"Whoever runs this place can bring people here from any world at any time point. They can definitely do the same with objects. Don't get too hung up on it- we have to keep moving."

It's feeling more and more like the arena. The sense of impending doom, the intentionally placed objects as some sort of psychological trap. Like there's a gamemaker trying to manipulate the two of them. It makes him feel ill. He tugs Maedhros forward again, holding onto his stump wrist so he can hold his crown in the other. Finnick's grip is a little too tight, his fingertips digging in. His eyes dart around for traps, or other objects from their worlds.

There's sort of a path that they can follow, however, as Finnick rushes forward, he doesn't watch his step for a moment and his foot sinks into the ground. Or rather, it isn't ground at all, but a large human-sized hole with sticks and leaves camouflaging it. He yelps as he falls into the hole, landing hard on his feet and hands five feet below.