Shadows of the Past
Upon returning from Thraex's villa, Macrinus's face was marked by the weight of the evening's events. The cheers of the crowd still echoed in his mind, but the unease about Hanno's behavior lingered. He needed to ensure that his gladiator was in good condition for the future—physically and mentally.
Macrinus: (looking at Viggo, his loyal right-hand man) "Viggo, take Hanno to the infirmary. See to his wounds after that fight."
Viggo, always loyal and swift in his actions, nodded without hesitation. He moved toward Hanno, who still stood with that cold, unreadable expression. Without a word, he gestured for the gladiator to follow him.
Macrinus: "Make sure he is properly treated. I don't want any lingering injuries. We need him in top form."
Viggo: (nodding) "Of course, Master. He will be well cared for."
Macrinus lingered for a moment, watching them leave. Despite the physical victory, the tensions of the evening and the strange moments with the emperors still weighed on his mind.
Macrinus: (to himself, quietly) "He is more than just a weapon."
As they walked down the dimly lit corridor, Viggo glanced at Hanno, his expression stern.
Viggo: (firmly) "Listen well. A healer will tend to your wounds, but let me be clear—you're not to trouble her or get any ideas. She's the daughter of a senator. The slightest misstep, and you'll be executed before you can even draw your next breath."
Hanno didn't respond, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His mind lingered on Viggo's warning. What kind of woman would risk her reputation tending to slaves and gladiators? Vulgar barbarians without manners—that's how they were seen. The thought amused him.
They stopped in front of a heavy wooden door guarded by a soldier clad in armor. Viggo gave the guard a nod of acknowledgment.
Viggo: (to the guard) "Keep a close watch. Let no one enter without authorization."
The guard returned the nod and stepped aside to open the door. Viggo cast one last glance at Hanno, then turned on his heel and walked away.
The guard held the door open, standing stiffly as Hanno stepped inside. The air inside was filled with the faint scent of medicinal herbs and oils. Hanno's smirk faded slightly as he scanned the room, wondering what awaited him within.
The faint aroma of salves and herbs filled the air as Hanno stepped into the dimly lit chamber. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of bandages and the faint clink of jars on a nearby table. His gaze fell on a woman standing with her back to him, her honey-colored hair catching the light as she worked.
For a moment, he froze.
She turned, and his breath caught in his throat. Her eyes—topaz like sunlight glinting on amber—and the gentle curve of her face left no doubt. Though she had matured into a woman, with the grace and poise of someone who had faced life's trials, she was unmistakable.
Helena.
Hanno stared, unable to mask his shock. His chest tightened as memories of their shared youth flooded back—laughter in the fields, whispered dreams under starry skies, and a kiss that had lingered in his thoughts ever since. She was here, standing before him, more beautiful than he had ever dared to imagine.
Helena didn't seem to notice his reaction. She approached with a professional calm, her voice soft but steady.
Helena: "Hello. I'm Helena. I'll be tending to your wounds today. Please, take a seat."
Her tone was polite but detached, and her gaze didn't hold the recognition he had longed for. To her, he was just another gladiator—another nameless, faceless soul.
Still silent, Hanno moved to the chair she gestured to, lowering himself into it. He obeyed her instructions without protest, his eyes never leaving her as she worked.
Her hands were steady and practiced as she prepared to clean a gash on his shoulder. Hanno winced slightly when the cool salve touched his skin, but it was the turmoil inside him—not the physical pain—that troubled him most.
After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice low and cautious.
Hanno: "You're quiet."
Helena glanced up briefly, her expression calm but distant.
Helena: "Silence is often preferred here, most gladiators prefer it that way."
Hanno tilted his head, studying her face as if searching for something familiar in her expression.
Hanno: "And you? What's someone like you doing here? You don't belong in a place like this."
For the first time, she hesitated. Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming their work. A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Helena: "I'm here to care for the wounded. That's my purpose here. That's all you need to know."
Her answer was guarded, but there was a strength in her voice that hadn't been there years ago.
Hanno's jaw tightened, his thoughts spinning. He couldn't tell her who he was—not yet. She didn't recognize him, and the risk of revealing the truth was too great. But seeing her here, so close and yet so distant, tore at him.
As she bandaged his arm, her touch was gentle but firm. She didn't rush, her movements precise and careful.
Helena: "You've fought many battles, haven't you?" she asked after a moment, breaking the silence. Her tone was softer, tinged with curiosity.
Hanno nodded, his voice steady but guarded.
Hanno: "I have."
Her eyes flicked to his for a brief moment before she returned to her task.
Helena: "You carry yourself differently than most. Not just a gladiator, are you?"
Hanno didn't answer, his expression unreadable.
When she finished, she stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Helena: "Rest is your best chance at recovery," she said simply.
She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.
Helena: "What's your name, new one?"
Hanno hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. After a long pause, he answered quietly.
"Hano."
Helena tilted her head slightly, repeating his name as though testing its sound.
Helena: "Hano."
Her tone was neutral, but there was something in her expression—a fleeting shadow of familiarity—that made his heart ache.
Hanno nodded but said nothing more. As she turned to leave, he watched her, his heart aching with the weight of unspoken words.
She didn't remember him—not yet. But he remembered everything. For now, that would have to be enough.
