Chapter Text
“Dear Citizens of Panem, we bring you the announcement you’ve all been waiting for,” the man on stage takes a pause for dramatic effect–capital citizens squirming in anticipation while districts wait in fear.
“The fourth quarter quell has arrived and with that, a special statement from President Wingfield himself,” the image cuts to a man standing confidently on a stage, his white hair shining due to the lights and hands bearing claws adjusting his outfit. The camera zooms in to showcase the letter clutched in his hands.
"Citizens of Panem,as a new age of progress is upon us, and with it we mustn't forget all the pain and struggle it took to formulate this peace." He lets the word linger, savouring it. "Three quarter quells have passed since the Dark Days, each one a reminder — a reminder that peace is not born, it is built. Engineered. Refined through trial, and yes, through sacrifice."
Xeno takes a second to stare off at the crowd, relishing in the moment. All eyes were on him, holding their breaths for what was to come; after all, this wasn't just any quarter quell–it was one that marked a century since the capital took reins of the whole of Panem, having the districts–rebels submit to them.
Lifting the letter between his claw-like fingers–showing it off for everyone to see. "I believe this year’s game will be as elegant as the last–if not more,” Xeno proclaimed as he lifted his arms in a dramatic manner. Xeno took a second to open the letter before continuing–not even glancing at what was hidden inside. “With each quarter quell, a special rule is added and this year is no exception,” The roaring crowd couldn't be contained anymore.
Despite having everything, they still wanted more: The food never ran out which was nice, the endless parties were better but the games was what had the capital foaming at the mouth. The thought of district kids slaughtering each other as a form of punishment for something they weren't even alive to see was what had the crowd exhilarated.
Each and every year was the same, a boy and girl from each district–ranging from ages 12 to 18– was selected at the reaping. The method being through chance, each year a sip with your name added, however the capital was satisfied with the odds being the same for each year, so a system was added; if a family needed more resources to survive, their child could take out a tesserae which contained basic necessities. With every tesserae taken, a slip with the child's name would be added, increasing the chances of them being reaped.
“However before I read the new rule, I would like to offer my own twist to the games this year,” President Wingfield smirked. All eyes were on him. He could hear the murmurs of the live audience as their rotted minds struggled to comprehend the new information. “Now you're perhaps wondering–how could the hunger games be elegant?” A pause, a small laugh, private and sinister. “Simple, really. This year, capital children shall participate too.”
As if on queue, a group of students walked onto the stage dressed in dark red uniforms. The group formed a line behind the president, positioned as if they were peacekeepers during the reapings where rows of them would be surrounding the perimeter to make sure no setbacks occurred.
The screen behind President Wingfield flickered to life, displaying the Capitol seal before dissolving into rows of photographs—young faces, all impeccably groomed, all bearing the soft, untested look of children who had never known hunger.
"Twenty-four Capitol children," Wingfield continued, savoring the silence that had fallen over the audience. "Selected not by lottery, but by merit. Sons and daughters of our most distinguished families." the screen flashed and began slowly going over each of the 24 students.
The screen lingered on each face just long enough for the crowd to absorb it before sliding to the next—a slow, deliberate parade, as if Wingfield wanted every second of discomfort to land.
Ukyo watched from where he stood, in between tsukasa and nikki in district 7 center where a big screen in front of the justice building; normally the screen is more commonly used during reapings to have a close up of the escort and the reaped tributes. He took note of each student on the screen, still confused on what was going on.
The first student to catch his eye is a pink-haired girl who held her chin high, mouth set in a careful, practiced line, but her eyes betrayed her—darting, just slightly, toward the edge of the frame, as though looking for an exit that wasn't there.
The blonde with the lion's-mane ponytail was different. She didn't bother hiding anything. Her stare was flat and assessing, the look of someone already cataloguing the competition rather than dreading it. However the next second her eyes closed with her head lulled, as if having fallen asleep. “What's up with these capital kids?” he heard Nikki mutter from under her breath. He couldn't help but agree.
This was meant to be the special announcement that would warn the districts about the special twist for quarter quell, however they’re being told that capital kids will now be playing some part in it. “These kids better be in the arena with the district tributes, let them witness their own being slaughtered” this time it was Hyoga who said this, not even trying to be quiet like Nikki. He’d always been more vocal about what he thought about the games-like Tsukasa, how they haven't been punished as rebels yet, no one knows.
However the idea that the capital would be sending their own kids into the games–and from some of the most powerful families as the president stated. Ukyo couldn’t believe that, not unless the President said it himself.
Turning his attention back to the screen, they'd already reached near the center of the lineup, a boy with wild, upswept hair looked almost annoyed to have been dragged into frame at all—bored, distant, like the whole spectacle was another basic Tuesday for him. His bicolored-haired companion seemed to be operating on the opposite emotional frequency entirely, grin wide and cheeky, shoulder bumping the other boy hard enough to make him stumble half a step. A laugh, silent under Wingfield's droning voice, passed between them. Ukyo couldn't tell if it was bravado or if they genuinely didn't have a care in the world. He truly envied them in that aspect.
And then—last, and somehow loudest despite the background noises—the blond boy with shoulder-length hair. His grin was boisterous and unapologetic, mouth open around a laugh swallowed by the noise of the crowd. He didn't look like someone who'd just learned he might die on television. He looked like someone enjoying a joke only he could hear.
Ukyo's eyes stayed on him a beat longer than the others.
He wasn't sure why.
“ –-history of the games, now I bet you are all wondering why we are having capital students participate this year?” With the screen flashing back onto President Wingfield's face, so did Ukyo’s attention, however he could sense that blonde’s smirk would linger on his mind for a while longer.
“They shall be this year’s mentors” the silence that covered the district was deafening–even with Ukyo’s exceptional hearing, he still struggled to hear the shuffling of feet and the shared intake of breaths.
"Mentors," Wingfield repeated, letting the word sit there like a blade balanced on its point. "Not tributes. I did promise elegance, after all." A low chuckle rippled through some corner of the Capitol audience—relief, maybe, or the particular relief of people realizing their own children were safe after all.
"Each of these twenty-four will be paired with a district tribute. They will do everything a mentor normally does–guide them. Advise them. However, they may also lend their names, their sponsors, their resources—" his eyes swept the crowd knowingly, "—to the fight for survival."
“This quarter quell will be completely up to these students behind me,” turning to look at the new stars of the 100th game “may the odds, be ever in your favour”
The screen split, twenty-four faces shrinking into a grid, waiting to be matched with the ones that hadn't been chosen yet—the ones who would have their name drawn from slips of paper in every district square across Panem come reaping day. Ukyo had about 20 slips because of the tesseraes he had to take out during winters and because it was going to be his seventh and last reaping.
“Now for the reveal you have all been waiting for–” finally the letter came back into view of the cameras “like every 25 years, the special rule that will be added to the games along with my own is within this envelope”.
Ukyo shifted his weight.
Whatever it was, Ukyo doubted it would be merciful. The Capitol didn't do mercy, especially on anniversaries.
He thought of his mother's stories about the second Quell, the one that had doubled the number of tributes reaped from each district—all so the Capitol could remind everyone that rebellion carried compound interest.
He wondered, distantly, whether whatever waited in that envelope would make people look back on this one the same way. A story told to frighten children forty years from now, assuming there were still children left in his district to frighten.
Wingfield unfolded the card with a flourish, however he didn’t read the card–his eyes didn’t even take a second to scan the words allegedly written on there. “As elegant and befitting as I expected, it’s as if the odds were in my favour” Xeno laughed, “the fourth quarter quell tributes shall be reaped and chosen through a different system entirely. They’ll be drawn from the pool of children born to victors…though which of them will be reaped will be their mentor’s choice alone”.
Ukyo felt his heart drop.