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I sat on my narrow bed while Octavia fussed with my armor straps, her fingers working with practiced efficiency. The familiar scent of leather oil and metal filled our small room as morning light filtered through the high window.

"It's too soon," she muttered, yanking a strap tighter than necessary. "Your head-"

"Is fine." I caught her hand before she could strangle me with my own armor. "The physician cleared me yesterday."

"The physician is an old drunk who'd clear a corpse for combat if Drusus paid him enough." She jerked her hand free and resumed her work, though gentler this time. "You’re too pale and there’s dark circles under your eyes. You’re not sleeping properly. And I've seen how you wince when you turn too quickly."

"Then I won't turn quickly." I tried to keep my tone light, but Octavia's scowl only deepened.

"You joke, but one day..." Her voice caught. She busied herself with my greaves, head bowed so her dark curls fell forward to hide her face. "One day I'll be washing blood from your armor and it won't be someone else's. And they're letting that Talfen beast back in training tomorrow too. As if we need more dangers in the yard."

My stomach clenched at her words, though I kept my face carefully neutral. It was true, I hadn’t been sleeping much. I’d spent twelve days sneaking down to the animal pens to care for Tarshi’s wounds, and for the last four nights, I’d stayed much longer, unable to deny the powerful bond there was between us any longer. His fingers only had to brush my skin to set my whole body aflame for him, and though he’d started with no experience, he was definitely a fast learner. Heat rose in my face and in my lower belly at the memory, and I turned my head away so Octavia wouldn’t see it.

"He's not dangerous," I said, keeping my voice level. “Except in the arena, like every other gladiator.”

Octavia snorted. "They're all dangerous. Half-breed or full-blood, it makes no difference. You can't trust anything with demon blood in its veins. Did you hear what they did to that settlement up north? Burned it to the ground, killed everyone inside."

But I'd seen Tarshi's pain when he spoke of belonging nowhere - rejected by humans for his Talfen blood, knowing nothing of his father's people except the stories spat at him like poison. He'd been raised by his human mother until they'd taken him, and now he had only fragments of memories: her songs, her smile, the way she'd tried to hide his slightly pointed ears beneath his hair.

"Maybe there's more to the story," I said carefully. "Maybe-"

"Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for him." Octavia's fingers stilled on my armor. "Liv, I know you have a soft heart under all that warrior facade, but some creatures don't deserve sympathy. The priests say Talfen are born from demon seed. Even half-breeds carry that taint."

Creatures. Not people. Never people. I thought of Tarshi's eyes in the darkness, the way they caught the moonlight. The gentleness in his touch when he traced my scars. How he spoke of his mother, the only connection he'd ever had to love or family. How could I make her understand that he was more human than most of the men who claimed that title?

But I couldn't. The weight of that secret pressed against my chest like a stone. Would she still look at me with such sisterly affection if she knew? Would she understand that when he held me, I felt more free than I ever had in the arena? Or would she recoil in horror, seeing me as tainted, corrupted?

"I just think," I said carefully, "that we shouldn't judge without knowing."

"I know enough." She yanked a strap tight, making me wince. "Promise me you'll keep your distance when he's back in training. The last thing I need is to be washing your blood from the sand because you got too close to a savage."

I closed my eyes briefly, remembering how close I'd been just hours ago, the heat of his skin against mine, his heartbeat under my palm. If only she could see him as I did - protective but never possessive, strong but infinitely gentle. A man who shared stories of his mother's songs in the dark, who treated the younger gladiators with kindness despite his own pain. But those thoughts had to stay locked away, buried deep where they couldn't betray us both.

"I'll be careful," I promised. It wasn't exactly a lie. We were being careful - careful not to get caught.

"You better." She moved around to face me, worry clear in her dark eyes. "I've lost enough friends to stupidity and bad luck. I won't lose you to a Talfen's claws."

The raw fear in her voice made my chest ache. "Tavi-"

"I don't understand it," she burst out. "You're educated, well-spoken. You could have found a place in any noble household. Instead you chose..." She gestured at my armor, my weapons, the calluses on my hands.

"Choose what? You’d rather I chose to clean up after spoiled nobles? To warm their beds when ordered?" The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. "To be passed around like a jug of wine until I'm too old or too used up to be of interest?"

"As opposed to being killed for their entertainment?" She sat beside me with a heavy sigh. "At least house slaves grow old."

"Some do." I thought of the girl who'd served in Drusus's house last summer, who'd disappeared after dropping his favorite goblet. "Some don't."

Octavia was quiet for a long moment. "At least tell me why. Really why."

I studied my hands, the scars and calluses that marked them now. How could I explain the fire that burned in my gut? The need to be more than just another conquered thing? And deeper still, the hunger for vengeance that I couldn't even admit to myself most days?

"Because with this," I said finally, "I have a chance. If I'm good enough, if I win enough, I might catch some ludus owner's eye. Work my way up. Maybe even earn my freedom someday."

"Freedom?" She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You're still a possession, Liv. Just one that bleeds more prettily."

"True." I couldn't argue that point. "But I'm a possession with a sword. And that's something."

She shook her head, but I saw the ghost of a smile touch her lips. "You're mad. Completely mad."

"Probably." I bumped her shoulder with mine. "But you love me anyway."

"Gods know why." She leaned into me slightly, her voice softening. "I just don't want to lose you too."

The words hung between us, heavy with memory. We'd both lost too many friends over the years, to disease or punishment or simple disappearance. In the empire, friends were luxury items - easily broken, rarely replaced.

"You won't," I promised, though we both knew it was a lie. "And when I'm rich and famous, I'll come back and buy your freedom. We'll live in a villa by the sea."

"With silk cushions and honeyed dates?" Her smile grew more genuine.

"Mountains of them. And wine from Alexandria."

"And a dozen handsome slaves to fan us with palm fronds?"

"Two dozen. The prettiest ones we can find."

We both laughed then, the sound echoing off the bare walls. For a moment we were just two girls again, sharing dreams in the dark.

"You better survive that long," she said finally, rising to check my armor one last time. "I won't settle for less than two dozen pretty boys with palm fronds."

"I'll do my best." I stood, testing the weight of my armor. It felt right, familiar. Like a second skin now. "How do I look?"

"Like a proper gladiator." She straightened my shoulder guard with a critical eye. "Try not to ruin all my hard work out there."

"I never do."

"Liar." She pulled me into a fierce hug, careful of the armor's edges. "Come back to me, you mad thing."

I hugged her back just as tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of olive oil and herbs that always clung to her clothes. "Always do."

She pulled back, wiping quickly at her eyes. "Go on then. Show them what you can do." A sly smile crept across her face. "And if you happen to accidentally stab Cato or Maro, I can’t say I’d be broken hearted.”

I grinned as she shooed me toward the door. "Now go, before Marcus sends a search party."

I paused in the doorway, looking back at my oldest friend. "Tavi?"

"Mm?"

"I meant it. About coming back for you."

She smiled, soft and sad. "I know you did." She made a shooing motion. "Now go hit people with sharp objects. And Liv?"

"Yes?"

"Try not to die."

I grinned. "I always do."

As I headed for the training yard, I sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening. Not for victory or glory or even survival. Just for the strength to keep my promises. One for vengeance, one for rescue. Would I ever be able to do both, I wondered.

The training yard was already alive with the sound of clashing steel when I entered. Morning sun glinted off weapons and armor, casting strange shadows across the sand. I hesitated at the threshold, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs as memory flashed - blood on sand, the roar of the crowd, the moment I knew I was going to die.

My hand found the rough stone of the doorway, grounding myself in its solid reality. Breathe. Just breathe. The weight of my armor pressed against my healing ribs, too tight and not tight enough all at once. I forced my eyes to focus on the familiar scene before me - Marcus drilling the newer recruits, Antonius demonstrating a block sequence, the steady rhythm of practice weapons striking shields.

This wasn't just the arena. This was home, or the closest thing to it I had now. I knew every crack in these walls, every groove worn into the training posts, every patch of harder-packed sand. I'd bled here, learned here, grown stronger here.

I forced my panic down, clenching my jaw. I was better than this.

From across the yard, Septimus paused in his sparring match to watch me enter. His grey eyes moved over me clinically, assessing, before turning back to his opponent as if I were nothing more interesting than a practice dummy. The dismissal stung more than it should have, leaving an unexpected hollow feeling in my chest.

I remembered what Marcus had told me - how Septimus had leaped to my defense after my fall, had carried me to the medicus himself, stayed until he knew I would live. It didn't match this cold distance, this careful avoiding of my gaze. We'd never been friends exactly, but there had been something. Our sparring matches had been the highlight of my training days, though I'd never have admitted it to him. He'd push me harder than the others, as if he knew I could take it. Even his cutting remarks had held a strange sort of respect.

"Your footwork's getting sloppy," he'd say, or "If you're trying to bore your opponents to death, you're succeeding." But there had always been that glint in his eye, that half-smile when I'd fire back something equally sharp. We'd developed a rhythm, he and I - strike, parry, insult, retort. It had become as natural as breathing.

Now there was nothing. No barbed comments about my technique, no challenging me to push harder, not even those exasperated sighs when I did something particularly foolish. Just silence and averted eyes, as if the past months of training together meant nothing. As if I meant nothing.

I hadn't realized how much I'd come to rely on our daily exchanges until they were gone. Even when he'd infuriated me - especially when he'd infuriated me - at least I'd felt seen. Now I felt oddly adrift, like I'd lost an anchor I hadn't known I needed.

Had I disappointed him by falling? Septimus had hated the idea of me going into the arena. Surely it couldn’t be that, and yet he’d trained me for years. Maybe I had let him down. The not knowing gnawed at me worse than any insult he could have thrown.

"Livia!" Marcus's voice cut through my thoughts... "Stop daydreaming and get in here."

I pushed thoughts of Septimus aside and stepped onto the training sand. The familiar grit under my sandals helped ground me. This was where I belonged. This was what I knew.

The familiar scene settled my nerves - Marcus drilling the newer recruits, Antonius demonstrating a block sequence, the steady rhythm of practice weapons striking shields. Gaius, one of the veterans, gave me a brief nod as he passed. It wasn't much, but from him it meant something. I'd earned that nod over months of proving myself, of getting up every time I was knocked down, of never complaining no matter how brutal the training.

Not everyone was as accepting. I could feel Cato's glare from where he trained with the heavy palus, his hatred of having a house slave among the gladiators as sharp as ever. A few others shared his view, though they were less vocal about it. But they were becoming the minority now.

The change had been gradual, almost imperceptible. A respected nod here, a request for advice there, being included in the quiet conversations before morning training. Small things that added up to something larger - acceptance. Not from everyone, perhaps never from everyone, but enough. Enough to make this place feel like home, to make these people feel like family. A broken, brutal family, but mine nonetheless.

"Take it slow today," Marcus advised, handing me a wooden practice sword. "Just drill forms with Antonius until you find your rhythm again."

Antonius gave me a friendly nod as we squared off. He was one of the veterans, more teacher now than fighter, though he could still hold his own in the arena. "Ready when you are, girl."

We began the familiar dance of practice drills. Block, parry, thrust. Simple movements I'd done thousands of times. My muscles remembered even if my mind felt sluggish. Antonius matched my pace, his movements deliberately telegraphed.

"Good," he murmured as I blocked a high strike. "Now watch your footwork. Don't cross-"

The world shifted.

Suddenly I was back in the arena, but not my fight - Rena's. She was moving too slowly, her strikes clumsy with exhaustion. The beast circled her, playing with its prey. I wanted to scream a warning but no sound came out. Then it happened again: the leap, the spray of blood, Rena's face frozen in surprise as her insides spilled across the sand. The crowd's roar of approval as she tried to hold herself together with trembling hands.

"Livia?"

The beast's eyes found mine in the crowd. Hungry. Waiting.

"Livia!"

My practice sword hit the sand. I couldn't breathe. The training yard spun around me, faces blurring into masks. All I could see was Rena's blood, all I could hear was the crowd cheering as she died.

"Stand down!" Marcus's voice, sharp with concern.

I ran.

Past surprised faces, past Septimus half-rising from his seat, past the weapon racks and through the archway. I made it to the small space between buildings before my legs gave out and I doubled over, retching up my breakfast.

She'd been so young. Gods, we were all so young. One mistake, one slow step, one moment of bad luck - that's all it took. Rena had been faster than me, stronger than me, and now she was dead. Just like that. Gone.

I pressed my forehead against the cool stone wall, trying to steady my breathing. How many more? How many friends would I watch die before my turn came? I thought of Marcus, with his dreams of freedom. Of Antonius teaching the younger ones. Of Tarshi, still healing from the flogging. Even Septimus, who might be cold but had saved my life.

Any of us could be next. All our plans, our hopes, our secret moments - gone in an instant of tooth and claw, or blade and blood.

"Livia."

I didn't turn at Marcus's voice. I couldn't let him see me like this.

"It happens to all of us," he said quietly. "The first death after your own close call. It makes it real in a way it wasn't before."

"She was better than me." My voice came out raw. "Stronger. Faster. And she died like... like..."

"Like a gladiator." His hand found my shoulder, steady and warm. "It's what we are. What we do."

"Die for their entertainment?" The bitterness tasted like bile in my mouth.

"Live first," he corrected. "Live harder and brighter than most ever dare. Rena knew the risks. So do you. So do I."

I finally turned to face him. His eyes were kind but unflinching. "How do you do it? Keep going out there knowing..."

"Knowing we'll die?" His mouth quirked. "We were all going to die anyway, Livia. At least this way we choose how to live first." He squeezed my shoulder. "But if you want out, if you want to go back to the house slaves-"

"No." The word came out fierce, surprising us both. "No, I won't go back to that."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Take the rest of the morning. Get your head straight. But I expect you back this afternoon."

"I'll be there."

He turned to go, then paused. "Livia? Remember why you chose this. Hold onto that. It's what keeps us alive out there."

I watched him walk away, his words echoing in my head. Why I chose this. Not just survival, not just the chance at freedom. Something more. Something that burned in my gut when I thought of my parents' execution, of all the empire's casual cruelties. Something that made me feel alive in a way nothing else did.

I looked down at my calloused hands, still trembling slightly. Rena was gone. Others would follow. Maybe me, maybe tomorrow. But until then...

Until then, I would live. I would fight. I would love, even if in secret. And maybe, just maybe, I would find a way to make it all mean something more than just dying in the sand.

I straightened up, squaring my shoulders. The morning sun was higher now, burning away the shadows. Somewhere in the ludus, Tarshi was healing, Octavia was working, Marcus and Septimus were training. All of them living their own stories, carrying their own fears.

We were all just trying to survive in our own ways. The best I could do was make my survival worth something. I wasn’t going to let fear defeat me now.

I took a deep breath and headed back to the training yard. I had work to do.