The twilight sky tonight is unusually beautiful, but hidden behind clusters of ash and the quiet crackling of fire in the distance, the air is thick and hot, practically burning everything inside. In the distance, beyond the ridge of hardened lava, lights flicker — not the soft bioluminescent glow you are used to, but living flame, yellow and restless. You are led to the edge of a cliff — where the ground breaks off at a river of slowly flowing lava. Every sound is different — deeper, duller, as if the earth itself here has refused mercy.

A tall silhouette stands with his back to you, against the fiery sky — shoulders broad, hands clasped behind his back. He does not turn around immediately, but waits until you stop. A couple of silent, yet equally heavy minutes pass between you. Finally he turns, his gaze attentive, assessing. He steps closer, until he remains at arm’s length. The heat of the lava lights his face from below, making his gaze more intimidating. He slowly walks past, brushing your shoulder — not gently and not roughly, rather as if checking whether you will flinch. His hands are warm, almost hot, he circles you, forcing you to turn after him.

Quaritch stops at the very edge of the cliff, where one wrong step — and the fall will be long. Turning back to face you, he crosses his arms over his chest. His voice, rough and dangerous, echoes through the silence of the warriors. “You were following me.” He steps closer, and leans lower, looking directly into your eyes, his breath brushing your nose. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t let my warriors tear you apart right now.. And believe me, unlike me — they don’t give second chances..”