The First Breath of Battle

The sun hung high above the arena, casting a brutal heat over the sand, which seemed to shimmer with an eerie glow. The stands were packed with cheering spectators, their roars and jeers echoing through the air as they awaited the bloodshed.

Gladiators stood in their designated spots, their eyes locked on the hulking figure that loomed before them—a monstrous rhinoceros, its thick hide glistening under the hot sun, ridden by a fierce and heavily armored warrior, who gripped a spear with deadly intent.

Hanno, standing in the midst of the group, took in the scene. His mind worked quickly, calculating the danger they faced.

The gladiators around him were tense, but none had the experience or strategic insight to lead them through this.

"Listen," Hanno said, his voice calm yet commanding.

He looked each man in the eye. "We need to stay together. We are stronger when we move as one. Do not scatter. When that beast charges, we wait. As soon as it charges, we split—" he demonstrated with his hands—"but only at the last moment. We'll survive this if we stay as a unit."

Most of the gladiators nodded, some looking uneasy, but they trusted Hanno. They had seen his prowess in the previous battles.

But one man—a younger, brash gladiator—sneered at Hanno's words. He was confident, cocky, and sure that his individual strength would win the day. The others exchanged uncertain glances but said nothing.

Hanno's gaze swept across the group, focusing on the defiant one. "You may think you're strong on your own," he said softly, but with an edge, "but the arena shows no mercy."

The gladiator grunted and turned away, already preparing his weapon.

As the signal for the battle to begin sounded, Hanno dropped to one knee in the sand. His hands reached down, rubbing the coarse grains between his fingers.

The gesture was oddly familiar to Lucilla, who watched from the royal box with a tightness in her chest. Her eyes widened as she stared at the gladiator, recognition slowly dawning. This was the same ritual Maximus had done before every fight. The same motion. The same reverence to the arena. And, for the briefest moment, she was consumed by the haunting possibility that this was her son, Lucius.

Her heart skipped. Could it be? Was this truly him?

Hanno didn't notice her gaze, for his focus was entirely on the battle ahead.

The rhinoceros snorted and stomped its feet, sending tremors through the sand, while its rider brandished a long, vicious spear.

The gladiators readied themselves, their muscles taut with anticipation.

At that moment, the emperors, Geta and Caracalla, sat watching from their elevated seats, surrounded by their loyal courtiers.

Their cold eyes gleamed with pleasure as they observed the fighters below, their twisted minds relishing in the violence to come.

Geta's sharp eyes were immediately drawn to Hanno, who stood apart from the rest. The gladiator had an air of defiance that intrigued him.

He leaned in toward one of his advisors and whispered, "The poet... the one who recited Virgil's lines... he stands out."

As the battle began, the rhinoceros charged forward, its rider urging it on with a shout.

The gladiators immediately shifted, positioning themselves as Hanno had instructed. They held their ground, tightly packed, waiting for the moment to strike.

The beast charged at them with terrifying speed. Hanno's eyes were locked on it, his body perfectly still, a silent command to his companions. At the last possible second, as the rhinoceros neared them, the gladiators scattered, leaping to the sides with an agility that surprised the crowd.

The beast roared in confusion, stumbling briefly as it failed to catch its target.

The gladiators swarmed in, attacking the rider. It was chaos—chaos that would have overwhelmed a less coordinated group. But not Hanno's men.

They fought as a single unit, just as Hanno had planned.

In the fray, the young, cocky gladiator who had ignored Hanno's orders met a swift and brutal end. The rhinoceros charged directly at him, and he failed to move in time. His body was crushed beneath its hooves, his life snuffed out in an instant.

Hanno's focus remained unbroken. He struck with precision, his movements calculated and deadly. He was the spearhead, the calm at the center of the storm.

With one final, well-placed blow, the rider of the rhinoceros fell, and the beast, now freed from its rider's control, turned to flee in confusion. The gladiators quickly surrounded it, bringing the beast down with efficiency and ruthlessness.

The crowd erupted into cheers. The spectacle had been thrilling, and the blood had flowed as expected.

Hanno stood among the fallen, his breathing steady, his gaze still cold and unyielding. He looked up into the stands, his eyes locking briefly with Lucilla's. A flicker of recognition passed between them, and for a moment, the chaos of the arena seemed to fade.

But Hanno's mind was focused on his vengeance, and nothing would deter him from his path.

Geta, from his seat, leaned forward with interest, his eyes never leaving Hanno. "The poet... it seems he is more than just a gladiator," he murmured.

His curiosity was piqued, but there was something else there too—something darker. He smiled slightly, a glint of malice in his eyes. "Let's see how far he will go."

And Lucilla, still in her seat, her heart racing, couldn't tear her gaze away from the man who had somehow become the very embodiment of the vengeance she feared would consume them all.

The echoes of clashing swords still rang in the air as the crowd's cheers faded. The victory had been his, but the cost was evident, Hanno's body ached, covered in cuts and bruises from the brutal fight in the arena. His chest heaved with exertion as he stumbled toward the gladiator's quarters, barely able to keep his footing.

"Hold still," the voice of Helena cut through the haze of pain and exhaustion.

Helena , the healer, stood before him, her hands already moving to assess his wounds. Her face was soft, yet there was an undeniable strength in the way she held herself as she carefully examined him.

"Don't look at me like that," she muttered under her breath as she began applying herbs to a deep gash on his arm. "You think you're the first gladiator to believe they're invincible?"

Hanno winced at the sharp sting, but her touch was gentle. "I've fought in places far worse than this." He looked down, his voice dropping. "But it's never been like this. Not like this... here."

"You're lucky this time," Helena responded, her tone laced with frustration but also concern. "I can patch you up." She paused, studying him. "Is it the bloodshed that bothers you? Or the fact that they make us fight for entertainment?"

"Both," Hanno replied immediately, his voice laced with a quiet bitterness. "The fighting doesn't bother me anymore. It's what they do to us. The way they see us."

She didn't need to ask who he was talking about. Helena knew what the gladiators were to Rome—their pain, their rage, their lives all reduced to spectacles.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Helena finished tending to his wounds and stood up, looking down at him. Hanno's heart beat faster when she stood close, but he tried to ignore it. She was the last thing he should be thinking about—not now, not when the memory of Arishat's death was so fresh in his mind.

"I've been through much, but nothing like this," Hanno muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His eyes flickered to the ground, and his voice trembled slightly. "The things I've lost..."

Helena sat back down, her presence soothing, as if she had always been there, waiting. "What did you lose, Hanno?" she asked gently, her voice so soft, yet full of something he couldn't name. "Who did you lose?"

For a long moment, he didn't answer, unsure if he could voice the grief that had consumed him ever since he'd lost Arishat. But there was something in Helena's eyes—something kind and patient—that made him want to speak.

"A woman," Hanno said finally, his voice thick. "Her name was Arishat. She was... everything to me. She died when Rome took over my homeland. I couldn't save her."

Helena's heart broke for him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. She reached out to touch his hand, her fingers light, a comfort, though Hanno barely noticed. His eyes were clouded, distant.

The silence between them stretched, but this time, it didn't feel uncomfortable. She was there with him—present, real. For the first time since he had come to Rome, he felt... seen.

For a moment, Hanno's gaze softened as he looked down at her hands tending to his wounds. The simple act of care felt foreign to him—like a distant memory, one he couldn't quite place. Her delicate fingers were soothing, though his mind was elsewhere, occupied by memories long buried.

After a long pause, Hanno finally broke the silence, shifting the conversation to a new topic as he sought to learn more about her and what had led her to this life. Noble women in Rome marry at a very young age and do not work, let alone serve as caretakers for gladiators. He wanted to know everything about her and what he had missed of her life over the years, but he couldn't be too obvious without revealing his identity.

"I'm curious about you, Helena," he said, his voice unexpectedly lighter, despite the weight still resting on his chest.

He turned his head, keeping his gaze steady on hers. "What's your story? You've been here for quite some time, haven't you?"

She looked at him, slightly surprised by the shift in his tone. "Me?" she asked, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Nothing worth mentioning."

"Everyone has a story," Hanno replied quietly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her with a subtle intensity. "But why this life? With the gladiators, I mean. What brought you here?"

Elenna chuckled softly, a warm sound that eased the tension between them. "It's not quite what I'd call a choice, actually," she said, glancing around the room as though the walls might answer for her. "I've been... helping people for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, my parents wanted me to settle down, marry someone proper, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't live like that. So, I went to the gladiators. They need someone who understands wounds, who can heal, not just fight."

Hanno leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "You never wanted a normal life, then?" he asked, his voice filled with both awe and a trace of disbelief. "A family? Children?"

Elenna's smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of something—perhaps regret—crossing her face. "I... I did once," she admitted, the words barely a whisper.

"I thought about a life beyond this place, but it didn't work out that way. There's too much... suffering in the world. I can't ignore it, not when I have the means to help."

She paused for a moment, her eyes meeting his, and for a brief instant, something flickered between them.

"You remind me of someone..." Helena's voice was tentative, as if she were unsure of what she was saying. "An old friend, perhaps. There was a boy once... his name was Lucius. He was... a lot like you. Strong, proud, always trying to hide his pain."

At her words, something inside Hanno shifted. His chest tightened, his heart began to race. "Lucius?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, not noticing the sharpness in his tone. "Yes. We were close. We grew up together." She paused, glancing at him before continuing. "But that was a long time ago. I haven't seen him in years. I wonder what became of him."

A flicker of sadness crossed Helena's face, but she quickly masked it with a forced smile. "You wouldn't want to hear about it, Hanno."

His heart pounded louder now. "Why wouldn't I?" He took a step closer, his voice a mixture of curiosity and something deeper. "What happened to him?"

Helena looked away, biting her lip. "He... he had to leave. For his own safety. His family... it was dangerous for him to stay. And I... I never heard from him again." Her voice softened, her eyes distant as she thought back to a time long ago. "I don't know if he's still alive."

Hanno clenched his fists at his sides, his mind spinning. Lucius. It was him. He had to fight the urge to reveal himself—to tell her the truth, to tell her that he was Lucius, the boy she had once known. But the bitterness and rage of his current situation clouded his thoughts.

Helena finally looked up at him, catching the subtle shift in his expression. "You're different," she said softly. "I don't know why, but I can see it. You're not like the others."

He didn't answer at first. He just stared at her, his emotions raw, as if he were trying to keep the walls around his heart intact. "I'm just a slave," he finally said, his voice hard again. "A gladiator."

Her gaze softened with sympathy, but she didn't press him further. "You may be a gladiator, but that doesn't define you," she said quietly. "Not to me."

Her words pierced through the anger and confusion that clouded his mind, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something stir within him—something warm, something human.

"Thank you," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "For this. For caring."

Helena gave him a soft smile as she finished tending to his wounds. "It's my job," she said simply, though there was something more in her eyes. "But you're welcome all the same, Hanno."

Hanno watched her as she stood, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered what could have been—if things had turned out differently. If he had never left, if he had stayed by her side.

"Rest now," she told him gently. "You'll need your strength for the next fight."

He nodded, but his thoughts were far from the fight ahead. His mind was with the woman before him, the woman who had once been his closest friend, now a stranger.

Hanno sat back against the wall, the weight of the past pressing on him. He had his vengeance in mind, but for the first time, he wondered if something else might be waiting for him in this strange place—a connection, a chance for redemption.