Beneath the Colosseum

Chapter Eleven

Your brow furrows slightly, and you look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you see things for what they are," he replies, his voice steady. "You don't hide behind obedience, and you don't tell me what I want to hear. That's why I trust you. And that's why, when you're ready, I want you to trust me."

His words hang in the air between you, offering something more than just an explanation. He's offering a kind of partnership, something that feels far more equal than the roles you've both been assigned in this brutal world.

Cassius's words settle heavily in the air between you, his voice steady but carrying the weight of a truth he doesn't often share. "And although I would never wish it upon you," he says, his tone softer now, more personal, "I do feel a sense of relief knowing you know what the arena is like from the other side."

You pause, taking a moment to absorb what he's just said. It's not something you would have expected him to admit—that beneath his calm exterior, there's a part of him that finds solace in the fact that someone else, you, now understands the terror of the arena firsthand. There's something vulnerable in the way he says it, a glimpse of the man behind the gladiator. It's a rare moment of honesty, and it gives you pause.

You feel the need to ask him something, something that's been gnawing at the edges of your mind ever since the lion's release. You take a breath, carefully considering your words, then look up at him.

"Do you always feel that afraid?" you ask quietly, your voice hesitant but steady. "The way I did? Every time you step into the arena?"

Your question lingers in the silence that follows. Cassius's gaze drops slightly, his eyes momentarily shifting away from yours as he considers your words. The quiet stretches between you, the weight of your question settling over him. For a long moment, he doesn't speak, and you wonder if he will answer at all.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, he looks up, his expression softer, the usual mask of strength and composure slipping just slightly.

"Yes," he says simply, his voice low but carrying the truth of it. "Every time."

The honesty in his answer surprises you, but it also makes your heart ache in a way you hadn't expected. Cassius, the man who had always seemed so unshakeable, admits to feeling the same fear you had—every time he steps into the arena, every time he faces death. It's a fear he carries with him, buried beneath layers of discipline and control, but it's there. Always.

"I've learned to live with it," he continues, his tone calm but reflective. "It never goes away, but I've learned to use it. To let it sharpen my focus, to keep me alive. But that fear... it's always there. You never forget that you could fall at any moment, no matter how strong or skilled you are."

His words hang in the air, heavy with the burden of the life he's lived. The arena, for all its violence and spectacle, is a place of constant fear and survival—a truth you hadn't fully grasped until now.

"You asked if I felt afraid the way you did," he says, his eyes meeting yours again, searching. "The truth is, yes. But the difference is, I've made peace with it. I know it's part of the life I've chosen—or rather, the life that was chosen for me."

The vulnerability in his voice is something you hadn't heard from him before, and it makes you realize just how deeply the arena has shaped him. The fear you felt in that moment, when the lion prowled toward you, is the same fear he faces every time he steps into that ring. And yet, he continues to fight, to survive.

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the weight of his words settling over you both. There's a strange sense of understanding between you now—something shared, something that connects you in a way that goes beyond mere circumstance.