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D awn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold as I stood in the center of the training grounds, my heart pounding with anticipation. I had been training for over a week now, and it was a lot harder than I’d ever imagined. Marcus approached, his stride purposeful and his expression stern. He had summoned me early, having found some practice armour he wanted me to try. I think he'd wanted to give me a chance to practice with the weight of the armour before I joined in the real training, and I was glad of it. The leather skirt I wore was much shorter than my normal slave tunic, giving me much more freedom of movement, but the leather vest was quite heavy and more restrictive. It was padded as well, which would help during sparring, but it was going to need some getting used to.

Marcus's eyes ran over my body, and I thought for a moment they lingered on the expanse of bare thigh.

"Ready?" he asked.

"More than ever," I replied, swallowing hard.

"Good. I just wanted to run through a few things before the others came out. Now. We start with your stance. A strong foundation is key to effective combat." He ordered me to plant my feet shoulder-width apart and bend my knees slightly. As I complied, Marcus circled me like a predator, scrutinizing every detail.

"Better," he said gruffly. "Now, we work on your strikes."

For the next hour, Marcus drilled me on various techniques—sweeps, jabs, and hooks—leaving my limbs sore and my knuckles raw. Sweat beaded on my brow, but I refused to falter, determined to prove myself worthy of his instruction.

"Again!" he barked, holding up a padded shield as a target. I gritted my teeth and lunged forward, driving my fist into the shield with all my strength. Marcus grunted, nodding in approval.

"Your power has improved, but you need more precision," he observed, guiding me through the subtle adjustments necessary to land accurate hits.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, we transitioned to sparring. Marcus' strikes were swift and brutal, forcing me to rely on instinct to evade and counter. At first, he easily bested me, landing blow after blow. But with each fall, I rose again, learning from my mistakes and adapting to his movements.

"Stay low, Livia," he advised, swiping at my legs. I barely dodged, leaping to one side and retaliating with a swift punch to his ribs. He stepped back, surprise flickering across his face before he grinned. "Not bad."

"Thank you," I panted, a surge of pride swelling within me.

"Take a moment," Marcus said, tossing me a waterskin. We sat in companionable silence, our bodies slick with sweat and the aches of exertion. As I sipped from the waterskin, I couldn't help but think about the progress I had made in just one day under Marcus' tutelage.

"Marcus," I began, hesitating only briefly. "I wanted to thank you again for taking me on as your student. I know I still have much to learn, but I promise you won't regret it."

He looked at me, his gaze unreadable. "I believe in you, Livia. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here." His words were simple, yet they resonated deep within me, fueling my determination to become the best gladiator I could be.

"Tomorrow, we'll focus on footwork and defense," he continued, pointing out my weaknesses. "If you want to survive in the arena, you must learn to protect yourself."

"Understood," I nodded, my resolve unwavering.

As the rest of the gladiators began to show up to the arena, I stood, moving away from Marcus. I knew I had manipulated him a little to get here, but I didn't want the others to find out about that. I wasn't too proud of it, and to be honest, it had been on my mind since Septimus had accused me of it. I had taken advantage of him, but I’d found myself wandering past his room in the evenings, hoping he’d invite me in, slightly disappointed that he never had. Now he was my trainer, I wasn't even sure if we were allowed to see each other like that.

As the arena began to fill up, my heart pounded in my chest with a combination of excitement and fear. Trying not to give that away, I began to do some stretches with my sword. I was properly warmed up but we had been sitting for a while, and it gave my mind something to think about other than the curious eyes.

"Look at this one," a voice sneered from behind me. "She thinks she has what it takes to be a gladiator, but she could barely walk last night after training."

“Nah, that’ll be the fucking Drusus will have given her,” laughed another. “She’s been his favourite since she started her bleeding, and I doubt he’ll give her up now.”

I ignored the comments and surveyed the scene before me. The other gladiators were already engaged in their morning exercises, their bodies glistening with sweat as they sparred and practiced their techniques. They were fearsome – muscular, battle-scarred, and undeniably powerful. I swallowed hard, struggling to maintain my composure. Could I really keep up with them?

"Hey there, pretty girl," the sneering voice called out. "You lost? The slave quarters are that way."

"Enough!" I snapped, spinning around to face my tormentors. "I'm here to train, same as you." The two gladiators laughed cruelly, their eyes raking over me dismissively.

"You'll never make it through the first fight in the arena," Maro taunted, stepping forward to jab his finger into my chest. I knew him from the hall, and from his bed. He'd clearly had a strong mother when he was a child, because he didn't like women at all, and on both of the two occasions I'd been unfortunate to be picked to go to his bed, he'd spent most of the short time I was there telling me how disgusting I was.

"Back off, Maro!" a familiar voice growled. Septimus pushed his way between us, standing protectively in front of me. Grudgingly, the other gladiator backed away, muttering curses under his breath.

“You didn’t need to do that,” I snapped. “They were just being assholes. I could have handled it.”

"Listen, you may have tricked your way in here, but this isn't a game. One wrong move and you could end up dead."

My cheeks burned with anger and shame. "I didn't trick my way in," I hissed. "I earned my place here."

Septimus scoffed. "Sure you did. On your back, no doubt."

Before I could stop myself, my fist connected with his jaw. He staggered back, more surprised than hurt. The training ground fell silent as all eyes turned to us.

"You little bitch," Septimus snarled, rubbing his jaw. He lunged at me, but I was ready. I sidestepped his attack, using his momentum against him to send him sprawling in the dirt.

"Enough!" Marcus's voice boomed across the arena. He strode towards us, his face thunderous. "What is going on here?"

"Nothing," I spat, glaring at Septimus. "Just a friendly sparring match."

Marcus’s eyes narrowed as he looked between us. "Is that so?" He turned to address the gathered gladiators. "Listen up! This girl may be new, but she's here by order of the Dominus. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me personally." His gaze swept over the crowd, daring anyone to object, then he turned back to Septimus.

Silence reigned for a moment before Cato barked, "Line up and start drilling! I want to see blood and sweat on this sand by midday."

"On your feet. Both of you, back to training. I won't have my gladiators brawling like common street thugs."

As Septimus picked himself up, I caught sight of Tarshi across the arena. He was moving stiffly, his face contorted in pain as he struggled through his exercises. He’d been flogged after his lie was discovered last week, and now again for some other minor infraction, probably for backchat. Tarshi didn’t particularly play well with others. My anger at Septimus faded, replaced by concern.

I made my way over to Tarshi, ignoring the hostile glares from the other gladiators. "Are you alright?" I asked softly.

He flinched at my approach. "I'm fine," he growled, but I could see the sweat beading on his forehead and the tremor in his hands.

"You're bleeding," I said, noticing the dark stains seeping through his tunic. "Let me help-"

"I said I'm fine!" Tarshi snapped, jerking away from me. "I don't need your pity."

Cato's mocking laugh rang out behind us. "Aww, look at the little slave girl feeling sorry for the monster. How sweet. Now enough of this shit. Line up!”

"Let's get started," called Marcus and we fell into line immediately, the chatter ceasing at his words, though I was still getting some unfriendly looks. I ignored them, concentrating on the training instead.

Marcus ran us through some forms and drills to get everyone warmed up, much as we had been doing before, and I felt my body flow through them as normal, muscle memory doing most of the work for me.

As we began the sparring however, it quickly became apparent that I was outmatched by the other gladiators. Their strength and skill were far beyond my own, and every time I tried to gain the upper hand, I found myself flat on my back, gasping for breath. The taunts from the two earlier gladiators, Priscus and Maro, only grew louder and more vicious.

"Look at her," Priscus sneered as I struggled to lift a heavy practice dummy. "She can barely hold her own sword." I gritted my teeth and forced myself to continue, but with every failure, my confidence waned.

"Pathetic," Maro added, mocking my attempts at executing a complex strike. “Good job she’s a half decent fuck, cause she’s useless out here.”

That comment stung more than any blow I'd received during training. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I stubbornly blinked them away and clenched my fists, determined not to let these bullies see me falter, but as the training session wore on, and my body ached from the constant punishment, I couldn't help but feel the weight of inadequacy crushing me. Was I really cut out for this? Could I ever become a gladiator strong enough to avenge my family?

"Break!" Cato barked, signaling the end of the session and the break for the midday meal. My body sagged with relief, but my spirit felt broken. I had been so sure of my path, so determined to see my quest for vengeance through. But now, as I limped away from the training arena, battered and bruised, doubt gnawed at me like a hungry beast.

My heart pounded in my chest as I took stock of the gladiators surrounding me, their powerful muscles glistening with sweat. They moved with a grace and strength that made me feel like a clumsy child in comparison. A pang of fear threatened to consume me, but I quelled it with a deep breath. This was what I had wanted, after all – to become a gladiator, win my freedom and avenge my family's murder.

We made our way into the dining room, and I queued with the others, not really paying much attention. My mind was going over each sparring match I'd had, where I'd gone wrong, what I could have done better. I wasn't paying attention at all and suddenly as I took a step forward, I collided with something very big and solid that sent me flying. Large hands caught me before I hit the floor, and I looked up in Tarshi’s dark eyes.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, slave girl," a gruff voice bellowed. He sneered at me before turning his attention to Tarshi. "You got yourself a woman, half-breed? I know none of the others will touch you."

I glanced quickly at Tarshi, seeing his face darken. I knew he hadn't been with any of the slave girls since he’d got here, and he'd certainly never asked me, but I assumed it was because Drusus was still making him sleep in the cages at night. By his reaction, I thought the gladiator might be right.

“Shut up, Maro,” I snapped as I righted myself.

“Well, if you’re fucking the monster, then I’m certainly not taking you to my bed again,” leered Maro. “His cock probably has your pussy poisoned. My dick might shrivel up if I stick it in there again.”

I felt Tarshi stiffen behind me, but I ignored him.

“Wouldn’t make much difference to your tiny shrivelled dick, Maro. But if I’d known fucking Tarshi would get you to stop begging me to come to your bed again, I’d have done it quicker.”

Maro's face contorted with rage. "You little whore!" he snarled, lunging forward.

I braced myself for the blow, but it never came. Tarshi stepped in front of me, his massive form like a wall between Maro and me.

"Back off," Tarshi growled, his voice low and menacing.

Maro hesitated, his eyes darting between Tarshi and me. The dining hall had gone quiet, all eyes on our confrontation.

"This isn't over," Maro spat, backing away. "You'll get what's coming to you, slave girl. And you, beast."

As he stalked off, I let out a shaky breath. "Thanks," I murmured to Tarshi.

He grunted in response, not meeting my eyes. "Don't mention it."

We got our food and found a quiet corner to eat. As we sat down, I noticed Tarshi wincing as he moved.

"You're still in pain," I said softly.

Tarshi's jaw clenched. "I told you, I'm fine."

We finished in silence and when midmeal was over, we headed back to the sand. As we began our exercises, I tried to mimic the movements of the other gladiators, but my body felt sluggish and weak. Despite my determination, I struggled to keep up. My legs trembled beneath me, and sweat dripped down my face, blurring my vision. Fear and frustration churned within me, threatening to overwhelm my resolve.

Just then, a sharp pain shot through my arm as a gladiator landed a blow on me. I cried out, stumbling backwards as the others closed in.

"Looks like we got a weak one," Priscus sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. "Can't even handle a simple strike."

I gritted my teeth, refusing to show weakness in front of them. But as the blows continued to rain down on me, I felt myself slipping further and further away from my goal.

"You're never going to make it as a gladiator," Maro taunted. "Might as well give up now."

I glared up at them, as I shielded my head from the blows raining down on me.

"That's enough. I mean it. That's enough." A shadow fell over me and the other gladiators fell back. I squinted up at the silhouette, and reached out to take the hand I was offered. My muscles tensing in pain, I gasped as Antonius jerked me to my feet. I didn’t know him much, he kept to himself, much like Marcus.

"Hey, thanks," I said, my voice trailing off as he turned and walked away. "Alright then, guess we're not going to be braiding each other's hair either."

I glanced across the arena, but Tarshi was occupied with two opponents, each trying to take some pretty savage swings at him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marcus stepped forward and the gladiators ceased their fighting. He nodded to each of them in turn, his face stern and unyielding. Then he stepped into the center of the training ground.

"Form up!" he yelled loudly.

We did, forming a circle around him, most of us hot, sweaty and breathing hard under the harsh glare of the sun. He looked around at us all.

"Some of you think you're seasoned warriors. You've lived through a few fights, maybe even a few years of the arena. You think you're strong, fast and pretty damn special, and you may well be, but even the most experienced fighter has a weak spot. Antonius, forward."

Antonius strode into the centre where Marcus stood, his sword swinging loosely at his side, a grin on his face. He had barely reached the centre when Marcus attacked.

"I have been a gladiator trainer for six storms, a gladiator for eight before that, and a legionnaire for five years before that."

Marcus dodged Antonius's defences and cracked him across the temple with his sword, sending the huge man to his knees. A look of surprise on his face, Antonius quickly got back to his feet, raising his blade.

“It's not always your physical strength that will get you through a fight," continued Marcus, on the last word, slamming the pommel of his sword grip into Antonius's chest, sending him back to his knees again. He waved Rena forward, and she went for him, but it was as though he were a shadow. Each strike missed, and then Marcus was there, slamming his elbow into her face. I winced as she staggered back, blood dripping from her lip. She narrowed her eyes, bending her knees and launching herself forward, but in a moment, her sword was spinning away across the dirt and she was disarmed.

Septimus stepped forward next, his sword and a rough wooden shield at the ready. Marcus jabbed forward and Septimus blocked easily. I smiled at my friend.

"Speed is important too, faster combat can make a difference in wearing your opponent down," Marcus said, striking forward three times at Septimus. Septimus blocked the first two, but the third slipped behind the shield, catching him hard in the stomach and he doubled over suddenly, gasping for breath. Marcus swung down from above, cracking down on Septimus's back and he went down. I winced but ignored the whispers and jeers that came from some of the gladiators watching.

One of them grinned and ran forward, clearly hoping to take Marcus unaware. Marcus simply sidestepped, and struck the man across the head, sending him crashing to the floor. I grinned at that.

Marcus's eyes met mine and he gestured to me to come forward. I went, shifting my blade nervously in my hand. I was already exhausted, I just silently begged the gods to end it quickly. I approached him, but hung back, stalking him.

"If you want to be a great fighter," Marcus said, suddenly closing the distance between us in a couple of strides, his blade meeting mine in a loud crack. "You must practice fighting until you cannot think of anything else."

The blade met again and again, and my confidence rose a little. I saw a gap.

"Sword forms, sparring and listening will increase your speed and power. Relying on strength only will make you slow."

I lunged forward suddenly, aiming my sword at Marcus's unprotected chest, but had barely got halfway there, before I felt Marcus twist his blade around mine, flicking his wrist and sending my sword flying off to the side.

"Gladiators do not have time for slow." Marcus reached over and grabbed my leather armour, dragging me forward over his suddenly outstretched foot. I went down hard, my knees hitting the ground hard enough it would leave bruises. His sword whirled round, and stopped a hair's breadth from my throat.

"Too slow in the arena and you're dead," said Marcus, his eyes burning down at me.

He looked around the ring. "Your body must be fast, and so must your mind. Remember that when you are out in the arena, and you will be able to face whatever comes at you." He sheathed his sword and stepped back.

"Training is finished. You may take your leave." The men turned, and made for the barracks, muttering between themselves, some sending some snarky glances back towards me.

I ignored them, walking over to Tarshi.

“Is there somewhere private we can go so I can check your back?”

“It’s not necessary,” he said coldly, his black eyes gazing down at me like deep pools of oil. “I am fine.”

"No, you're not," I insisted. "And maybe you are now, but if they’ve broken the skin and you get infected, you could end up not being able to fight at all. Let me help. Please."

For a long moment, Tarshi said nothing. Then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded. I followed Tarshi to a secluded spot behind the barracks. He hesitated before slowly lifting his tunic, revealing the raw, bloody wounds of his flogging. I recognised Cato’s work immediately. He deliberately kept going until he broke the skin. Only three lashes had though, he must have been in a rush that day. Two were fresh, still oozing, but I could see older wounds beginning to scab over. My stomach churned at the brutality of it.

"Gods, Tarshi," I whispered. "This is awful."

He grunted, refusing to meet my eyes. "It's nothing I can't handle."

I shook my head, reaching for the small pouch of healing salve I kept on me. "Let me clean these. They'll get infected if we don't treat them."

Tarshi tensed as I began gently dabbing at the wounds with a damp cloth. His muscles rippled under my touch, and I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked gruffly.

I paused, considering my answer. "Because no one deserves this kind of treatment. Not even a..." I trailed off, realizing what I was about to say.

"A monster?" Tarshi finished bitterly.

"That's not what I meant," I said quickly. "You're not a monster, Tarshi. You're just...different."

He scoffed. "Different. Is that what you call it?"

I worked in silence for a few moments, carefully applying the salve to his wounds.

“Is it true what he said? That none of the slave women will come to your bed?”

“I never asked any of them,” Tarshi said stiffly.

“Do you not like human women?” I asked, not quite daring to meet his eyes.

“I liked my mother. No other human woman has come near me.”

I looked up at him. “Your mother was human?” I couldn’t quite disguise the shock in my voice as I said it. I knew the Talfen raids were bloody and violent, and spared no one. Any female survivors usually died later from their injuries or in childbirth bearing the products of their vicious assaults. As intimidating as Tarshi was, there was a gentler side of him, I was sure. A human mother would explain that, I suppose.

Tarshi sighed. “My mother lived right on the borders of your empire in a small village. She would go foraging for hours in the woods nearby and one day, she met my father.”

I inhaled, guessing at what was coming.

Tarshi watched me, his black eyes narrowed. “He came upon her as she was gathering berries by a riverbank. She slipped and fell in, so he dived in to save her.”

“He… rescued her?” I was shocked. Not one story had ever made the Talfen out to be anything than evil, unnatural killers.

“He did. They talked and the next day she went back to see him again. It went on for months. He wanted her to come away with him, but she was too afraid of his people, and hers would have killed him. When finally I was born, my village rioted. They grabbed their weapons and went into the forest. My father had lived in a small settlement several hours travel from the border. They were peaceful farmers, nothing more. My village killed them all. Every last one. And yet, they were supposed to be the monsters.”

I sat in stunned silence, trying to process Tarshi's words. The image of peaceful Talfen farmers was hard to reconcile with the description of unnatural bloodthirsty demons that had populated every story I had heard of their race. There had never been a time when the empire hadn’t been at war with the Talfen, and their raids on our borders had only increased, no matter how many the imperial troops fought back. The declarations from the Emperor of losses to the Talfen, even the horrific and heart wrenching stories told by travelling entertainers who moved from village to village, they all portrayed the Talfen this way. Surely, they couldn’t all be wrong in their depictions. And yet, something in me wanted to trust Tarshi, wanted to believe him.

“What happened to your mother?"

Tarshi's eyes darkened, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. "She tried to protect me. When the villagers came for us, she fought like a wild animal. But in the end..." He trailed off, his massive fists clenching at his sides.

"They killed her," he finished, his voice thick with pain and rage. "Right in front of me. Then they sold me to the slavers."

My heart ached for him. I thought of my own family, brutally murdered, and the burning desire for vengeance that drove me. Tarshi and I weren't so different after all. My heart ached for him. I reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. His skin was like fire under my touch, a heat that seemed to soak into my own skin, heating my hand, my arm, my whole body. I fought not to pull back surprise, trying to ignore the strange sensation.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "Tarshi, I-"

He glanced down at my hand and jerked away from my touch.

"I don't need your pity," he growled. "I've survived this long without it."

"It's not pity," I insisted. "It's... understanding. We've both lost everything to violence and hatred."

Tarshi's dark eyes met mine, searching. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something - recognition, perhaps, or a shared pain. But then his walls slammed back into place.

"We should get back," he said gruffly, pulling his tunic back on. "Before they come looking for us. But one day, the Talfen will get their vengeance. I just don’t know which side I would fight for. I’m too Talfen for humans, too human for Talfen. I belong nowhere.”

I nodded. Vengeance I understood, and loneliness too.

"You're not a monster, Tarshi," I said softly. "And you're not alone anymore."

He looked at me skeptically. "No? And what exactly are you offering, little human?"

I met his gaze steadily. "Friendship. Understanding. Whatever you need."

Tarshi's expression softened slightly, but before he could respond, I heard my name being called. Slipping the salve back into the pouch at my waist, I sent Tarshi what I hoped was an encouraging smile before heading back into the training ground.

Marcus was stacking some weapons in one of the racks and he turned as I approached. "Oh good, I hoped I’d catch you, Livia. A word before you go." His eyes swung to Tarshi who had followed me out, and my new acquaintance nodded, then headed into the barracks, leaving Marcus and I alone.