”

Finnick responds with sass in his voice, “Yes, with District Seven and District Eleven.”

Reuben wants to know if there is a signal for the alliance between District One, Seven and Eleven. Finnick explains about the subtle signal that Katniss Sienna made, which is the three fingered salute from District Twelve.

“So, I’m also allied with my fellow tribute, Jewel, since we are both from District One.”

“Yes, but do not be arrogant. Arrogance guarantees death within the arena.” Finnick remarks.

Finnick’s lips curled into a wry grin. “Of course you are. But don’t count on that bond holding if the numbers dwindle. The arena changes people.” He angled his head thoughtfully. “Just keep your eyes peeled. The moment you see that salute, you move—fast and quiet. Trust is a currency in short supply, Reuben. Spend it wisely.”

The mechanical whir of the launch tubes intensified, echoing through the cavernous chamber. A red light blinked above each tube, and Reuben’s breath quickened despite himself. Finnick stepped back, his face momentarily softening. “Remember—survival is about adapting, not just fighting. If you’re clever, you’ll find ways to bend the rules in your favour.”

Reuben nodded, the bravado in his tone replaced by a hard edge of resolve. He glanced across the room to where Jewel stood poised and ready, her gaze meeting his with a flicker of unspoken understanding. For a moment, the stockyard’s cold machinery faded, and all that was left was the silent promise between allies on the brink. Once the launch tubes had ascended, Jewel and Reuben were greeted by an arena, that was covered in large trees, with no grassy areas, and no desert as far as the eye could see. They seemed nervous but knew that the alliance that their mentors had made, would be the most successful way to survive the arena. Playing through Jewel’s head was the message from Johanna, that people don’t win, only survive the Games.

As the platforms steadily ascended, Jewel and Reuben observed the orchard terrain of the arena. A metallic voice initiated a sixty-second countdown, providing them time to strategise their approaches to the Cornucopia.

45

Jewel remained composed, though acutely aware that many participants were eliminated early in the competition. She prioritised reaching the Cornucopia first, aiming to secure the prominent silver bow accompanied by a fully stocked quiver.

30

Reuben focused intently on the axes, highly valuing these implements due to his training with Johanna, who emphasised their dual purpose as both tools and weapons.

15

Both Jewel and Reuben understood the critical danger of leaving their platforms prematurely, knowing it would result in immediate fatality.

0

Upon commencement, Jewel and Reuben accelerated toward the Cornucopia, applying the skills honed during their speed training sessions.

Chapter Text

Reuben ran forward and jumped into the fray the Cornucopia, whilst grabbing his weapons. His heart pounded in his chest as chaos erupted all around him—shouts, clashing metal, and the desperate scramble for supplies. He ducked beneath a flying backpack, narrowly avoiding a wild swing from another tribute, and snatched a couple of hatchets from the ground. Every muscle tensed, Reuben pressed onward, eyes darting for allies and threats alike, the weight of survival sharpening his senses to a razor's edge. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Jewel run off into the orchard, after she had grabbed a bow and a quiver full of arrows. She also had grabbed a dark green backpack of supplies, to help her survive the Games.

Sprinting past a toppled crate, Reuben nearly stumbled over a fallen tribute sprawled in the dirt, their hands still clutching a spilled canteen. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second—the Games demanded ruthlessness, not mercy. Gritting his teeth, he leapt over the body and pressed on, weaving through the melee with a mix of practiced agility and raw adrenaline.

His breathing quickened as he spotted a flash of movement—a small alliance forming near the edge of the clearing, their members snatching up whatever supplies they could reach. Reuben hesitated, calculating the odds of joining them versus striking out on his own. Before he could decide, a sharp cry cut through the din, and he whirled to see another tribute flinging a knife in his direction. Instinct surged; Reuben ducked low, feeling the blade whistle past his ear, and rolled behind a barrel.

He paused, heart hammering, and gripped the hatchets tighter, the cool metal biting into his palms. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the frantic thuds of his pulse and the distant thrum of Jewel’s retreat into the orchard. He could still make it—if he moved quickly, if luck favoured him, if his courage held. Once in the orchard, he joined up with Jewel and the District Eleven tributes, where they searched their backpacks, to see what they had gained.

For a tense moment, Reuben and the others crouched beneath the budding boughs, breaths shallow, ears straining for any sign of pursuit. Jewel slung off her backpack, her fingers trembling not from fear but from an exhilaration so electric it was nearly painful. The District Eleven tributes—a muscular boy with sharp eyes and a girl whose hands were stained with the green of harvests—opened their packs in silence, every gesture wary yet determined.

They worked quickly, sharing terse nods. The spoils: a battered loaf of bread, a battered canteen half-full of water, a coil of sturdy rope, and, in Reuben’s own pack, a small tin of matches and a bundle of dried meat. It was a meagre haul, but in the arena, even crumbs could tip the odds.

Jewel checked her quiver, fingers brushing over the fletching with practiced care. “We need to move deeper,” she whispered, eyes scanning the treeline. “Someone’s bound to have seen us run.”

Reuben nodded. With one last look toward the bloodstained Cornucopia—already receding into a haze of noise and dust—they slipped into the orchard’s shadow. The air was thick with the scent of ripening stone fruit and the strange, metallic tang of fear. Every leaf seemed to conceal a threat. But Reuben’s grip on his hatchets steadied, and he felt, for an instant, that maybe they stood a chance.

Together, the unlikely alliance faded into the labyrinth of trees, each step carrying them further from the chaos behind—and into the greater dangers that awaited towards the edges of the arena. As the sun began to set, eight cannons sounded to represent the tributes that were killed in the arena.

In the sky, appeared both tributes of District 5, District 6, District 8, boy from District Nine and girl from District Ten. Jewel commented that she had killed both from District Eight as they were targeting Reuben, whilst Silas had killed the boy from District Nine, by thrusting his sword through the ribs and lungs of that tribute. Jewel and her fellow tributes were whispering, trying to figure out where their District Seven allies were supposed to be. Jewel could feel the shock of the moment, that her arrow pierced the tributes’ eye.

Night crept in with a blue-black hush, shadows tangled among the knotted limbs of the orchard. The alliance paused only when the gloom made footing uncertain—Reuben’s boots slipping over fallen plums, Jewel’s silhouette barely discernible save for the quiver at her back. They huddled in a hollow beneath an ancient apricot tree, its withered roots offering scant shelter but a moment’s reprieve.

The distant echoes of the Capitol anthem floated through the branches as the faces of the lost tributes shimmered above the darkening sky, each a grim reminder of the Games’ cost. Rose stared upward, jaw set, the glow reflected in her wide, haunted eyes. Reuben closed his own, listening for anything—breaking twigs, hushed breathing, the approach of those who survived the bloodbath and now hunted for easy prey.

Jewel broke the silence first, her voice barely more than a breath. “We need water. Real water, not just a canteen we’ll empty by morning.” She motioned to the boy, who nodded and pointed southeast, where the ground dipped and the scent of wet earth lingered.

Without ceremony, they gathered their sparse supplies and crept deeper, senses stretched taut as bowstrings. The orchard gave way to tangled brambles and low brush, where beetles hummed and cold dew clung to their skin. At last, they stumbled upon a narrow stream, moonlight glinting faintly along its surface.

Reuben crouched at the edge, filling the battered canteen, his reflection fractured by ripples. He caught Jewel’s gaze across the murmuring water—a silent question and an unspoken promise: as long as they had breath, they would fight for another dawn.

Somewhere in the distance, a branch cracked—too heavy, too deliberate to be the wind. Silas drew his breath sharply, gripping the hilt of his sword. They froze, every heart in the small group pounding in unison as they awaited whatever—or whoever—was brave or desperate enough to stalk the night.

Chapter Text

Jewel was awakened by the sound of birds warbling in the trees surrounding the arena. She got up quietly, taking care not to disturb her teammates who had been on watch during the night. Moving cautiously, she began setting snares to trap animals, planning ahead in case additional resources were needed for her alliance. .

As the morning mist curled between the trunks, Jewel heard the soft rustle of movement beyond her snares. She stilled, hand reaching for her bow, every sense attuned. Through the pear trees slipped Reuben, his sharp features unmistakable—her fellow tribute from District One, known for his confidence and the blade of his hatchet at his belt. Not far behind, a pair of figures moved with less stealth: Rose and Silas, the two tributes from District Eleven, their eyes watchful, eyes shifting warily around the arena.

The uneasy alliance between districts held for the moment, yet tension coiled in the air, as taut as the string on Jewel’s bow. Being resilient was the only way that they knew to survive, but the resourcefulness skills from their mentors, allowed the tributes to not go hungry for long without food. As the sun climbed, the peace shattered: a cry echoed from the brook below. Jewel dashed toward the sound, an arrow already nocked.

She found Ember and Ashton, the District Twelve pair, foraging at the water’s edge. Ember’s eyes widened in terror as she spotted the alliance, but Jewel’s instincts—honed by days of necessity and the memory of her fallen friends—overpowered hesitation.

In one swift, practiced motion, Jewel raised her bow and let an arrow fly. It found Ashton first and hit his jugular, felling him with a silent thud. Ember bolted, but Jewel’s second shot tracked her through the undergrowth, striking true through her eye. Silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural.

Rose looked away, jaw clenched, while Silas muttered a prayer under his breath. Reuben nodded solemnly, for death was the only constant here.

Jewel retrieved her arrows, hands steady but her heart pounding as she glanced at her uneasy companions. The day had only begun, and already the arena was smaller by two. The alliance moved on, each step shadowed by the ghosts left behind—and by the knowledge that before long, even trust could splinter.

The sun cast a pale glare over the arena, gilding the blood at Jewel’s feet. For a moment, she stood in the hush, feeling the weight of her actions settle deep in her bones. She forced herself to breathe, to listen—not just for danger, but for the silent agreements that now bound what remained of their alliance. This was their world: a fragile peace interrupted by violence, the future uncertain with every heartbeat.

Rose knelt by the stream, her hands trembling as she gathered the wild onions Ember and Ashton had dropped. “We can’t waste anything,” she murmured, voice tight with grief and resolve. Silas kept watch, scanning the tree line, while Reuben moved to reset the snares Jewel had half-abandoned. No words were necessary; necessity drove them forward.

Jewel joined Rose, her mind flickering with images of the fallen. She stowed her bow and began helping, her fingers deft but numb. As the group gathered what meagre resources they could, a distant cannon boomed—two shots, one after another, a grim announcement to the rest of the tributes. Somewhere, faces on screens watched and tallied, gossiping about alliances and betrayals.

“We should move,” Reuben said quietly, eyes narrowing at the shifting branches above. “The others will come looking.” The alliance packed quickly, slipping through tangled undergrowth, each step leaving behind the ghosts of the morning. Jewel led the way, senses sharpened anew, knowing that every alliance was provisional—every act of mercy, or violence, a ripple through the game.

For now, survival meant staying two steps ahead, bowstring taut, heart steeled against the next inevitable dawn. Soon, they made camp, using wood that Reuben’s hatchets had chopped down, but not before they were ambushed by a tribute from District Three. Silas with a hefty blow to the head, saw the tribute fall and in one swift motion, pushed his spear through the tribute’s chest, resulting in an instant death. The alliance soon noticed a parachute falling, they carefully opened it and inside was eight matches.

Claudius during the day, had noticed that District One had formed an odd alliance with District Eleven. However when the arena was revealed, he realised that District One had paired with the best tributes in the arena.

Chapter Text

As day three began in the arena, the number of tributes continued to decrease. Jewel calculated that thirteen tributes remained, including her alliance of four members. She anticipated that she would need to act against her alliance soon, with Reuben being her main concern, while Silas and Rose might be less challenging to deceive.

The sky was tinged with a soft blush, streaks of gold and lavender stretching across the horizon, when Jewel slipped away from the sleeping forms of her allies. She walked quietly through brittle undergrowth, her senses sharpened by hunger and anxiety, the silence broken only by the distant call of an unseen bird. Thoughts raced through her mind—how much longer could these fragile bonds hold, when survival demanded more than loyalty? Jewel’s hand drifted to the knife at her belt, fingers brushing the hilt as if reassuring herself of its weight. After waking up her allies, they began to discuss the gift that was eight matches and what it meant. Rose suggested that their alliance should last until the top eight, and then they would break apart. Jewel was thinking the same thing, whereas Silas and Reuben suggested that it could be used to lure other tributes to them, so that their chance of winning the games was higher. Jewel just scoffed and asked Reuben, “Did you forget what our mentors told us?”

Reuben mutters, “You never win the Games, just survive them”

Silas’s jaw drops, whilst Rose starts to understand where this advice is slowly coming from.

Jewel’s mind raced with possibilities as she crouched behind a cluster of jagged rocks, watching the shifting shadows of dawn. Every alliance she’d ever heard of in the Games ended in blood—sometimes quickly, sometimes only after days of uneasy peace. She glanced at her companions as they stirred, each lost in their own thoughts, unaware of the calculations running through her head. The unspoken tension clung to the air, thickening with each passing hour.

She could hear Reuben’s steady breathing not far behind her, trusting, oblivious—for now. The ache of betrayal was already there, heavy in her chest, but she steeled herself. This was not a place for sentimentality. Trust, she reminded herself, was a luxury none of them could afford.

Soon, Jewel would have to act. For now, she watched as the arena awoke, the world simultaneously beautiful and cruel—a fitting stage for what was to come.

The rest of the day passed without violence, but the tension simmered beneath a veneer of camaraderie. Jewel kept a watchful eye on her allies, especially Reuben, whose trust in her now seemed almost burdensome. Silas appeared shaken by their conversation, while Rose weighed her own loyalties, growing more aware of the subtle shifts in the group’s dynamics. Though no blood was shed, the alliance’s unity grew more precarious as the tributes navigated shifting allegiances and the ever-present threat of betrayal. Each shared glance and whispered word hinted at the fragile nature of their pact, as they moved through the arena together, unbroken for now, but each aware that the real danger might come from within. As the night fell in, the alliance began to make a shelter quietly. Every footstep measured, every word whispered as the moon began to show.

The dawn of the fourth day crept over the arena with an eerie quiet, dew beading on twisted branches and shattered stone. Jewel woke before the others, heart pounding with uneasy anticipation. Last night’s fragile sense of unity had evaporated in her dreams, replaced by the sharp certainty that today would bring violence. She glanced at her companions—Reuben, Rose, and Silas—each lost in restless sleep. The alliance had held for another day, but now the arena demanded a sacrifice.

They moved through the undergrowth in tense silence, senses alert to even the softest disturbance. It was Rose who halted first, pressing a warning hand to Jewel’s arm. Ahead, in a shallow dip ringed by fallen trees, two tributes from District Seven crouched, picking at scraps of food. Their exhaustion was obvious—mud-caked and wild-eyed, with their backs turned to the approaching alliance.

Jewel’s fingers closed around the hilt of her knife. She exchanged brief, loaded looks with her allies. There was no need for words; the intent was clear. It was time to act.

Silas and Reuben flanked the left, moving like predators through the brush, while Rose and Jewel circled to the right. The District Seven tributes—a boy and a girl, no older than sixteen—never saw the attack coming. Rose hurled a rock, striking the girl on the temple. She crumpled silently, stunned but alive. The boy spun round, wide-eyed, only to be tackled by Reuben, who pinned him to the ground with a brutal efficiency born of desperation.

Jewel’s arrow glinted, catching the early light as she knelt beside the fallen girl. There was a moment’s hesitation—a heartbeat of mercy—before necessity overruled every other instinct. She drove the knife cleanly, ending it before panic could surface. The cannon’s boom echoed across the arena, a chilling reminder of what survival demanded.

Meanwhile, Silas and Reuben struggled with the boy, who fought back with surprising ferocity. In the end, it was a team effort—Silas holding the boy’s arms as Reuben struck his hatchet through the chest, and then the eye whilst holding his hand over the tribute’s mouth, stifling his cries. When it was over, the silence returned, heavier than before. Another cannon shot split the morning air.

The alliance stood over the bodies, eyes averted, breath ragged. There was no jubilation, only the grim knowledge that tomorrow it might be one of them lying cold in the mud. Jewel wiped the blood from her hands, her resolve hardening. There was no going back now. In the arena, mercy was just another way to die, just as trust is in an alliance.

Chapter Text

Upon day five within the arena, Jewel woke up noticing that some trees had been removed, making it clearer for other tributes to spot her.  Calculating through her head was the number of tributes left, and what would be needed for her to come out the arena. She contemplated whether it would be worth it to go on her own and betray her own teammates. Strapping the bow and quiver onto her back, she began to explore the now open part of the orchard, which became a grove.

She moved with a wary grace, every muscle tensed as she slid between the slanted shafts of morning sunlight. The altered landscape forced Jewel to adapt, each step carefully chosen in case an enemy lay in wait behind the exposed trunks. The air was thick with the scent of crushed leaves and anxiety. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a pool beneath a gnarled root—eyes hard, jaw set, the image of a survivor who had long since traded innocence for resolve. Was this who she had always been, or only what the arena had made of her?

As she pressed deeper into the grove, she kept her hand near her knife, every sense straining for the snap of a twig or the rasp of breath that would mean another tribute was near. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant caw of a bird or the whisper of wind through the stripped branches. In this moment, Jewel grappled with her choices. The alliance had served its purpose, but now, alone in the open, she wondered if her best chance lay in solitude or in the brittle trust of her companions. Her mind cycled through escape routes and contingency plans. Yet, as she paused beneath the twisted boughs, she realised that here, in the heart of the arena, every decision was a gamble, and the only certainty was that nothing would ever be the same again.

Stepping into the brooding shadows of the treeline, Jewel exhaled a trembling breath, heart thundering louder than the distant cannons. In that suspended moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with her. The sun fractured through twisted branches, glinting off her drawn bow. She hesitated only long enough to recall every promise, every uneasy alliance forged in desperation—then let instinct take over.

With movements as swift as betrayal itself, Jewel loosed three arrows in rapid succession. Each flew straight and unerring, a deadly answer to every doubt that had haunted her. The arrows found their marks—one after another, piercing the eyes of her companions, the very friends who had shielded her from death and shared their meagre hopes beneath the arena’s pitiless sky. For an instant, time fractured: Rose’s shocked gasp, Reuben’s eyes wide with confusion, Silas’s hand reaching out as if to catch a vanished trust. Then—all fell silent.

Three thunderous cannon shots tore through the dawn, each one a shattering finality. “At last,” Jewel whispered, her voice cracking through the trembling hush, “the gem has completed its ruin.” The words felt both like a curse and absolution, echoing against the arena’s hollow silence.

Without pausing to grieve, she stepped over Reuben’s lifeless form, prying the bloodied hatchets from his slack grip. Hands shaking but resolute, she straightened, standing alone as the whirring drone of the hovercraft descended—a lone survivor, forged in blood and sorrow, now irrevocably changed by the choices that had carved her path.

Chapter Text

The Capitol’s response to Jewel’s ruthless betrayal would be immediate and electric, flooding through the city like wildfire. In the opulent viewing halls, citizens would rise from silk-draped lounges and lean forward, eyes wide with anticipation as the live feed delivered the brutal climax. The triple cannon shots echoing through the arena would ignite a frenzy among viewers, for nothing delights the Capitol so much as a brutal twist—especially one that topples alliances with the cold precision Jewel displayed.

Within moments, social salons and betting parlours would erupt in debate and excitement. Some would cheer her audacity, hailing her as the ultimate survivor—her arrows and decisiveness the very stuff of legend. “Did you see her eyes?” one spectator might exclaim, marvelling at her unflinching resolve as she felled her own allies. Others, drawn to the drama of betrayal, would revel in the heartbreak: “She was their friend!” they’d gasp, voices tinged with mock sorrow and glee at the spectacle.

Capitol commentators would dissect her every move, replaying the scene in slow motion—Jewel’s hesitation, her deadly aim, the moment trust shattered. Stylists and sponsors would whisper her name, some regretting their lost investments in the fallen tributes, others eager to claim association with the victor. Across screens, hashtags and tributes would swirl: #GemOfTheArena, #TheRuinedGem, #JewelUnforgiven.

For the Capitol, Jewel’s act would become instant legend—a cautionary and thrilling tale. Her betrayal, both monstrous and magnificent, would remind all that in the Games, trust is as fleeting as life itself, and that the Capitol’s spectacle always demands a price paid in blood and heartbreak. In the aftermath, citizens would clamour for interviews, mementoes, and stories, desperate to draw closer to the girl who rewrote the narrative with three arrows and a single, irrevocable choice.

Finnick's meeting

The sponsor suite, perched high above the Capitol’s roaring cityscape, was already abuzz as Finnick Odair swept in, every inch the golden favourite. The glass walls shimmered with the reflection of the city’s lights and the flickering replays of Jewel’s infamous betrayal. Around the mahogany table, Capitol sponsors lounged in silks and sequins, their faces alight with feverish excitement and no small measure of calculation.

Finnick, impeccably dressed and wearing his trademark roguish charm, swept a glance over the assembled patrons. The sponsors—some already sipping rainbow-bright cocktails, others hunched over digital betting slips—turned as one, eager for his take on the morning’s carnage.

“Quite the spectacle,” purred Aurelius Crane, the most flamboyant of the sponsors, waving one manicured hand at a screen replaying Jewel’s three arrow shots in slow motion. “Our darling Jewel has truly stolen the show—and a few hearts, I imagine.” Laughter rippled around the table, sharp and gilded.

Finnick inclined his head, masking his unease with a practised smile. “She’s rewritten the odds, that’s certain. But she’s isolated herself in the process. Sponsors will want to think carefully—what she did makes her both a legend and a target.”

Finnick interjected deftly, “You all saw her hesitation. She’s not heartless, just determined. That makes her relatable. She’ll need water, medical supplies—maybe even something unexpected, to keep her guessing and the audience engaged. The right gift could tip the balance between legend and cautionary tale.”

Aurelius grinned. “You’ve always had a nose for the winning side, Finnick. I propose a combined package: something practical to keep her alive, and a token to remind her that the Capitol is always watching. Perhaps a trinket with our names engraved?”

Around the table, nods and murmurs of agreement. The sponsors began to pool their resources—luxury compress bandages, a gleaming new water pouch, a silver token stamped with the Capitol’s crest. Finnick made a mental note of the names and faces, already strategising how to keep their investments prominent on the broadcasts.

As the meeting drew to a close, Finnick offered a final word. “Remember, the Games aren’t won by strength alone, but by those who keep the Capitol entertained. Let’s make sure Jewel knows who’s truly pulling the strings.”

The sponsors toasted, their laughter ringing out over the city, as elsewhere in the Capitol, screens replayed Jewel’s arrows again and again—each showing the world that in the arena, loyalty is always for sale, and survival is the best show of all.

Chapter Text

Jewel awoke on Day Six, realising that only eight tributes stood between her and survival. She knew that the Capitol was enraptured, after her betrayal. She was praying that it kept the Capitol entertained. She was hoping that there were no mutts around, since they often appeared with a lack of entertainment for the Capitol. Hoping she could find peace, without being disturbed or forming an alliance- Jewel began to gather her supplies that she stole from her dead allies. She knew that the District Two tributes were most likely be the hardest obstacle if she wanted to win the games.

By midday, word of the sponsors’ decision had trickled down to the control room, where mentors watched the Games unfold with bated breath. Gossip flared across the airwaves and Capitol feeds, each commentator speculating what Jewel might receive and how she would use it. For the tributes far below, they questioned if they would survive, after seeing the tributes that lingered in the air.

Jewel navigated the undergrowth with caution and soon encountered Artemis, the tribute from District Two. The air crackled with tension as both paused, hands poised near their weapons.

Artemis spoke first, her voice even but wary. “We don’t have to do this now, Jewel. There are others in the arena still, more than enough threats without us making enemies of each other.”

Jewel eyed her carefully, keeping a measured distance. “Agreed. But you know as well as I do that, eventually, it comes down to one. I’m not here to die for someone else’s show.”

Artemis nodded, relaxing her grip slightly. “Neither am I. When it’s just us, we settle it. Honourably.”

Jewel gave a curt nod in return. “If we make it that far, I won’t run. May the best tribute win.”

They exchanged a final, knowing glance- an unspoken pact forged in the shadow of the Capitol’s gaze, before melting away into the trees, each carrying the weight of their promise and the knowledge that, for now at least, their fates were intertwined.

Chapter Text

Jewel continued her careful progress through the thicket, senses sharpened by the memory of her exchange with Artemis. The silence was soon broken by the snap of a branch: Jackson from District Ten emerged, clutching a bloodied blade and scanning the shadows for threats. Jewel pressed herself behind a fallen log, heart hammering as she weighed her options. Jackson’s footsteps drew closer, oblivious to her presence. As he paused to inspect a trail of disturbed leaves, Jewel struck with swift, ruthless efficiency, an arrow thudding into his side. He staggered, eyes wide with shock, before collapsing amidst the tangled undergrowth. Jewel approached, retrieving her arrow with a grim determination, there was no time for hesitation in the arena.

Blood still fresh on her hands, Jewel melted back into the shadows of the orchard, every sense attuned to movement and sound. She knew the arena would only grow more dangerous as numbers dwindled. Meanwhile, Artemis was making her own calculated moves. Through whispered alliances and covert signals, she managed to track down both the remaining District Four and District Three tributes, dispatching them with the cold precision expected from a career tribute. The Capitol commentators buzzed with excitement, speculating when the inevitable confrontation between Artemis and Jewel would erupt: a final clash of cunning and brute strength, each tribute now carrying the ghosts of those they’d outmanoeuvred and outlived.

When night gave way to morning, Jewel resumed her search for one of the last four tributes, Nero from District Two, who had been unusually quiet throughout the arena and was known to be Artemis's district partner. Meanwhile, on the other side of the Arena, Artemis methodically pursued her target, Ceres from District Nine. Carefully drawing the daggers, she had been well-trained to use, Artemis began to track her intended opponent with calculated precision.

As dawn crept across the arena, a low mist shrouded the tangled brush where Artemis stalked with silent intent. Every muscle coiled, she tracked Ceres from District Nine through dense undergrowth, her daggers glinting in the pale light. Ceres, weary and on edge, crouched by a shallow stream, desperately scanning for danger. Artemis struck with the efficiency of a trained predator: swift, unyielding, and without hesitation.

Ceres barely had time to turn before Artemis was upon her. A single, fluid motion sent one dagger flying, grazing Ceres’s arm and forcing her to drop her weapon. Artemis closed the distance in a heartbeat, pinning her rival with a cold, unwavering gaze. With a practiced hand, she dispatched Ceres with finality; a silent testament to years of training and the unforgiving rules of the arena. As the cannon signalled another tribute lost, Artemis wiped her blades clean, eyes hard with resolve, and faded into the thinning mist, one step closer to the inevitable confrontation with Jewel.

Jewel’s hunt for Nero took her to the heart of the orchard, where the fog clung close to the ground and twisted trees offered perfect cover. She moved with feline grace, every step deliberate, her bow cradled lightly in her hands. At last, movement,a fleeting shadow at the edge of her vision. Nero, careful but not careful enough, slipped through the brambles, unaware of the silent watcher tracking his every move.

With a deep, steadying breath, Jewel nocked an arrow and drew back the string, lining up the shot with practised poise. In one fluid motion, she let the arrow fly, slicing through the morning mist. The shaft struck true, catching Nero cleanly in the shoulder and sending him spinning to the ground with a gasp of pain and shock, but not yet surrender. As Jewel crept closer, arrow at the ready, she caught a flicker of movement in the periphery, a glint of steel, a shadow stirring in the brush. Something, or someone, was closing in fast, and the outcome hung in the balance, suspended by a single, breathless moment.

High above the arena, in the shadowy confines of the mentor suite, Katniss’s fingers curled tightly around the armrest as the final cannon’s echo faded. The realisation that Jewel had made it to the last two, standing alone against Artemis, sent a chill through her. She exchanged a tense glance with Johanna, who rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite mask the grim satisfaction in her voice.

Across Panem, the Capitol erupted into a frenzy as the screens crackled with the faces of the two remaining tributes. The anticipation was tangible; a collective breath held as Jewel and Artemis’s portraits blazed above the arena. In the opulent lounges, Capitol citizens clinked glasses of deep violet wine, their eyes alight with fervour and speculation. Commentators argued heatedly over the odds, their voices rising above the din: some marvelling at Artemis’s cold dominance, others fixated on Jewel’s tenacity and uncanny resourcefulness. Bets changed hands in a whirl of excitement, the Capitol’s hunger for drama sharpening with every passing minute. The Games, now distilled to their final, brutal confrontation, promised the spectacle the audience so desperately craved.

High above the pandemonium, President Snow watched the unfolding events from his private box, a thin smile curling on his lips. There was a certain satisfaction in how the Games had played out; unpredictable enough to keep the crowds rapt, yet ruthless enough to remind all of Panem of the Capitol’s power. As the tension mounted, Snow leaned forward, his voice a soft murmur to his closest advisers: “Whether it’s Artemis or Jewel who emerges, the Capitol wins. Let them see what true resolve looks like.” His eyes, cold and calculating, never left the screen as the final act drew near.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, what a breathtaking journey we have witnessed! The arena stands silent now except for two; Jewel, the elusive hunter of District One, and Artemis, the razor-sharp tactician from District Two. Never before have we seen such a contrast of styles: brute force pitted against guile and wit. Who will falter, and who will rise? Every moment crackles with anticipation. To survive this long is a testament to both their cunning and their willpower!”

“If you’re not holding your breath tonight, you must have nerves of steel indeed! The fate of these tributes teeters on a knife’s edge. Will Artemis’s relentless drive prevail, or will Jewel’s resilience bring an upset for the ages? One thing is clear: the Capitol will soon bear witness to a final reckoning unlike any other. May the odds be ever in their favour!”

Chapter Text

Claudius opens with, “One winner, one death, two tributes—who will win? Who will prevail?” He then asks, “Will it take a day or just an hour?”

As daylight broke over the Capitol, the air buzzed with anticipation. In the bustling cafés and gilded salons, half the city championed Artemis, drawn to her icy precision and indomitable spirit—her supporters painted streaks of silver across their faces, waving banners emblazoned with her crest. The other half rallied fervently behind Jewel, captivated by her daring manoeuvres and underdog tenacity; their voices wove together in chants, donning emerald sashes and makeshift bows in solidarity. Heated debates spilled out onto every street corner, friends and rivals alike staking their hopes on their chosen victor. For every Capitolite convinced Artemis would crush her final obstacle, another was certain Jewel’s cunning would snatch victory at the last, and the city, for all its extravagance, had never felt so sharply divided, so electric with hope, suspense, and the promise of legend in the making.

“You can say what you like about Jewel’s cleverness,” drawled Cassius, swirling his glass of violet wine, “but at least Artemis never stabbed her allies in the back. She’s loyal to her cause; no sneaking about, no underhanded tricks.”

Octavia shot him an indignant glare; emerald sash knotted proudly at her throat. “Oh, come off it! Survival in the arena isn’t about loyalty; it’s about doing what it takes. Jewel adapts, she thinks on her feet. Artemis might be ruthless, but it’s not all about brute force and honour, you know.”

Cassius arched an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading. “Still, I’d rather back someone who stands by her word. When Artemis gives her allegiance, she means it. That’s why she’s made it this far and that’s why she’ll win.”

Octavia shook her head, but the glint in her eye betrayed her grudging respect. “We’ll see, Cassius. May the best tribute win.”

As the excitement reached fever pitch, Caesar Flickerman swept onto the stage, his trademark smile dazzling beneath the studio lights. With the audience hanging on his every word, he gestured grandly to his first guest. “Please welcome the mentor of District One’s Jewel, the remarkable Katniss Sienna!”

Katniss Sienna, composed but visibly tense, took her seat opposite Caesar. “Katniss Sienna,” Caesar began, his voice warm with curiosity, “the Capitol can’t stop talking about Jewel’s adaptability and cunning. How did you prepare her for this moment?”

Katniss Sienna offered a measured smile. “Jewel always had grit, but we focused on embracing uncertainty and adapting to every twist the Games could throw at her. I told her to trust her instincts, to never underestimate her opponent, and above all, to keep her humanity, no matter how fierce the battle became.”

Caesar nodded sympathetically. “So, you believe her heart, not just her skills, could tip the balance tonight?”

“Absolutely. In this arena, it’s not just about surviving—it’s about remembering who you are. That’s what sets Jewel apart. One saying I told her is that ‘There is no trust in the arena”

Caesar turned to the next mentor, “And now, the guiding force behind Artemis’s meteoric rise, Cashmere of District One!” The audience erupted into applause as Cashmere glided onto the stage, serene and confident.

“Cashmere,” Caesar said, “many see Artemis as a force of nature; relentless, disciplined, some might say ruthless. How did you shape her strategy?”

Cashmere’s eyes glinted. “Artemis came to me with a vision; laser-focused on the finish line. I honed that, pushed her to turn precision into power. We drilled tactics, but more than that, I taught her to trust her strength, to never waver in the face of chaos. Loyalty to herself and her district was always at the core.”

“Do you think her unwavering approach gives her an edge?” Caesar prompted.

Cashmere smiled. “It’s her greatest advantage. When Artemis sets her sights, she doesn’t miss. She’ll remind Panem what it means to fight with everything you are.”

As Caesar thanked his guests, the tension in the studio was palpable- two mentors, two tributes, and an entire nation waiting to see which legacy would endure.

The arena’s roar bled through the studio monitors as the final moments unfolded. Katniss Sienna’s hands gripped her chair, knuckles white, her eyes darting between the screen and the silent audience. Cashmere sat impossibly still, a faint tremor betraying her calm façade. The two mentors exchanged a brief glance; respect, fear, and hope mingling unspoken between them.

As Jewel darted across the shattered terrain, Artemis closed in, her every movement calculating and relentless. The crowd held its breath as the tributes clashed, each blow echoing through the Capitol. Katniss breathed, almost a whisper, “Come on, Jewel, remember who you are.” Cashmere didn’t blink, a sharp exhale her only sign of tension.

Finnick’s jaw was clenched, both hands twisting his silver bracelet as he fought to mask his concern for Jewel. His eyes traced every movement on the screen, silently willing her to remember the lessons they shared in the quiet hours before dawn. Beside him, Johanna leaned forward, lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze sharp and unblinking. She muttered under her breath, not quite a prayer but a fierce, quiet encouragement—her way of sending strength across the distance.

Across the room, Mags sat hunched but alert, her fingers knotted in her lap, offering silent support to Artemis. Her eyes brimmed with pride and worry, every wrinkle deepening with the tension. Porter, meanwhile, stood rigidly behind her, arms folded and chin lifted, her expression one of unwavering faith. She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, as if to reassure both Artemis and her that she was ready for whatever came next.

Steel met cunning in a final, desperate gambit; dust and silence hung in the air. The camera panned to the mentors; their faces etched with anticipation and dread. The screen flickered, a single heartbeat suspended; and just before the victor was revealed, the broadcast cut to black, leaving Panem and The Capitol poised on the edge of revelation.

Chapter Text

The screens flickered back to life, revealing the brutal aftermath in unflinching detail. Jewel knelt, blade slick with crimson, her breath coming in shallow gasps as Artemis lay sprawled at her feet, a dark stain pooling beneath her. The silence was absolute—no cheers, no cries, only the stark realisation of what desperate survival demanded. Jewel’s face was streaked with sweat and blood, the weight of her victory settling heavily on her shoulders as the arena’s harshness and the hovercraft’s lights caught the haunted look in her eyes. For a moment, time stood still, the world forced to reckon with the cost of triumph in Panem’s cruel spectacle.

Waking up in a stainless room, Jewel noticed that she was attached to a hospital bed. As her vision cleared, she was greeted by her mentors and congratulated on her win. Johanna told her that the final image would be seen in nightmares and galleries for decades to come.

As the silence lingered, Finnick finally found his voice, his tone gentle but edged with pride. “Jewel, you did everything we talked about. You trusted your instincts, and you didn’t let fear win.” His gaze caught hers, steady and reassuring. “But you’re not alone, not now. We’re here with you, every step.”

Johanna slid from her seat, crossing to Jewel’s side with a ferocity that belied the tenderness in her words. “You fought like hell. Don’t let them take that away from you. They’ll want a show, but you remember what matters; your truth, not theirs.” She squeezed Jewel’s shoulder, her grip firm and grounding. “Whatever comes next, you’re ready.”

Katniss Sienna, her composure returning, offered a soft nod of support. “Your story’s yours to tell, Jewel. Just breathe. We’ll help you through the interview; just be careful what you say.”

The door hissed open and Proserpina, Jewel’s stylist, glided in, her arms draped with shimmering fabric. She paused by Jewel’s bedside, laying out the gown for her to see—a dress refracting light in fractured rainbows, its intricate beadwork catching every glint. “This,” Proserpina declared with a sly smile, “matches your reputation as the ‘Shattered Gem’.” She traced a finger over the jagged crystal embellishments, pride and reassurance woven into her voice. “It’s not just a costume, Jewel. It’s your victory—every break, every scar, turned to brilliance.”

Jewel questions her stylist, “I have a reputation, now do I?”

Proserpina arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Oh, you do, darling. You earned it with grit and spectacle. They’re already whispering your name in the Capitol, debating whether you’re diamond-hard or glass on the edge.” She smoothed the gown’s sleeve, her tone playful yet serious. “It’s not just about survival, Jewel. It’s about how you shone through the cracks.”

Jewel glanced at the gown, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “So, they see me as broken and shining all at once?”

Proserpina nodded, her voice softening. “Exactly. You’re proof that shattered things can still dazzle. Let them marvel, let them wonder how you came through it all and still sparkle.”

After Jewel’s prep team and mentors were congratulated on their success, Caesar introduced, “Welcome to the stage, our very own ‘Shattered Gem’, Jewel from District One.”

The lights of the Capitol stage shimmer off Jewel’s gown, scattering fractured rainbows across the crowd. Caesar Flickerman, in his trademark suit, gestures with theatrical warmth as Jewel takes her seat opposite him, her posture poised yet visibly tense.

Caesar begins the show, “Welcome, welcome! Citizens of Panem, tonight we are joined by the victor who has captured the imagination of the nation. Please, let’s give a roar for the ‘Shattered Gem’ herself, Jewel from District One!”

The audience’s applause thunders, and Jewel manages a composed smile, though her knuckles whiten on the arm of her chair.

Caesar conspiratorially towards the crowd, “Jewel, I think you know the world has been waiting for this. How does it feel, sitting here as champion, after everything you endured in the arena?”

Jewel unsure answers, “It doesn’t feel real, Caesar. I keep expecting to wake up back in the arena, hearing the cannons. But I’m grateful that I managed to survive. I fought for my family, for the chance to see my brother again. Every second was borrowed time. To be here now… it’s relief, mostly, with a shadow of guilt for those who didn’t make it.”

Caesar softly speaking, “It’s no small feat to survive, let alone prevail with such… audacity. The audience saw not just your strength, but your heart. What was going through your mind when you realised, you’d won?”

Jewel: “Shock. Emptiness, at first. It isn’t joy, at least, not right away. It’s the weight of everything you did to get here, all the choices you can’t take back. But then I thought of home, and that I’d kept the promise I made to myself: to come out whole, even if I had to carry some cracks.”

Caesar pointing towards her glinting gown, “Let’s talk about your reputation: ‘The Shattered Gem’. The Capitol is absolutely enchanted, debating whether you’re unbreakable diamond or fragile glass. How does it feel to wear that title?”

Jewel fiddling with her dress as she displayed nervousness “I suppose it fits. I went in as something polished, something District One thought would shine. But the Games… They leave marks. I suppose I’m both—broken and shining. This dress, these crystals—it’s all the parts of me that survived and all the scars that show I did.”

Caesar: “There's a kind of hope in that; showing that even shattered things can dazzle. The districts see a victor; the Capitol sees a spectacle. Who do you want them to see?”

Jewel: “I want them to see the truth. That you don’t come through the arena unchanged. But also, that surviving doesn’t mean you lose the right to shine. If anything, the cracks make you real.”

Caesar ponders before asking, “Survival in the arena often comes down to alliances, to choices about who to trust. The audience watched friendships form and fracture. Tell us now, how did betrayal shape your Games?”

Jewel answers proudly, “Betrayal is the only constant in the arena, Caesar. You make promises because you have to believe in something, but the Games… they twist every alliance. I trusted, and it almost killed me. I watched people I cared about turn their backs; sometimes they had no choice, sometimes they did. There’s always that moment when you realise: trust is a currency, and it runs out fast.”

Caesar curiously questions: “That’s a heavy truth. Was there a defining moment for you when you realised where trust became danger?”

Jewel with weight to her voice “Yes. The night that I betrayed my alliance, I knew that I was better working alone. That’s when I realised: trust kills you in the arena. You have to be ready to stand alone, to let go before it’s too late. Betrayal isn’t just the other tributes; sometimes, it’s betraying your own hope that things could be different.”

Caesar gently nudges her to answer “The Capitol sees a victor, they don’t always see the cost. Can you share what it took, inside, to survive? What did you lose, and what did you find?”

Jewel with sincerity in her voice tells Caesar “I lost trust, not just in others, but sometimes in myself. Every night, I questioned if I’d gone too far, if I’d lost the person I used to be. But I found something, even when everything else did. I learned that you can be afraid and still act. That scars don’t define you, but they remind you of what you’ve endured.”

Caesar wanted to know “What was your greatest fear?”

Jewel told him “Being forgotten. That everything I did, every sacrifice, would mean nothing. But now; I know my story doesn't end in the arena.”

Jewel then pauses, before reminiscing, “Through it all, I thought of my family. My brother, especially that he’s always been the one to pull me back from the edge, mostly by infuriating me or making me laugh at the worst times. There were nights in the arena when I’d picture getting home and plotting my next prank on him; it kept me sane, gave me something ordinary and mischievous to hold onto. I think, more than anything, I survived for those moments. I’m looking forward to seeing his face when I finally get to pull one over on him again. That hope, that bit of normality, it’s what got me through.”

Caesar “Panem, you’ve heard it from our ‘Shattered Gem’; courage in the face of betrayal, honesty shining through the cracks. Jewel, what message do you want to leave with everyone watching tonight?”

Jewel “Don’t let fear or betrayal harden you so much you forget how to shine. Trust yourself, even when it feels impossible. And remember, sometimes the bravest thing is letting your scars show, because that’s where your light gets out.”

As the crowd erupts in applause, Caesar bows and the cameras pan out, capturing Jewel shimmering beneath the Capitol lights; broken, unbowed, and defiantly resplendent.