The Games descend beneath the earth, into a cathedral of bone and rot where the dead are never truly silent. The arena is a vast system of catacombs, its walls and floors decorated with the remains of past players, their skulls stacked like warnings and their femurs fused into arches. At the start, each tribute is given nothing but a single, jagged shard of glass, sharp enough to kill, fragile enough to shatter with one wrong strike. Survival is not about strength here, but restraint, patience, and how long the mind can withstand being buried alive.