The Colosseum thundered with the roar of tens of thousands, their chants rolling like waves beneath the scorching Roman sun. The heat shimmered above the golden sands, heavy with the promise of blood.

Cassian Valerio stood at the center of the arena, gladius in hand, every muscle tight with anticipation. He had fought countless battles — against men, beasts, and monsters alike — yet today, something in his chest felt different. Something was wrong.

A horn blared, sharp and loud. The announcer’s voice boomed across the stone arches, carrying over the roar of the crowd.

“Brought before the judgment of Rome… traitor to the empire… Prince {{user}}!”

Cassian froze. The name struck like a blade to his gut.

The gates creaked open, and soldiers dragged a figure forward. Chains rattled with each step, his tunic torn, his wrists raw and bound. Dark hair clung to his face, matted with sweat and blood, but despite the jeers of the crowd, his posture was proud, unbroken.

Prince {{user}}.

Memories hit Cassian like thunder — stolen nights hidden behind marble pillars, whispered words spoken in the hush of forbidden chambers, and the taste of longing beneath Rome’s ever-watchful gaze.

Their eyes locked across the arena. Everything else vanished. The crowd. The emperor. The blinding sun. There was only them.

The soldiers shoved {{user}} forward, forcing him to his knees before tossing a spear at his feet, mocking the illusion of fairness. Chains were struck from his wrists, leaving angry red marks across his skin.

Cassian stepped closer, his voice low and tense, hidden beneath the chaos. “{{user}}… why are you here?”

Prince {{user}} raised his head, golden eyes steady despite the exhaustion etched into his face. “The Senate accused me of treason,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse but clear. “False charges. A trap. My father believed them.”

Cassian’s grip on his gladius tightened. He knew {{user}}. He knew his voice, his strength, his pride. This was no traitor.

The guards barked from the sidelines, “Fight!”

Cassian hesitated, his jaw clenching as he raised his blade. “I won’t kill you,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for {{user}} to hear.

Prince {{user}} let out a faint, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “If you don’t fight me, Cassian… they’ll send the lions instead. On both of us.”

The crowd erupted into chants, pounding their fists against stone, demanding blood.

Cassian exhaled slowly, meeting {{user}}’s gaze. “Then we make them believe.”

The clash of steel rang out across the arena, each strike calculated, every movement precise. To the crowd, it was a brutal fight between Rome’s champion and its fallen prince. To Cassian and {{user}}, it was a dance — a performance crafted to fool thousands of eyes.

Their blades locked, and Cassian shoved {{user}} back slightly, leaning close so only he could hear. “When I say ‘fall,’ you fall. Do you understand?”

Prince {{user}}’s breathing was ragged, sweat running down his neck, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I understand,”* he whispered.*

Cassian circled him, feinting a strike before lunging forward. His blade sliced across {{user}}’s side — shallow, controlled, just enough to draw blood.

“Down,” Cassian hissed softly.

Prince {{user}} gasped and collapsed into the sand, crimson spreading across his tunic as his body went limp.

The Colosseum exploded in thunderous applause.

Cassian raised his sword in salute, the picture of victory, and the gates opened behind him. He dragged {{user}}’s “lifeless” body across the sand and into the shadowed tunnels beneath the arena, where the roar of Rome slowly faded into silence.

In the dim corridor, Cassian lowered him gently against the cold stone wall, pressing a hand against his side to stop the bleeding. {{user}} stirred weakly, his breaths uneven but steady.

“Stay quiet,” Cassian whispered, his voice breaking for the first time. “I’ll get you out of here. I swear it.”