Phantasma

Disclaimer: I still do not own the Hunger Games.

Note on the next chapter (in case I forget to mention it) the bloodbath will most likely be written from an outside point of view. I just find it too disorienting to jump back and forth between tribute point of views, especially while trying to describe the layout of the arena, when everyone is consolidated in one spot. Within the first chapter, though, I'll return to traditional P.O.V.s as I have been, alternating between the surviving tributes.

Also: reminder to vote in my poll. If I keep pace, the next chapter will probably be up by this coming weekend or early next week, so please vote before then if you're planning to.

Poll results from the sponsor poll- 3 way tie for first place with 4 votes each: Ailis, Bailey, Mobie (stay tuned for sponsor gifts)

2nd – with 3 votes each: Nero, Ibrahima, Elric, Jonas, Leoric, Candice, Gloria, Tanner

3rd – with 2 votes each Killian, Dane, Raivel, Freida, Altair, Jayanti, Ridge

4th – with 1 vote each Saphyra, Tavia, Margery, Brody, Nina

5th – with 0 votes – Marune Xantone

District 1 – Blake Mahner

"You two have performed wonderfully," Khalani squealed and Blake could feel both of his tributes gloating. It wasn't enough, he thought. They weren't taking this with nearly enough seriousness.

"You have done well," Blake tempered, "but you need to take a moment, just a moment to think of the worst case scenario. If you don't come back, this is the last chance you really have to reflect without the Games."

"What do you mean?" Killian demanded. He was still certain, unwaveringly assured he would be coming home.

"Well, for starters, you, think of your daughter," he looked deliberately at Killian. "Sure, you spoke to her tonight from a screen, confident you'd come home to her. But she's, what, three? If you don't come home there's no way she could possibly rememberyou. Tonight is the night to make sure you leave a phantom, a memento, just in case."

"What about me?" Saphyra scoffed.

"Your brother, maybe. You may want to fix that relationship." She scoffed again. "Or maybe you just want to figure out how to keep your drug fix in the arena!" he finally exploded, his temper finally running loose. If this arrogance was to be the legacy of volunteers he wanted nothing more of it.

"Blake!" Khalani glared at him.

"It's true. I have been tasked with mentoring these tributes, Khalani, so I'm giving them the last bit of mentoring advice that I can if they're smart enough to listen to me. After they're in the arena, all I can do is schmooze sponsors. I'm good at that, mind you, but I can't keep them from doing stupid stuff if I don't say things right now." He turned his attention back to his two tributes, "I sincerely hope that one of you will come out of this, I do, but the reality is at least one of you will die. You can't avoid that fact for much longer. And even if you do come out, you've got to come to terms with your mortality."

"Too bad you're not going to be in the arena tomorrow. I'd love to come to terms with your mortality." Saphyra scoffed again. "Until tomorrow, then," she brushed him off.

"Thanks, Blake. We know what we've got to do," Killian said with a haughty smile. Blake just shook his head.

"You haven't got a clue," he muttered as both of their doors closed.

Mags Cohen – District Four Mentor

"You two dodged a bullet," Excelcia commented. "Anyone even remotely connected to the rebellion is going to be crushed, if Brutus knows what's good for him, that is. It's best that you're not on the receiving end of that."

"So now you're supporting my breaking ties with the rest of the Careers?" Ibrahima asked eagerly. He wanted Excelcia on his side, clearly, but he wasn't about to abandon Freida because of it.

"Don't push too far. It was still a rash decision," Excelcia snapped. "I'll be back in a bit. I've got to make some final preparations." She exited the room and Mags felt a sense of relief wash over her.

"She didn't encourage anything I did either," Mags offered, trying to be encouraging. It was their last night of comfort, the interim between the preparation and the actions that would determine the rest of their lives.

"I don't need coddling or encouragement. I need to know my mentor's got my back." Ibrahima commented, worriedly.

"She does," Mags assured him. "Excelcia is nothing if not loyal, to both her district and the Games. She'll do whatever she can to get you out alive."

"Like she did for you?" Ibrahima asked.

"Well, I wasn't her first choice, but yes. She's persistent." Perhaps to a flaw, Mags thought, but didn't say that part aloud. She was glad when Freida butted in, changing the topic.

"My brothers will never stop going on about that dress," the girl laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "I never wore dresses at home. The stylists have turned me from a tom-boy into a beauty queen. Beauty queen is going to be killing tomorrow, though."

"Are you taking on the Cornucopia?" Mags exclaimed. Something in Freida's voice made Mags suspect they weren't going to back down from a fight.

"We'll need the supplies," Ibrahima stated simply. They'd already discussed this; Mags could tell because Freida was already nodding in agreement. Mags' anxiety must have shown on her face, though. "We'll wait, though. Get what we need, get out, prepare and then . . ." he waiting for his impact as his fist slammed into the couch. "And then we act."

Aeden Sanderling – District Seven Mentor

"So now what do we do?" Bailey asked. Both of them knew it was a pointless question. There was nothing to tell her really. Saying sleep well, or rest up would have been impossible given the horrors that awaited them in the morning. So Aeden remained silent, not really knowing what to say. Even after ten years as a mentor, he had no idea what to say. Despite her questions, Bailey seemed to understand that, unlike Jonas the one who never stopped running his mouth. Thankfully, though, Jonas had wordlessly disappeared into his room as soon as they had returned from the interviews. Perhaps he was deep in slumber already. Somehow it wouldn't have surprised Aeden; that kid thought he was prepared for everything.

"What did you do, the night before your Games?" Bailey asked. Aeden could feel his heart racing in panic. None of his tributes had ever asked him that; part of him wished Bailey hadn't, but he couldn't deny her an answer, not now, not even if it broke his heart remembering.

"Calli spent the whole night convincing me the Games would be cancelled, that everything would be okay. She promised we only had to hold out for her father to use his influence and he'd get us out, stop it all," he couldn't meet her eyes, so hopeful, so much like hers. "She was far too hopeful," he whispered, fighting the lump in his throat that rose with the memory.

"I know they won't stop them," Bailey said softly. Maybe the worst part was that she did, Aeden thought. No dreams, no deceptions, just cold hard facts. The killing would commence tomorrow.

"If you have embraced your mortality, then you have acquired more sagacity than I had been lead to believe," Jonas said, emerging from his room. Aeden had to resist the urge to groan. No matter how frustrating he was, Jonas was still his tribute, and he would help him any way he could. "Aeden, I require your assistance. Since mentors are permitted to roam about the floors, I require that you deliver this to the male tribute in District Two, more specifically his mentor, Echo."

"What's in it?"Aeden asked, part of him not even wanting to know.

Jonas smiled, grimly. "The first motion," he replied simply, handing the paper to Aeden. "Deliver it, please." Aeden sighed and stood up.

"Get some sleep," he suggested, feebly.

Echo Banner – District Two Mentor

The knock at the door broke the silence that had consumed the room since the interviews. No one spoke, thinking it might be a dream, a nightmare, a simple figment of their imaginations. But the knock came again.

"I'll get it," Echo volunteered, leaving Glade, Dane and Nero to sit by themselves.

"Aeden!" she exclaimed as she opened the door. He put a finger to his lips, pleading for her silence, and held out a note for her.

"For your eyes only. It's from Jonas," Aeden whispered in a voice so low Echo was certain it wouldn't have permeated further into the room. Then, just like that he disappeared again, shutting the door behind him. What an odd alliance, she thought as she concealed the note in her jacket pocket.

"What was that?" Nero asked as Echo returned.

"Instructions for tomorrow," Echo answered simply. "It is getting late you two. You'll want to be well rested for tomorrow. Rushing for the Cornucopia is tiring work and you'll want to be at your best."

"Yes we will," Nero agreed, smiling. He was trying his best to break the ice that had been between himself and his district partner since the interviews, but he simply couldn't. He held out his hand, trying to help her up, but Dane ignored it. "Goodnight," he conceded finally, turning to his room. Wordlessly, Dane turned as well, trudging to her room.

"Glade?" Echo questioned. She didn't even know what she was going to ask him. She just needed to say his name, needed to feel as though she'd acknowledged him.

"I'll see you in the morning," he answered, turning in as well. Echo watched him walk down the hall to his room, looking years older than he had that morning.

It was only after she was certain he was gone, after she heard his snoring lightly through his wall that she opened the note, her hands steady.

A short time later, she knocked on Nero's door.

"Come in," came the reply. She had known he wouldn't be asleep, not before ironing out the details for tomorrow. He needed to know if the plan had changed; this note would tell him exactly that.

"It's from District Seven," she whispered, closing the door behind her, making sure Dane couldn't hear them. Jonas's note had clearly been meant for Nero, Echo was simply a means of delivery.

Nero read it quickly, his face unchanged. He was determined, maybe determined enough to make it through this night and all of the horrible nights to come.

"He's right," the tribute sighed, his first real decision of the Games. "After what happened tonight, he's right." Nero looked up at his mentor, knowing she already knew what Jonas's note contained. Echo only nodded her agreement.

Iris Corolin – District Three Mentor

"I still can't believe you nabbed my watch," Leunam laughed. The two tributes and their mentors were all still out in the common room, sitting back in their comfortable seats.

"Do you want it back?" Raivel asked, reluctantly. He clearly didn't want to ask, but felt like he had to.

"No, no. Keep it. You deserve it, you little rascal." Leunam smiled as the four of them continued to procrastinate. That's what they were all doing, in the end, Iris knew. They were procrastinating for sleep, for dreams, for the morning, hoping that in their laughter, in their living in the moment, in their re-living past moments they could hold the future at bay for a few more moments.

For all of their credits, it seemed to be working. Both their tributes were smiling, enjoying snacking on the last of the pastries that had been left on the tables.

"I suppose this is really the last time all four of us will be together," Ailis commented as a firework, a reminder of the party outside shone through the window. A cheer went up, but Iris didn't even want to know what they were celebrating.

"I guess," Raivel answered, smiling up at her. Despite the doom about to crash down upon them, both tributes were amazingly put together, both still making the best of the situation. Oh, they must have been afraid, neither of them was that senseless, but they were enjoying the last moments of happiness that they could, keeping their chins up. Iris could only hope this would follow them all the way through, no matter how long that may be.

"It has truly been a pleasure getting to know you, Raivel," Ailis said, and Iris could sense she truly meant it.

"It's been good knowing you too," Raivel smiled back. Iris could feel her eyes tearing up .

"This is getting too mushy. Are you two sure you don't want to work together?" Leunam broke the mood. That silenced both tributes. They were both secure in their choices, Iris thought, neither of them would turn now.

"Okay, then, at least do what you can not to kill each other, please. For me?" Leunam was joking around, but beneath it all, Iris knew he was serious. If he could get them to draw a truce, however informal, it made the odds of bringing one of them home higher. Ailis was the first to nod and then Raivel. Iris breathed a sigh of relief. At least there were two tributes they didn't have to worry about killing each other unless it was absolutely vital.

Wolfgang Haberdasher – District Eight

"Do you have any last words of advice?" The question startled Wolfgang. In the last few days he had coached Margery, given her advice without being asked, but not once had she asked his opinion. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Now, though, he looked up at her, the girl who had just questioned the Capitol audience, hopefully surprising them with her whit, and now she was actually asking his opinion.

Wolfgang surveyed the room, hoping to see Cassius. As per usual, though, his former mentor had once again disappeared, leaving Leoric in the corner, clearly hoping for his return. The boy was keeping his distance, twiddling his thumbs. Maybe he didn't want to intrude on Margery's private time with her mentor.

"Well, you both have separate alliances, but you both know each other's strengths, " he lead, trying to coax Leoric in as well. After all, if Cassius was going to bale, both of these tributes deserved some last words of wisdom. "That said, you know each other's weaknesses, at least to some extent." He saw Leoric raise an eyebrow. "Come on, yes, you've been training separately, but you don't live in a bubble. I know you both will be eyeing the Cornucopia. In a perfect world, I'd tell you not to kill each other there, but realistically, I'm going to tell you to keep your alliances apart, at least as long as you can. Neither of you are the biggest threat in the arena and you ought to know that." Leoric shrugged, pretending he was barely listening, but Margery nodded.

"But if we don't go in at all, we have nothing to work with," she pointed out.

"Right. Just judge the situation. If you have time, depending on where you are situated, read your allies, seek them out. Don't go into the Cornucopia alone, but remember, trust no one." Wolfgang could feel himself floundering. Having been betrayed by his own district partner in his Games, though, he figured that was the most essential piece of advice he could impart. He had a feeling both of them already knew that though.

"Stay out of the shadows," a voice came from behind Wolfgang, startling all three of them. Somehow Cassius had snuck back into the room. "And go to bed," he commented, disappearing again in the direction of his quarters. Wolfgang sighed, trying to remember if Cassius's advice to him on his last night had been any more helpful. Somehow he doubted it.

Haspereek Cloven – District Nine Mentor

"What did you used to do, before bed when you two were home?" Haspereek asked. Both Brody and Candice were still sitting in the common room. Rolath had gone to bed, or at least to his room, saying he needed quiet time. Out here had been anything but, with Brody running his mouth, but now it was getting very late and they would need to get to bed if any of them were going to be productive in the morning.

"My bro and me would sit up late talking about bros we're going to . . . well, you know, bro," Brody finished. "Haspereek, you wouldn't want to . . . I mean after all, it could be my last night. . ."

"I'm almost ten years your senior. You haven't got a chance," Haspereek shut him down. "Candice, what about you?"

"We would tell stories, like I told Calpurnia. Happy stories."

"Do you want to tell me one?"

"I can't think of any. I'm too tired, but I can't sleep without them, not when I'm scared," Candice said, matter of factly. She didn't care if Brody knew; she wanted the simplicity of a story, for just one more night and Haspereek wasn't about to let her down.

"Once upon a time in a land so far away that everyone has forgotten its name, there was a man, a king. He was a good king, but he worried that his kingdom wouldn't be safe. So he built a wall, a great wall that no one could surmount and they closed themselves off from the world."

"That sounds good," Candice muttered, sleepily, her eyes closing.

"It was, to a degree. But it also closed the people in so they knew nothing of the outside world. The wall grew for a generation, higher and higher and no one thought to leave. Then the king died and his son came to power. His son, well, maybe we'll tell his story tomorrow . . ." Haspereek trailed off, seeing both her tributes had drifted off into slumber.

"You've got to be careful with your stories. Even walls have ears." Haspereek heard a voice behind her. She turned, seeing Rolath. He lifted the boy and Haspereek took the girl back to their beds.

Alorea McKenna – District Five Mentor

This silence felt different. In the impending doom that surrounded them in the darkness, Alorea felt an uncomfortable fear, one she couldn't remember having felt since her own games, since she had fought so hard for a rebel.

Maybe that's what had shocked her back. For the first time in years she had felt clarity, hearing Calpurnia out the girl from district two as a rebel's relative. She probably should have been more discreet, grabbing Glade's attention any way besides fleeing the room. Had she endangered her own tributes? She pushed the thought from her head. Altair and Elric were as safe as they could be. Neither had allied with a rebel and Alorea's family had been posthumously cleared of the charges of rebellion following her victory tour. They would be no more of a target than any other tribute in the arena.

She wandered down the hall, embracing the freedom of motion. She stopped at both Altair and Elric's doors. Neither of them were closed, Altair's probably because it had been so long since she had a door and Elric's most likely waiting for an unanswered summons. They both were sleeping, or at least pretending to be. She hoped the dreams that accompanied them would be pleasant, after all they had put up with in her care they deserved them, if only for one more night.

Joran Duff – District Six

"Everything changes tomorrow," Joran called after both tributes as they began their journey to their bedrooms. They both seemed exhausted, whether from the trials of today or the fears of tomorrow, Joran didn't know.

"They're not ready," he said simply, plopping down on the couch, as though he'd already determined both of their fates.

"You don't know that for certain," Ava corrected him in her ever sweet voice. Joran sighed. He couldn't do it anymore, couldn't fool himself, couldn't play the encouraging mentor for the tributes.

"We'll see," he simply replied, crossing his hands behind his head. The hard part for him was done, now. If Tavia or Jayanti wanted sponsors it was now up to them to prove they deserved them, up to them to take on whatever awaited them in the arena. And now it was his job to schmooze those sponsors, convince them these tributes were worth rooting for. "I've done all I could," he said, and it was true. He could feel Ava's eyes, desperate for him to be more patient, to coddle the tributes more, the way she did. But he couldn't, he wouldn't. Because tomorrow it wouldn't matter how much he boosted Tavia's ego, she would be in the arena alone without anyone's aid. And he wouldn't be able to tell her then what he saw coming. Perhaps she would have the eyes to see it.

Steric Tarthan – District 10 Mentor

"Is it true?" Steric smirked as Mobie managed to ask the question that had plagued him since he stepped on the podium at the Reapings. "Is it true that you've predicted practically every victor for as long as anyone can remember?"

"Well, the Hunger Games didn't exist for as long as anyone can remember," Steric replied wittily. That would buy her a moment, a moment to read if he wanted the real answer or one that would comfort him, one that might even encourage him.

"My mom's convinced you're practically a witch. It doesn't help that you're drunk all the time."

"I'm not drunk now and I'll be sober as long as you're alive," Steric promised. That was true at least; she never touched booze until both her tributes were dead.

"And I've seen what you've done for Nina. She won't thank you, but I wanted to tell you I appreciate it, I really do."

"That's good to hear. I think it's wrong, sending kids like her who don't have a chance into an arena. It'd be more merciful to just shoot them at the Reapings if no one's going to volunteer for them, less agony for everyone involved. Just ones like her, mind you, ones who won't grow, the rare tribute who doesn't stand a chance at all. And, mercifully, they are rare; Nina just got the raw end of the deal. Tributes like you, well, what doesn't kill you will make you stronger. I can see it already has in the last couple of days. You've got a chance kid." She looked out the window for a moment, the Capitol lights that she had grown to find the beauty in shimmering over the celebrating city.

"It's a well-crafted lie," Steric finally admitted, re-directing to Mobie's initial question. "I got lucky a couple of times, actually predicted both Echo and Cassius then totally blew Blake's, figuring it would be the girl from 4. I predicted mine, though, that's the most important part." She looked Mobie in the eye. "The Games are unpredictable. That's the worst part about them and the best part. Worst because you can never know what to expect, whether you're in them or whether you're on the outside, trying to protect someone in the arena, and the best part because you know you're helpless, so you know you've got to fight your hardest, give your hardest until your last breath or the trumpet sounds. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Mobie said, his eyes the most confident they had been since the beginning of trainings.

"Then I'll see you at the end," she dismissed him and he vanished into his room. Now Steric only had to hope he believed her.

Esthelrir Grey – District Eleven Mentor

"This is just waiting is dreadful!" Ridge was almost laughing as he flipped the coin in the air. He'd been doing that for at least an hour, too anxious to go to sleep, too exhausted to do anything else. "Seriously, this is awful torture. Just send me to the arena now."

"I know the feeling," Esthelrir replied. "In the war it was always the night before a battle that was worst. Worrying about the men I would have to kill in order to survive, worrying that I would fail and they would kill me."

"Does it get easier, once you're in the thick of it?" Ridge asked.

"No," Esthelrir answered simply. "It becomes more difficult with each step. But that's how it needs to be in order to reach the goal. If it did get easier, I'd be truly worried we were losing our humanity. It should never be an easy decision to take a life." Esthelrir studied Ridge's face for a moment in silence, knowing he was distressed.

"They want to charge the Cornucopia," Ridge blurted out, unprompted.

"So that's what's really been on your mind," Esthelrir mused, lounging back slightly on the couch. "How do you feel about that?"

"I . . . I don't know," for the first time all night, Ridge hesitated. He had been confident, consistent, and jovial in his interview, but now, with no eyes on him but Esthelrir's he could be as vulnerable as he needed to be, one last time.

"I'm terrified that I'll end up alone out there," the boy said, catching the coin one last time. He sat up and looked his mentor in the eye. "What do I do?"

"When you make a decision in the arena, don't base it on who will be at your side. Ultimately, everyone is alone. You have to know yourself, trust your own strength, your own instincts." Ridge let that sit with him for a moment and it seemed to answer his question. His face relaxed a little.

"If . . . if I don't come back, can you get this coin back to my sister?"

"I promise," Esthelrir nodded. He knew that his promise was more than just a coin, now he just had to hope he wasn't giving Ridge an excuse to let go rather than a reason to hold on.

In that moment, though, Esthelrir could tell that had been the peace the boy had needed. As though all his worries had suddenly been resolved, Ridge's eyes slipped shut, succumbing to the breath of slumber right there on the couch and slipped into dreams.

Aphrodite Aurelius – District Twelve Mentor

"I believe in you both," Aphrodite declared as her tributes lingered in the common room, neither really wanting to close their eyes despite the weight of sleep that was causing their eyelids to droop. "That is not a contradiction, though only one of you can be crowned. Both of you can fight bravely and do your district honor in your lives and your deaths if need be. But one of you will surely come home." She looked back and forth at each of them, wanting to assure both that she believed in them equally.

Surely, in the unknowing eyes of the Capitol, Tanner had the advantage. His age was on his side and he had a stronger alliance. He was strong, but he was also obvious. How often did the obvious choice emerge victorious?

Then there was Gloria, sweet innocent Gloria, even now fighting to stay awake beside her mentor. She might have everything going against her, yet still she fought, still she remained positive and that was a trait that would endear her to sponsors, a trait which had made her mentor quite fond of her.

Aphrodite held both her tributes close. Tanner didn't even resist the hug and Gloria snuggled in.

"Thanks, Aphrodite," she whispered before standing up, yawning and going back to her room.

"Thank you," Tanner agreed, on his feet as well and following Gloria. He glanced back at her and Aphrodite waved. Only after the two tributes disappeared did she allow herself to cry. All alone in the Capitol once again, Aphrodite Aurelius truly felt the burden of the two lives that rested in her hands. And it was a burden she wanted no part of.

Brutus Laertes – Head Gamemaker

Everything was in order. Brutus surveyed his Masterpiece, his arena, one last time before retiring for the evening. From the distance he could see the stars twinkling high above the dome, the dome that would enclose twenty-four stars of its own come morning's light.

Brutus was confident the opening curtain would impress everyone, not just the Capitolites. He had ensured that every district would shine, every loss would be felt. When President Emmanuel had gotten his preview, even he had nodded his approval, a difficult feat indeed. Brutus couldn't remember the last Gamemaker whose arena had impressed the President.

He paused a moment, taking the spectacle in, all alone. It was the last time he would have this room to himself, the last time this view would solely belong to him. Even now, it didn't truly belong just to him, for the mutts were already there, already making their lairs in the sky, on the ground, and in the darkness.

"Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:"