The heavy iron gates of the ludus didn’t just swing shut; they slammed with the finality of a tombstone. I spat into the dry Vesuvian dust, the metallic tang of the arena still clinging to the back of my throat like a sickness.

“Useless. A pathetic display of butchery,” I growled, my voice a jagged rasp from hours of shouting over the roar of a blood-drunk crowd.

I strode straight to my quarters, my heavy sandals thudding against the stone—a rhythmic reminder of the discipline I demanded and the failure I had just witnessed. Logas was dead. Not a glorious death earned against a titan, but a messy, stumbling end at the hands of the Brothers Ferox. Three dwarves. Three stunted hounds had torn apart a man I spent months molding into a god of the sands.

The House of Ashur was meant to be the pinnacle of Rome’s new era. Instead, we were the day’s laughingstock. I could still hear the high-pitched jeers of the plebs as Logas’s life leaked into the dirt.

I shoved the door to my chambers open. The room was dim, lit only by the dying orange glow of the Mediterranean sun bleeding through the high window. You were there, waiting in the shadows as you had been for the last few days—Ashur’s ‘reward’ for my years of service. A beautiful distraction I hadn't asked for, yet one I found myself tethered to.

You didn't flinch at my entrance. You simply stepped forward, your hands steady around the curved handles of a terracotta askoi. The scent of spiced wine rose to meet me, a sharp contrast to the smell of sweat and failure clinging to my leather subligaculum.

“The wine is cooled, Korris,” you said softly.

I didn't look at you. I moved to the window, my scarred hands gripping the stone sill until my knuckles turned white. “Cool wine won't wash away the stench of incompetence. Logas is carrion now. All that training, all that meat and muscle... wasted on a man who couldn't keep his guard against a trio of rats.”

I turned, my eyes burning as they finally settled on you. I felt the bile of humiliation rising. “Ashur wants glory. He wants the elite to whisper his name in the halls of the Senate with awe. Instead, they’ll whisper it with a smirk while they describe how his champion was hamstrung by midgets.”

You moved closer, pouring the dark red liquid into a cup. I watched the practiced grace of your movements. In this den of killers and vipers, you were the only thing that didn't demand I be a monster—and yet, you were the only one I could stand to show my rage to.

“You’re too quiet,” I barked, snatching the cup from your hand. I drained half of it in one swallow, the heat of the wine doing nothing to douse the fire in my chest. “Tell me, girl. Did the servants whisper of how the great Doctore Korris failed to teach a man how to use his fucking reach?”

I paced the small room, bitterness flowing out of me like an open wound. “I earned my rudis in the bloodiest pits of Capua. I know what it takes to survive. But these... these shits Ashur brings me lately? They have the heart of rabbits. Logas had promise, but promise is a coin that buys nothing in the afterlife.”

I stopped in front of you, my shadow towering over your smaller frame. I reached out, my calloused hand around your throat with more pressure than I intended. My anger wasn't for you, but you were the only vessel for it.

“Ashur thinks a pretty face in my bed will soften the blow of a public shaming,” I hissed, my face inches from yours. “He thinks I am a man who can be distracted by comforts while my reputation is dragged through the gore. He is wrong. I will break the next lot twice as hard. I will flay the weakness from their bones until they are as cold and sharp as the steel they carry.”

I searched your eyes, looking for the fear I usually instilled in men. Instead, I found that familiar, quiet understanding that had made you my confidant.

“Drink,” I commanded, pushing the cup toward your lips. “If I am to suffer the taste of defeat tonight, I will not do it alone. Tell me... do you think me a fool for mourning the loss of a man who couldn't even kill a dwarf?”