𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝟎𝟐. 𝐢 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐫

— 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 —

━━━━━━ ☽【❖】☾ ━━━━━━

I volunteer as tribute. Four little words that would change my life forever. Four little words that offered a key to the moment I'd been training for my entire life. And that moment was playing over in my head on repeat, relishing on the cheers that erupted from the crowd of district two.

"There you have it," Atticus Silvanus, district two's escort, adjusted the lapels of his pressed suit before pulling the mic closer to his mouth. He sidestepped from the spotlight briefly and gestured toward us in the center of the stage with his free hand. "District two's volunteers: Rena Corvinus and Romulus Lovera. May the odds be ever in your favor!"

It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. I didn't want to dampen the mood, but every year it was the same speech and the same routine. The least Silvanus could do was shake things up a little bit. In what was meant to be the most exciting moment of my life, he'd managed to make it feel no different than every other year.

Rena moved closer to my side and wrapped an arm around my waist. My brow raised as I offered her an inquisitive look, but she simply mouthed: play along. She lifted her free arm in the air triumphantly with a raucous shout and I followed suit a second later. The crowd's cheers grew louder and more animated, forcing the peacekeepers to step in before we were rushed like the celebrities we'd just become.

Rena laughed as we were led backstage, facing me as her lips settled into a more comfortable sly grin. "You should've seen the look on Helena's face when I volunteered first. Pure murder in her eyes. But we all know she wouldn't survive the games, she always did make the lowest marks in school."

"Uh huh." My reply was short, but probably because I wasn't really listening. Rena and I, along with many of our other peers had attended a school that had produced numerous victors of the games. It was pricey, but apparently the tuition was well-worth the training and skill sets that the students acquired over the years.

I was enrolled the moment I turned eight, and ten years later, I'd finally taken my place among the greats in preparation of the seventy-second hunger games. Now all that remained was saying goodbye to my family before greeting the cameras. Not a single tear was shed as my parents congratulated me. This was the moment that I'd come the closest to seeing pride in their eyes. My younger sisters, twins born minutes apart, also shared my parents sympathies as they promised to cheer me on from home. I think it's the longest that any of us have smiled while all standing in the same room. We weren't exactly what you'd call sentimental. In fact, the adjectives that come to mind when thinking of my family are competitive and ruthless. But it was also the only way to survive in the world we were born into.

It was only once I had boarded the train and left the station that excitement finally surged through my chest. I inhaled and slowly released the breath I'd just taken, embracing the moment in its entirety. As much as my mind wished to jump to the end, I understood the process and knew that it was the journey that mattered if I was to achieve my desired results. So, I'd focus on the presence and the jubilation of the ceremonies and interviews leading up to the games.

"I swear your face is going to turn purple if you don't take a breath soon."

I turned my head toward the source of the unfamiliar voice, and I'll admit... I was a bit starstruck. In the center of the room sat Artemisia Floros, Nightlock: district two's victor of the fifty-eighth hunger games. Although every inch of her form seemed stoic and composed, a single corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk. Her dark hair was pulled back into a long braid, and her equally dark eyes looked me over as if debating whether I'd actually be worth her time.

It was then that I realized I was still holding my breath. It was only once the burning in my lungs created a sensation of discomfort that I recognized the fact and amended the mistake, returning to a normal pattern of breathing.

Artemisia nodded her head with approval. "Much better."

"When they said Nightlock was going to be our mentor I wasn't quite sure I believed them," Rena gasped with delight as she entered the room, inserting herself into the conversation. "Is it true that you took out half of your competition by faking a truce and poisoning them all in one fell swoop at the cornucopia?"

The smirk on our mentor's face immediately fell. Her gaze darkened and for a brief second, I swore there was a pain visible that I'd never understand. I wasn't quite sure whether to interpret the private moment as weakness or strength. On the one hand, she was able to push through whatever past was haunting her... on the other, no true warrior was ever fazed by the battle. They only accepted the fruits and glory of war... or so I'd been told.

Artemisia shrugged. It was a simple gesture, but caught my attention as she neither confirmed nor denied the question of my fellow tribute. "Everyone tells their own version of the story... and I'm not sure I know the truth anymore. Believe whichever tale you like, it's all meaningless in the end."

My eyebrows knit together inquisitively and Rena's expression matched my own. Rena crossed her arms, voicing our confusion in the form of another question. "How do you mean? You've gone down in history as one of the fiercest warriors of all time."

"That may be true, but my victory has nothing to do with your fight," Artemisia replied, calmly correcting our misconceptions. "The gamekeepers strive to create a fresh environment each year. They'd never repeat history, so whatever strategies may have worked in the past will not work in the future. Get that through your skulls if you want to survive."

Rena scoffed, uncrossing her arms as she moved them to her hips. "I've been training for this moment my entire life. It's the other tributes that should be worrying. They'll never see me coming,"

Artemisia stood quicker than either of us could have anticipated. She snatched Rena's wrist and quickly bent it back behind my fellow tribute's back. After another agonizing second, Artemisia leaned down and whispered something into Rena's ear before releasing the girl's arm. Rena rubbed her wrist and eyed our mentor cautiously before walking away. For just a split second, I swore there was a glint of fear in Rena's eyes... something I can't remember ever seeing before, which was more terrifying than anything else I'd ever faced.

Once Rena had left the room, Artemisia cleared her throat and gestured with a single finger to draw me closer. I inched forward until I stood inches away from her seated figure.

"Remember that you two aren't the only ones who have been training for the games," Artemisia reminded me. "Don't forgot that there can only be one victor."

The words were chilling as they shuddered down my spine. I'd never been afraid of my destiny. I'd always faced it head on... but I was suddenly being shown the rope of mortality and I had an uneasy feeling that my mentor was trying to hand me the end. Unless... could it be that this was simply another test? Like all of the ones I'd taken throughout my childhood to really see if I was ready for the next step? Well, I was ready.

I nodded my head, accepting her advice while still keeping my head held high with my chest puffed out. Artemisia's face was indecipherable, but maybe it was my imagination that saw the corner of her lip quiver and smirk for the duration of a blink of an eye. She didn't speak; instead, she silently dismissed me with another nod of her head. On my way out of the room, I passed Silvanus, catching the beginning of their conversation as ours ended.

"What did I say?" Silvanus asked, cockily approaching Artemisia's chair. "Do they have potential or what?"

My heart surged with pride as I caught the whisper of her reply. I held my head a little higher and noticed a bounce to my step as I made my way through the train toward my room. My mentor's voice echoed around the inside of my mind as I closed the door behind my then took a seat on the edge of my bed.

"Yes... I do believe there's potential for a victor."

Four little words changed my fate; nine set it in stone. This was my moment, my crowning glory. But first there were twenty-three little problems I'd have to take care of... stepping stones really—tools to use to reach the stars.