I leave the choice in your hands…whether you'd prefer the whispers of being forgotten, or the chance at immortality.

I stared out the window of my cabin, watching the dry plains rush by the train as I thought over Shiva's words. The chance at immortality…but was that what victory brought? Immortality? Or was it merely a pedestal for the Capitol to show off their latest toys, boasting to the districts about their greatness?

No doubt winning the Games would have changed my life. I'd never lived for much in my 17 years; between the orphanage and the streets, my visions of a future could be measured in days. What would I do with riches, a house, access to any district I wanted, and no reason to do anything but sleep all day? Would I do anything as a victor?

On the upside, I thought with a certain sense of satisfaction. I could out-wager the entire Stink on rat fighting matches every single day. Wasting money on trivialities – that was the hallmark of nearly every victor.

I knock on my door caught my attention. I pushed myself off my cabin's wide, plush bed, cursing as I stubbed my toe on the gleaming silver dresser nearby. I gingerly opened the door, pulling it just wide enough to give me a look on who wanted access.

Odessa stood outside, dressed in a fresh white gown and curling a lock of hair around her finger: "Did you decide?"

I sighed and looked up at the clock on the wall. It was only three; we had plenty of time before any evening meal – several districts' Reapings hadn't even begun yet. I didn't have anything better to do; I'd have nothing to lose by letting my district partner in.

"Yeah, c'mon in," I said, pulling open the door all the way for her to slide by.

She plopped down on the far end of the bed, looking up at me expectantly. Did this girl really think we'd be a good pair of allies? Her, a little 12 year-old with hardly a chance in the world…and me, a lone ranger who only followed his own interests? One of us would end up dead within a day.

"Look, girl," I said, closing the door and leaning against the wall.

"I have a name," she interrupted me. "It's really okay if you use it."

I crossed my arms and frowned at her. Feisty kid…"Look, Odessa. Why do you want to ally with me anyway? 'Because we're district partners' isn't a very good reason. You're a nice girl…I'm anything but a nice guy. You don't look like you can hurt a rat, let alone a person…me; I don't see much difference between animals, whether they have four legs or two. Does this sound like a good match to you?"

"We need each other, Nomad," Odessa pleaded, her eyes widening. "We're not going to survive if we just try to go out on our own. Look at the last few years; look who's won: From that Typhon guy last year to that Finnick kid from District 4 a few years ago, the volunteers almost always win. It's gonna be no different if we don't do something."

"And that something is bringing District 10 together to fight the volunteers, or something? Is this your great plan?"

"It's my only plan. Look at me. I'm twelve. Nobody my age has ever won. What chance do you think I have?"

"So that's what this is," I leaned back against the wall, smiling subtly as I looked down at her. "Appealing to my sensibilities. Well guess what, Odessa? I do feel bad for you; a little bit, at least. But why would that make me any interested in allying? What do I get out of that if we both die anyway? Seems pretty short-sighted."

Odessa's lip trembled as she looked up at me: "Can I speak truthfully?"

"You can say whatever the hell you want."

"You don't have a chance either. Not without help."

I laughed. The girl had some courage, I'd give her that: "And why's that?"

"Look at you! You're…arrogant, you're cold; you might be bigger than me, but why would the audience like you? I'm not dumb, Nomad. I get that victors are supposed to be likable."

"The audience likes one thing," I said. "Blood. I might not like the Capitol people too much, but that's one thing I can give them."

I looked out the window, watching lazy clouds hang in the sky: "I'll tell you what, Odessa. Training, we do our own thing. If we somehow cross paths in the arena…well, we can talk about it then. Sound good?"

She gave me a frustrated look before walking out of my room in a hurry. Guess she didn't want an alliance after all.

Truth be told, the only thing I could've used little Odessa for would have been as cannon fodder or bait. When she even admitted she had no chance, it had been enough for me. The Games weren't subtle affairs won by talking or negotiating. I may not have been the most seductive tribute of all time, but Capitol support could only get you so far. In recent years, the Gamesmakers had been averse to letting tributes starve or die to natural causes in the arenas. It bored the audience; they preferred violence. Sponsorships weren't much good when it came down to combat. The Games three years ago had been the exception: District 4's Finnick Odair, a man half the Capitol had fallen in love with, had received a trident in the arena from all the sponsorships he garnered. That'd been his saving grace as he cut down his competition.

I had neither his looks nor his sweet tongue, however. No, I'd have to rely on myself – not the Capitol.

I idled in my room for another two hours before heading off to the dining car. The yellow plains sun slowly settled towards the horizon as I wandered through the lounge, past a grumpy Hecuba who ignored my entrance. I hoped she wouldn't join us for dinner; it already seemed like I'd get no help from the escort.

Matthias and Odessa were already sitting at the table as I walked into the dining car. Platefuls of food, from brilliant fruits to crisp vegetables and savory meats, lay waiting for me to dig into.

The Hunger Games presenter, a middle-aged man named Caesar Flickerman with cardinal hair and a matching suit, talked loudly on the television in the room as I sat down. Odessa looked the other way: I supposed she was still smarting over my cold rejection of her alliance proposal. So it was. If she had decided that we'd be enemies, that was fine by me.

"Please, sit – eat!" Matthias welcomed me with a smile, pushing a bowl of bread in my direction. "More than enough for everyone…and then some, I believe."

"Pretty fancy," I muttered, loading some colorful, leafy concoction onto my plate. "Did uh…Caesar here…mention anything about the other districts' tributes?"

"Just arriving to that part, actually," Matthias replied.

Caesar turned towards the camera, his trademark pearly white smile flashing: "…and I'd like to take the time to remind all our viewers – we'll have an exclusive interview with President Snow himself right after we cover our recap of the Reapings. You can only see it here – so don't go anywhere folks! What a day we've had – we've seen everything from the typical to the unusual, so let's get started in glamorous District 1…"

District 1 immediately highlighted Caesar's use of "unusual." Straight off the bat, a huge, towering boy with a mane of black hair named Fafnir was Reaped. Another kid tried to volunteer for him, but as soon as he got the words out of his mouth, Fafnir rushed down, grabbed him by the throat, and hurled him to the ground. It was a display of violence straight out of the playbook from District 2…but this wasn't District 2. District 1 usually produced the glitzy type of victor with a stunning smile and silver hair – and in fact the district's girl, a tall vixen named Medea, was exactly that type of person.

Fafnir was something different entirely.

District 2's kids didn't approach his size and ferocity, but they were powerful people in their own right. The girl from the district, Freyr, was a slender, sleek girl with short-cropped black hair who looked eager to stab someone in the back. District 2's boy was the cold sort: Makhai, as Caesar called him, stared out at the gray, stone-cut buildings of the district with a pair of burnt-out gray eyes. He was bald and tough, but there was something odd going on inside that head of his. From the way he smiled ever so slightly, I got the feeling strength wasn't what I should have been worried about with him.

The rest of the field evened out after those four, with a particularly underwhelming pair of volunteers coming from traditionally-competitive District 4. A tough-looking, mahogany-skinned girl from District 6, Atalanta, looked almost bemused as she was Reaped. District 7 produced a pair of strapping eighteen year-olds, the boy Palici and girl Echo, who looked competent, if nothing else. District 9's male tribute, a powerful boy with rough, hewn skin named Koobus, looked as if he were ready to kill his escort for calling him forward.

There I was, smack dab in brown District 10, my hair a mess and my eyes half-closed as if I was bored when walking forward. It wasn't exactly the trait I was going for, but compared to frightened, tentative Odessa, I looked capable. That probably wouldn't endear me to the tougher kids, but like with Odessa, I wasn't interested in watching over a bunch of allies in a life-or-death situation, anyway.

"I don't like that boy from District 2," Odessa said after Caesar finished recapping a pair of uninspiring tributes from District 12. "Something about him."

"It is the way of all from District 2 who enter the arena," Matthias said. "More than just training. They are bound by a culture that prides its strongest, rather than its weakest. When a district idolizes its best, it leaves all others behind. Those two children want nothing more than to join that pantheon…even at the risk of death."

"Aren't they already rich in District 2?" Odessa asked.

"No. No, no…they are embraced by the Capitol, but they are not rich. Not in wealth, not in mind, not in culture. Any district that sells its children into military servitude is not a wealthy one. They may be patriotic, loyal to the Capitol – zealous, even - but not wealthy."

"Zealous," I muttered. "Why?"

"Do not underestimate the effect President Snow can have on people," Matthias answered solemnly, leaning back in his seat, his face growing old in the white light of the overhead chandelier. "To those who believe in him, he is more than a man."

I was about to ask what he meant by that, but Caesar interrupted me: "I know you've all been waiting out there, so I'm proud to introduce our president…Coriolanus Snow. Mister President, welcome."

Snow's weathered face and white hair dwarfed Caesar's colorful outfit, his presence overwhelming. Although the president wore a humble expression, I couldn't deny that he felt larger than life. He had always given off the same feeling in those Reaping videos and during past Hunger Games. It was as if Snow was one step ahead of his audience, like he knew some secret but wasn't telling. Either he had a masterful public relations team, or the man was unrivaled at capturing the attention of a nation.

After the customary introductions, Caesar and Snow dove into a number of questions about the Hunger Games. The two traded tidbits I knew for a while, but late in the interview, Caesar veered off into uncharted territory.

"Over the last thirteen years, you've become quite hands-on with the Games," Caesar said, looking serious. "I don't think anyone can deny they've been at their best, but this is has been a trying time for you."

"Of course," Snow nodded. "After what happened those years ago, I originally felt anger and yearned for justice. But those were base urges; feelings escaping from the demon within us all. When I awoke from that haze and realized what I was thinking, I understood that I could use that turning point as a teaching moment. And who am I, if not a teacher standing on the biggest pulpit in Panem?"

"So many people think the Hunger Games are about revenge - that they're punishment for what happened in the Dark Days. But like what happened to me thirteen years ago, revenge isn't what we strive for. It's forgiveness. The Games are how we bond, how we unite, how our wounds heal. Year after year we come together in this ceremony and we forgive the violence of our ancestors. We proclaim that we will learn from their deeds, and we become a better people – a better nation."

"Thirteen years ago?" I asked, my eyes transfixed on the screen. "What happened then?"

"Not a story they tell you in the districts, no…especially as this broadcast is only viewed by those in the Capitol."

Shiva's voice caught me off guard. She hadn't shown up for the recap, only now making her entrance as we watched Caesar and Snow.

I turned towards the door. Shiva's hood still concealed her eyes, but I could see what she was feeling by the way her lip curled into a sneer. Watching Snow's speech didn't make her want to forgive, nor learn, nor become a better person. It filled her with hate.

"Why isn't it told in the districts?" Odessa said quietly.

"Because it is about him," Shiva pointed with a skeletal hand towards the screen. "About the tyrant. About the man he is…and the man he is not."

Shiva took a seat between Matthias and I, resting her elbows on the table and intertwining her fingers: "The man rose to power as a dictator. He killed those who stood in his way and would let none stand before him and his rule. He was no different than any other petty lord in his early days. Man has seen thousands of them in history."

"Yet he did not stay that way. The tyrant had a son, an heir, one he tolerated but did not love. He loved the son's daughter, however…his granddaughter, a mystery lost to the past of our time. She was born thirteen years ago, and the tyrant predicted that she would rise and take his place after he was gone. The Capitol, of course, loved this. Others did not."

"During a procession in his honor," Shiva went on, her face never once changing in its expression of distaste. "A rogue dissident decided to change the course of history. He charged over the barricades surrounding what was once called the Avenue of the Tributes – where the chariot parade happens each year before the Hunger Games – holding a makeshift bomb in each hand, another strapped to his chest. The dissident kept running despite being shot, made it alongside the carriage carrying the tyrant and his family…and detonated his explosives."

"Snow, of course, survived…the tyrant has a tight grip on life. His family did not. Both his son and his granddaughter, along with all the others in the carriage, perished. The tyrant changed after that moment. He abandoned his all-encompassing power grab, painting himself instead as a redeemer and guardian of Panem. A personality cult grew up around him, spreading quickly across the Capitol as he entrenched his ideals of 'forgiveness' and 'altruism', notions he perverted into worship of his figure. This cult spread into the districts. Districts 1, 2, 4, and to an extent, 5, all came to see the tyrant as something more than a man. He became the icon you see today. Now, Snow is less a man of ideals…he is the ideal, a false prophet holding onto his rein while blinding his people."

"Wait a minute," I held out my hand. "If all that you just said is true…why don't we hear any of that in District 10? Nobody loves him back home. Nobody even knows he had a son."

"Why the spread the word to where it need not be said?" Shiva answered. "District 10, District 11, District 12 – these are mere blemishes on the tyrant's work. He has what he wants. He has control of the people who matter to him and the Capitol…and in his view, his rein is safe. He is free to carry out whatever action he wants in the Capitol and the districts that cherish him so long as they bow to his image. The minute freedoms he allows in District 10 are a discount compared to the power he now controls."

"How do you know all that?" Odessa said from across the table.

"You hear a great many things in the Capitol," Matthias sighed. "If either of you win, you will come to understand, too."

"There are dark places and dark people in this world," Shiva added. "Like all of them, Snow is but an illusion, the creation of one twisted variable. There are secrets in the Capitol…secrets in the Hunger Games that you both walk to now. Survive…and you will see how they show their faces."