ACT I: Prologue.

I know that you fear that I'm wicked and weary.
I know that you're fearin' the end.

"Let's go around the room and talk through where we stand. We've all had the chance to review the interview notes and results from the Trials. I want to hear your final arguments."

"It has to be Emilian and Isara, right?" Skleros asks from further down. A large table dominates the room, covered with papers, holopads, and half-empty coffee cups. Every instructor in the Ludus Magnus, both victor and non-victor, considers the question.

"That's my vote." Farrell leans back in his chair, hands cupped behind his head, a bored look on his face. Antonell narrows her eyes. Sometimes, she can't help but regret hiring him, no matter the fact that he's her brother.

Kassi straightens her notepad and adjusts her pens before speaking. It's cute. The new trainers always show how green they are at this point in the process; hungry to impress. "I think every cadet has their merits, but Emilian and Isara have consistently demonstrated superior technical skills and a remarkable work ethic. In the last few months, their performance has been nothing short of exceptional. They've also shown incredible resilience under pressure, which is crucial for the Games."

Antonell gives a slight nod of acknowledgment. Kassi makes a valiant effort to maintain a composed, modest demeanor. Her fingers fidget slightly with the edge of her sleeve, betraying her attempt to hide a growing smile. It didn't take a lot of convincing to bring the younger girl on to the staff this past year—Kassi might not have made it to the arena, but she's done great work with the Twelves so far.

Just like Antonell knew she would.

"I'm comfortable with Emilian, but Isara…" Shamra pauses, gesturing in the air, trying to find her words, before adding, "I still find something lacking. I don't know if she's ready for the Games."

"And you think there's another girl that can handle the arena? I'm sorry Shams, but based on the past year, Isara is our only option out of the Eighteens."

"But did she rank first at the end of Trials, Farrell?"

"Listen, we all know what happened with that absolute clusterfuck. I'm just trying to—"

"I agree that Isara has a strong case," begins Warrick. All eyes swing to the graying man at the other end of the room. "However, Syene's adaptability is worth considering. She's excelled in multiple disciplines and has shown an impressive strategic mind. That kind of flexibility could be a huge asset in the unpredictable environment of the arena." At the head of the table, Antonell sees a few other heads nod in agreement. Warrick's always held a lot of sway within the Ludus Magnus; that's what happens when you've been around since the very beginning.

She knows his name was thrown out when Valcus announced his retirement. It was a nice idea. Antonell saw to it that it stopped there.

"Are there any Seventeens we would want to consider?"

"No," the whole room seems to answer at once, and Antonell is glad her team can at least agree on one item today. She's worked hard to ensure everyone feels like they have a spot at the table—a far cry from how these discussions used to be held, behind closed doors and reserved for victors and the occasional high-ranking instructor. But it's certainly drawn out the selection process at the end of each year and given Antonell one too many headaches.

"We also have to consider public perception," offers Shamra. "Claudia on the other hand will undoubtedly have a…positive media presence, which could boost our visibility and eat into One's usual sponsors."

"Been there, tried that," Farrell scoffs.

"If I had to choose, I'd go with Isara and Emilian," Jarek says. "Their dependability and strong track record makes them the safer bet. We know the Games is about top performance, and they've both shown that they can deliver."

Myla clears her throat. "I see where you're coming from, but Syene's versatility might give us the edge we need. It's a gamble, but it might pay off in ways we can't predict."

Antonell is about to cut in, having already made up her mind before even calling the meeting to order, before a voice cuts through the debate and side-conversations. "What about Higanbana?"

Silence fills the conference room, the tension thick and suffocating.

"You're joking," someone laughs. "You have to be joking? She's—"

"Enough." Antonell holds up her right hand. A sheen of sweat glistens on Theron's forehead despite the breeze that floats through the open windows. "I thought we agreed that after Lancelot, we wouldn't be taking any more risks."

More elaborate arenas, bigger productions, but throughout it all, Two has remained consistent. Dependable. Just as she's designed. After ousting Valcus, after repairing the Ludus Magnus' image, she will not let a wildcard ruin what she's built.

At a time like this, she wishes Ryker were here. He might've been an asshole and caused more problems than he was worth, but at least Antonell knows he would've made sure Higanbana wasn't even on anyone's radar. She's been a thorn in her side ever since she stormed through the front doors four years ago—the girl only made it to Eighteens at the behest of Head Peacekeeper Nero. Otherwise, she'd be out in the streets. Or rotting in a prison cell.

Either way, decidedly not a problem for Antonell to worry about.

"She's a good kid, Nell," Theron adds, as though the length of the silence was growing physically uncomfortable for him, shifting restlessly in his chair. "I know you probably wouldn't think that, with her track record, but this whole thing…"

"Didn't we think Lancelot was a good kid?" Farrell jokes.

"Theron," she starts. "I appreciate the suggestion, but I think everyone in this room knows Cadet Higanbana is a special case."

"But she ranked f—"

"The circumstances of this year's Trials were suspicious at best. I have taken note of areas of improvement for the Eighteens next year so there won't be a repeat. Either way, Cadet Higanbana is out of the question."

It's clear Theron wants to continue the argument until he's blue in the face. It's something Antonell has always admired about him. But from the look they share, he knows he won't win this battle. After everything that girl has done, he's lucky she's even let him mention her name.

"Alright then, it's settled," Antonell announces. "Thank you, everyone. As always, I appreciate your input. But, after careful consideration, I have decided Emilian and Isara will be given the honor to represent District Two in the Games this year."

Her gaze sweeps over the room, noting the thoughtful nods and murmurs of agreement that begin to circulate. One by one, everyone starts to express their support; everyone besides Theron, who simply crosses his arms and stares ahead.

"Let's make sure our chosen volunteers are fully prepared for the challenges ahead. We all know the next month is crucial to their success. Meeting adjourned." Everyone begins to gather their things, exchanging brief, polite goodbyes before stepping out into the hallway.

In the midst of the shuffling feet, Theron lingers by the table, a look of concern on his face. "So, what's on your mind?" Antonell asks once it's just the two of them, taking a sip of her now lukewarm coffee.

Theron hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. "Look, I know you've put in a lot of hard work and you have the final say. But I can't shake the feeling that the decision today wasn't the best one. Higanbana might not be perfect, but she can be a force to be reckoned with in the Games. I'm concerned that we might be missing out by not giving her a shot."

Antonell listens intently, her expression thoughtful. "I understand where you're coming from. She has potential. But I can't excuse her actions. I can't put this program, this district, at risk. Not again."

"I get that, but it's just…it feels a bit like we're favoring familiarity over fresh perspectives. I worry that sooner or later, One or Four will pass us if we keep making decisions out of fear. I don't want what happened with Lancelot to prevent us from picking the best cadets each year."

She leans forward, her tone empathetic yet firm. If it were anyone else, she would've sent them out the door. "Fear? I appreciate your honesty, Theron, I really do. But think twice before insinuating I've spent the past eight years shaping the Ludus Magnus out of…fear."

"Nell, you know I didn't—"

"And I respect that you're speaking up," she continues. "I know you want what's best. As do I. However, Emilian and Isara will be notified tomorrow of our decision, and I expect you to support them every step of the way. If not, I know there is an after-school program looking for a director out in Gerasa."

Theron swallows. "Fine, Nell. I'm sorry, you're right. You can count on me."

"Good." Antonell stands, pushing her chair back and collecting her bag. She claps him on the shoulder, preventing him from moving away, and stares into his eyes. "Wear something nice."

And then she turns on her heel and walks through the door.

The Fifty-Fourth Hunger Games await.

Hi.

Is this thing still on?

I had a completely different prologue to post but VE gave me some inspiration.

Anyways!

For anyone that might be confused, consider this is a facelift for the DYOT that has been on hiatus for over a year. What does that mean? Little to zero subplot, a simpler story structure, and a reduced cast. These are all decisions to help me stay motivated and prevent any more delays in getting this off the ground.

I've been working on fine-tuning this revamped version for the past few months (or, as much as corporate America has allowed), so expect a more consistent posting schedule since I have a nice stockpile ready to go.

If anyone is still around, I appreciate your support. I know I haven't made it easy.

See you soon!

Also: lyrics and chapter title are from "Halloween" by Noah Kahan.