In your hands, the book suddenly transforms into your sword. You hold it high in the air and wait for final judgement from the masked man seated in the Master's Tents. Hovering for a moment, his outstretched fist extends a neutral thumb to the side. Then with an emphatic downward thrust, he turns his thumb toward the ground. A massive crowd roars in approval.

You look down at the wounded warrior kneeling beside you. He was your brother before you stepped into the arena, but these barbaric games care nothing for the familial bonds of slaves. Memories of the childhood you shared with your brother race through your mind as you rest the edge of your sword against the back of his outstretched neck.