Bastian Allard, 21

District Four

Victor of the 120th Games

He could still see her in his dreams.

He'd wake up with a tearstained face, knowing she was forever out of reach. He couldn't know for sure, but he liked to imagine she was happier there.

It still hurt. Bastian would wake up, recall the gentle smile on her face, and know that at least somewhere she was happy. The ache of his loss would never truly heal, but he wasn't drowning anymore. Not now. When he locked himself away with the piano, he wasn't trying to suppress his emotions like before. Bastian wanted to feel everything.

Things were getting better. Or, at the very least, Bastian was trying. He nearly forgot what that felt like. But if Makani was gone, never to return, then he couldn't waste the life he still had.

It wouldn't be fair to her. It wasn't fair to himself.

But as the months passed and the next Games drew nearer, Bastian knew there was something he had to do. He was restless, and he ached knowing that Makani was still trapped, still buried deep underground. If he lingered on those thoughts too long, he'd remember that it was his fault she ended up like that anyway, and then he'd have to remind himself that it was Maddox's fault. And there was absolutely nothing Bastian could do about it.

All he could do was visit, and that's what he was doing now.

It was worse than what he saw through the screen. The long hallways felt as if they stretched on for years, and Bastian was nearly suffocated by them. The entire space was liminal, filled with the barest essentials and the occasional mirror. Several of the Capitolites on the tour were giggling to themselves as they encountered a mirror, trying to see if they could go through it. Bastian had yet to see any of them succeed, but he figured they were just blocked off by the tour organizers anyway. Occasionally one would shoot him a glance, the kind that said "I know you but I don't remember why" and he'd tug the hat lower on his head and glance away, hoping that they'd redirect their attention elsewhere.

Capitolites were all around, taking pictures and gawking at the different pieces they recognized from the Games. The larger rooms held reenactments of the most popular Games moments, or so the tour guide said, and his group was currently headed towards the Cornucopia. Bastian himself had tuned out most of what the tour guide was saying. He'd seen more of these Games than most people ever would, and that was more than enough for him.

He couldn't help but wonder if any of the people surrounding him had visited his own Arena, if they'd reveled in the horrors of that particular hellscape. Arena tours certainly weren't uncommon, so it was likely. Bastian shuddered at the thought, and then quickly pushed it aside. He needed to stay focused.

Lost in his thoughts, Bastian nearly ran straight into one of the Capitolites in front of him before realizing that the entire group had stopped. He caught himself, glancing around to try and determine what had caught everyone's attention.

The tour guide - whose name Bastian didn't bother to remember - had paused in front of the set of doors, gesturing for everyone to move closer as if they had some secret to share. The Capitolites, giddy to begin learning new information about this Arena, huddled in closer.

"Before we go in, I wanted to make sure you all knew the rumors that this Arena is haunted," they said, grinning. "There have been rumors that not everyone has gotten to fully leave this place, so make sure you keep your eyes peeled for any… suspicious behavior."

Bastian's stomach turned, wondering if Makani was one such ghost. He wasn't sure he necessarily believed in a silly story like that, but… well, her body had never gotten to leave the Arena. Perhaps her spirit hadn't either.

The tour guide then led them into the massive room that held the Cornucopia, letting all of them fan out. The middle section had been portioned off, showcasing what was supposed to be a rather riveting fight between two actors portraying Kano and Alila. They picked up from the beginning of the fight, exchanging dialogue from so long ago that Bastian wondered if he was truly dreaming.

"I assume you stuck around to fight, to prove you're just a traitor and not a coward as well."

"You really don't want to do this, Kano. We could still fix this."

"There's no we anymore, Alila. If you wanted there to be a we, maybe you should've gone with the Nine kid while you still had the chance."

Bastian just tilted his head, silently taking notes on their forms compared to what he'd seen. Kano's fighting style hadn't been quite that aggressive, and Alila's movements were much more fluid. Part of him itched to go up and give them critiques as if he was back in the training center, but he had other business to attend to.

Despite the convoluted design of the Arena, Bastian remembered exactly where to go. He'd practically memorized the route even though he'd never stepped foot in this Arena before. While the rest of his group was gawking at the Cornucopia and the show being put on for them, Bastian slipped out one of the side doors. He let out a shuddering breath as soon as the door closed behind him, realizing that he recognized this hallway. Of course he did. If he kept going, he'd run across the area where Six ambushed his sister and crushed her hand. And after that…

There weren't too many people milling about, so Bastian could relax a bit as he made his way down the hallway. Arena tours were among the more elite things a Capitolite could do with their time and money, so whoever was in charge of this made sure that the Arena wasn't crowded. Bastian had always assumed the tickets cost a fortune, but luckily for him, he didn't have to find out for himself. His own ticket had been delivered to his door about a week ago.

He didn't need a note to know who it was from.

It's about time for a family reunion, was all it said. Bastian considered throwing it away, but his curiosity got the best of him. He really did want to visit the Arena, despite what he knew it contained. Or, more accurately, he felt like he had to. If Makani could never go home, he at least wanted to bring a little bit of home to her.

(He wanted to say goodbye.)

It was easy enough to find the right mirror, and even easier to slip through. Bastian almost thought it was too easy, but he figured Maddox had a way of orchestrating things so he wouldn't find himself interrupted for this next part.

The descending staircase into darkness felt endless, and Bastian wondered if this was what Makani felt - cold and empty. Did she even know she was headed to her death? Did she still have hope that there would be a way out of this for her?

Did she ever have any hope at all?

Knowing his sister, she probably did. Though Makani liked to say otherwise, she didn't give up on things easily. She liked to run, sure, but she put her heart into everything she did, even at the end. Even at the end, when…

God, Bastian could feel it now. Some nights, back when everything was still fresh, he'd fall asleep and wake up convinced that he was being buried alive under rocks. Their crushing, all-consuming weight had driven him to the floor in a state of panic, where he then sucked in frantic breaths, worried that he'd never breathe again. Those were the nights where he'd drag himself down to his piano and play until he was too tired to return to his room upstairs. He needed something else to consume him before the darkness swallowed him whole.

He remembered the path she took as well, the one that Crush took every day as she journeyed between her sculpture and Makani. This area hadn't been fully cleared out, - Bastian still saw chunks of rock littering the floor - but he just stepped over them and kept going. He could've sworn that he heard the distant sound of whistling, but Bastian just ignored it. Surely no one else was down here with him.

The room had been sectioned off, though it wasn't as if anyone could've gotten in anyway. Stones spilled out of the room and onto the floor, a clear sign of what had taken place. The walls held hairline fractures, as if all they needed was a good reason to fall apart. Bastian wondered if, someday, this entire structure would crumble to the ground and someone would find the remains of his sister. She'd be nothing more than dust and bones by then, a fragment of a memory. Maybe no one would even know who she was.

He crouched to the ground, picking up one of the small chunks of rock. It looked so innocent in his hand, as if it didn't even know the devastation it had caused. He held it tightly in his hand, knowing that this was the closest he'd ever come to having his sister back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Even after all this time, he didn't know what else to say. "I'll find a way to fix this however I can."

The whistling was back, but this time Bastian had an inkling of who it was. He hoped that it would disappear again, but it got louder and louder until it stopped suddenly, and Bastian knew he'd been caught.

"The tours aren't supposed to come down this way," Leon called from behind him. "You should catch back up with yours."

Bastian sighed quietly, turning to face him while surreptitiously sliding a rock into his pocket. He came here to remember, after all. He'd leave with the only fragment of her that he could.

"I didn't quite come out here just to take a tour," he said, flashing Leon an easy smile as if nothing happened at all. "I'm sure you could guess why I'm here."

"Ah!" Leon grinned widely before faltering, as if he'd realized who Bastian was before putting the pieces together. "Ah, uh… I see you found your way down here, then. Normally the tours stay upstairs, since that's where the replica of that room is, and they don't know the difference. I'm sure you quickly figured it out, though."

Nodding, Bastian glanced back over at the wall of stone separating him from Makani, placing his hand on it. "I watched her walk down here, going to her own death. I remember what it looked like."

Leon seemed uncharacteristically nervous, his hands fluttering about. "About your sister, I-"

"I'm not in the mood for an apology."

A frown. "What makes you think I was going to apologize?"

"Weren't you?"

"Well, I suppose," Leon caved, dramatically sighing. "But only because I don't know what happened! I don't like too much intervention, so that was… a fluke? But I hate flukes, so it doesn't make sense."

Bastian just stared at Leon talking himself in circles, trying not to look completely unimpressed. He knew by now what the true cause of Makani's death was - or rather, who - and he was just… tired. Defeated, perhaps. He'd come here in the hopes that it would give him closure of some kind, but he didn't think that was actually going to happen. It was likely just another one of Maddox's mind games, a way to keep Bastian leashed so he didn't cause any trouble. For nearly a year now it had worked, but Bastian wasn't ready to give up just yet.

"Sometimes things happen," Bastian finally said, strolling over to Leon. He gave the man a warm smile, hoping that Leon wasn't wise enough to see the cracks in his facade. "But now that I've lost my tour group, surely you wouldn't mind showing me around? That is, if you're not busy. It would be an honor to explore the Arena with the great mind behind it."

Simple flattery was more than enough to win over most Capitolites, and Leon was no different. He preened at the attention before spinning on his heel and heading towards a staircase hidden in the shadows. "I would be thrilled to! I know this entire Arena like the back of my hand. I tried to convince the others that I should be allowed to roam around in here to control things, but they vetoed my idea. Something about it being 'too dangerous.' But I don't have to worry about that now. I can navigate my own Arena without worrying about something as silly as tributes."

Bastian just shook his head, following after the man. He couldn't imagine wanting to be in the Arena as the Games happened around him, but Capitolites never understood what it was really like. This whole tour was just a way for them to get a taste of the Games without ever having to be in harm's way.

It was frustrating, really, to think that they'd risked everything in the Arena only for it to be turned into a spectacle. Bastian passed by rooms displaying Merix's untimely death at the hands of Kano, Nash's brutal beating by Crush, Jack's final moments against Justus. Each one of the tributes was nothing more than a memory, and yet here they were being portrayed in their worst moments, again and again. He felt a bitterness deep within him begin to stir, but Bastian just pushed it back down. He needed to bide his time.

"The church was always my favorite," Leon said, and Bastian remembered that he was supposed to be listening. "With that many rumors about a prophesied warrior, I had it planned a few years in advance. This Arena was supposed to be saved for next year, but since Phaedra volunteered a year early… well, we figured it out. Or, I did. And it worked out in the end, didn't it?"

"I suppose," Bastian conceded, though he wasn't in the mood to entertain Leon much more. "This is one of the only places that came up twice."

"It was a complete accident that Shai and Kano stumbled upon it, but what a fight that was," Leon said, grinning to himself at the memory. "But, of course, it was always meant for Phaedra. She needed somewhere to choose."

Bastian pretended like he didn't hear that part, stepping farther into the church. Everyone in here was completely silent, their eyes glued on the actors portraying Phaedra and Justus in the former's final moments. From his experience with the Games, Bastian knew that lovers were always popular. Capitolites loved the tragedy, loved being able to break their own hearts without ever getting hurt.

"Why don't you just use the clones for reenactments instead of actors?" Bastian asked, watching Justus grieve Phaedra all over again. "Wouldn't that be more effective?"

Leon frowned before waving a hand. "Most of them have been disassembled and turned into muttations for the next Games. Besides, I've been told they can't quite display emotions like real people, and that's what the Capitolites want when they come to something like this."

"Most of them?"

A shrug. "I don't ask questions as long as it doesn't interfere with my job."

"Fair enough," Bastian muttered, carefully sitting down in one of the pews near the back.

Leon stayed standing, watching his own show play out before him. There was the slightest hint of delight in his eyes, the kind that Bastian would never truly understand. "Wait until they see next year," he whispered, more to himself than Bastian.

He didn't have it in him to be frightened by that sentiment anymore. There would always be another year, there would always be more tributes, and there would always be more death. Perhaps at the end of the day, they were all just like these actors. Each of them had a role to fill, a part to play. And they'd keep playing them again and again. It was an endless reprise, and no one knew how to move on, not even him.

Maybe someday they'd learn.

hellooo! if you're seeing this, this is the sequel to our dreams which haunt, which wrapped up yesterday! this might be a bit confusing if you haven't read that, but that's okay! i can answer any and all questions if you're curious.

on that note, this is a syot, so i'll have submission information on my profile as soon as i get this uploaded! pm me with any questions - i'd love to see what tributes i get to write this time!

see you next chapter

[edit: 2/17/24

hiii i wanted to start throwing shit over on ao3 so i made a few edits to this prologue. nothing terribly exciting, really, just a few tonal changes. that's probably the only real tweak tfm will get cus i'm pretty proud of most of it :sunglasses:

~de laney is out]