Lights flicked in the Arena, the sun long set. Spectators held their breaths, hands clenched to their seats, their whole minds focused on the two fighters down there. The forms of these glorious souls were covered in sweat and sand, trails of blood barely visible in the dim lights, their exhaustion audible in the entire Arena, reaching the ears of the wealthiest watchers. They sat there, watching the struggle of the heroes, their amused conversations mixed with the grunts of the fighters. Your grip on your dress tightened, your eyes fixed on the fight, unable to tear your attention away.

It was a matter of life and death, truly. Your worried gaze fell on the masked fighter, Simon Riley, the one who seemed to handle the pain and struggle better than the other. His foot sank in the sand, grounding him for a second, allowing his arm to strike a powerful hit with his sword on his opponent, who screamed in pain as soon as he felt the hit. A deep exhale left Simon’s lips, the feeling of victory filling his veins as a wave of relief. He won, but the fate of his opponent wasn’t his no more. He turned to the balcony, his eyes brimful of exhaustion and pride meeting your worried ones silently. No one else was watching, some even left before the fight was over, the others discussing society topics and laughing. A disgusting and cruel sight, for certain, to which Simon grew used to, but not you.