"Watch your left!" Marcus's voice, commanding. I ignored it. What right did he have to command me? He who got to stand so close to her, to touch her without shame or guilt? The jealousy rose like bile, and I hated myself even more for feeling it. I had no right to her. No right to anything.
The first opponent I'd wounded was back, moving well despite his injury. His blade came in low, well-executed. I could have blocked it easily - the move was one I'd taught Livia countless times. Instead, I shifted just enough to make it look like a genuine mistake when it caught me.
The cut wasn't deep, but it bled freely. Good. Let them see weakness. Let them come for me. Through the red haze of battle, I saw Livia execute a perfect counter-strike against the giant with the trident. Pride and agony warred in my chest. Every graceful movement was a reminder of hours spent together, of all I'd lost through my own darkness.
"Form up!" Marcus again. The coastal team was regrouping, adjusting their strategy. I could see their pattern, could have called out warnings. Instead, I charged forward alone, breaking formation. Behind me, I heard Livia curse. The sound cut deeper than any blade. Once, she had trusted me, looked up to me. Now there was only fear and disgust in her eyes when she looked my way.
The giant's trident swept toward my head. I ducked under it, hamstringing one of his companions. The man went down screaming. Not enough. Nothing was enough to balance the scales of what I'd done. My brother in arms had trusted me with his sister's safety, and I had become the very thing she needed protection from.
Blood ran down my arm, dripped from my blade. The sand turned dark where it fell, and I thought of another night, another darkness. Tarsus dying in my arms, making me swear. "Keep her safe," he'd gasped. "Promise me." And I had promised. I had sworn on every god and my own worthless honor.
What a joke. I'd kept her physically safe only to become a threat myself. The memory of her fear, her rejection, burned worse than any wound. It should have been me who died that night, not Tarsus. He would have protected her properly. He would never have...
A blade whistled past my ear. I spun, cutting down its wielder. Through the gap in combat, I saw Livia again. She fought alongside Tarshi now, their movements perfectly synchronized. Another knife in my heart. Even that dirty half-breed understood honor better than I did. He would never hurt her the way I had.
The giant was coming again, trident leveled. This time, I wouldn't dodge. This time, I would let the gods dispense their justice. I stepped forward, sword lowered, and waited for the killing blow.
Let it end. Let it all end.
The trident never found its mark. A blur of movement, a clash of metal, and the half-breed was there, deflecting the strike meant for my heart. Tarshi's eyes met mine for a fraction of a second - no judgment, just fierce concentration. It made me hate him more. Even now, he showed more honor than I could claim.
"Keep your guard up!" he growled, already spinning away to face another attacker. I wanted to snarl back that I didn't need his help, didn't want it. The words died in my throat as I saw Livia watching us, her face tight with concern. For him, of course. Never for me again.
The giant recovered quickly, his trident a whirlwind of deadly points. I parried automatically, muscles remembering forms I'd drilled thousands of times. How many of those same drills had I taught Livia? The memory of her younger self, eager to learn, trusting me completely... I let the giant's next strike slip closer than necessary.
Blood bloomed across my shoulder. Not enough. Not nearly enough to pay for betraying that trust. The pain was almost sweet - a small installment on an insurmountable debt. Through the red haze, I saw Livia execute a perfect spinning kick, taking down one of the coastal fighters. I'd taught her that move too, in happier days when I could still look at myself in mirrors.
The giant pressed his advantage, driving me back. His technique was flawless - if I'd been teaching a class, I would have pointed out the economy of his movements, the perfect balance. Instead, I searched for gaps in my own defense, ways to make my eventual death look like a warrior's end rather than the coward's escape it really was.
There - an opening. The trident's central tine aimed straight for my throat. I began to lower my guard, to embrace the clean steel that would end this torment. A heartbeat from impact, Livia's voice cut through the battle haze: "Septimus!"
Pure instinct made me move, decades of training overriding my death wish. The trident scraped past, taking skin but missing anything vital. Livia was somehow beside me, her blade dancing in that fluid style we'd perfected together. The giant fell back, reassessing, as she covered my flank.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, not looking at me. Fighting beside her felt like coming home and being exiled all at once. Her shoulders were tense, her movements sharp with anger. At me? At herself for helping? I couldn't tell anymore.
I didn't answer, couldn't answer. Instead, I pressed forward, trying to draw the giant's attention away from her. Let him focus on me. Let him end this. Her blade flashed past my guard, taking down an opponent I hadn't even seen coming for me. The move left her briefly pressed against my back, and the contact burned like fire.
"Stop it!" she snapped, but there was something in her voice beyond anger. Fear? Concern? I didn't deserve either. The giant came in again, his trident seeking flesh. This time I stood my ground, blade lowered. This time, let it end.
Livia's sword appeared from nowhere, knocking the trident wide. The force of her parry opened her guard for a crucial moment. The giant's companion surged forward, blade aimed at her exposed side. No. Not her. Never her.
My body moved without thought, sword arcing up to catch the killing blow meant for her. The impact shuddered through my arms, but I held. I would always hold, would always protect her, even if she hated me for it. Even if she never trusted me again.
The horn blared, signaling the round's end. Fighters separated, falling back to their respective sides. I could feel Livia's fury radiating off her in waves as we withdrew. She didn't look at me, but her hands were clenched white-knuckled around her sword.
My shoulder throbbed where the trident had caught me, but the pain was nothing compared to the void in my chest. I watched her walk away, saw her exchange quick words with Tarshi. The half-breed's hand brushed her arm briefly - a gesture of comfort or something more? The jealousy rose again, choking me, and I welcomed it. Let it burn. Let it add to my punishment.
The next round would begin soon. Next time, I promised myself, looking at the giant's blood-stained trident. Next time, I wouldn't let anyone interfere. Next time, I would find the absolution I deserved at the end of that three-pronged spear.
Livia turned, finally meeting my eyes across the blood-soaked sand. For a moment, I saw something there beyond anger or disgust - something that might have been pain. Then her gaze hardened, and she strode toward me with deadly purpose.
The next round's horn hadn't sounded yet. Whatever she had to say, I deserved to hear it. I deserved every word of hatred, every curse she could throw at me. I straightened, waiting for her judgment, waiting for the killing blow that would hurt more than any trident.
The lull between rounds was always the worst part. Slaves dragged away the dead and dying, leaving dark trails in the sand. I recognized faces among the fallen - Marcus and I had trained them, watched them grow from fumbling recruits into warriors. Now they lay broken and still, finally free of the arena's chains. I should have felt something - grief, anger, loss. Instead, I felt only a hollow envy. They, at least, had found their peace.
My wounds throbbed dully as I watched Livia stalk toward me. Even furious, she moved with that deadly grace that had first caught my eye years ago. Back then, I'd told myself I was just keeping my promise to Tarsus, that my attention was purely professional. What a liar I'd been, even to myself.
She grabbed my arm, fingers digging into muscle, and dragged me toward the far corner of our section. Away from the others,away from prying eyes. I let her lead me, deserving whatever was coming. Her grip was painful - good. Let it hurt. Let everything hurt.
