EMBERS (Marcus Acacius)

IV | Fight to the Death

As a healer, I had always been taught to preserve life, to do everything I could to prevent death. But in that moment, I saw a man who was tired of the system, a man who was beginning to see himself not as a weapon of the empire, but as someone who could change it.

Despite my initial doubts, Acacius's rebellion no longer seemed like something distant or abstract. It felt real—personal—and I was beginning to feel a pull toward it, despite how terrified it made me.

News of Acacius' punishment had spread quickly overnight. He was to fight in a death match—a battle, he would likely not survive. I couldn't deny the hurt I felt, that Acacius had not yet informed me of this, but instead left me to find out through the grapevine.

My hands trembled as I stitched up a gladiator's arm. He sat in front of me, gritting his teeth in pain, due to the stab wound on his leg. I did my best to close the wound, but my hands would not stop shaking.

"Can you please give me a minute?"

I politely excused myself and exited the tent, taking a deep breath of cold, morning air. The sun had barely cleared the horizon, and its peachy glow shone on the walls of the training yard, where the gladiators were practicing for tomorrow's big match.

I failed to miss the unmistakeable silhouette of Acacius, as he sparred with one of the other fighters. He looked good; all of the wounds from the previous day's battle, seemed to be healing well—at least that was what my fellow nurses had told me. When he was brought into the medical wing, he had not asked for me to assist him.

Suddenly, my head tilted in confusion, when another familiar figure entered the yard. Tiberius. He strolled over to the gladiators and stopped beside Acacius, who paused his practice to greet him. They spoke quietly, heads bent together until they simultaneously glanced up at me. I didn't bother to hide that I was watching. I just met their gazes evenly. What can they possibly be talking about?

"Adriana?" I turned around as a nurse poked her head through the tent flap. "Arenarius was asking for you."

I nodded and made my way back to my patient, who I had left, bleeding in the tent. "Sorry," I apologised, picking the needle and thread back up. My hands were still shaky, but they were better than before. I quickly sewed up the wound and sent the gladiator on his way,

***

"You're getting better at this," Tiberius observed as he walked up to Acacius. "But I can tell it's not just about the fights anymore. Your mind is somewhere else."

Acacius turned back to his sparring partner. "Every fight is a reminder that it's not just about surviving. If we're going to keep surviving, we need to fight for something bigger than the next match."

Tiberius let out a sigh. "You speak of bigger things, but you've seen what happens to men who dream too big in this place." He spoke with a calm and measured tone, even though Acacius wasn't giving him his full attention. "The arena doesn't care about ideals, Acacius. It only cares about blood, and if you bleed too much, you're just another corpse waiting to be forgotten."

Acacius waved his sparring partner away and turned to fully face Tiberius. I scratched the back of his neck, head bowed in thought. "Maybe that's true... but I've seen enough to know we can't live like this forever. If we don't take a stand now, we'll all die in here."

"And what—you think you'll lead a revolution?" Tiberius rebuked humourlessly. "You think we can rise up against the empire?"He shook his head slowly. "I've seen men like you—men with fire in their eyes—get crushed by the weight of the empire. You're just one man, Acacius. And no matter how much you think you've figured out, you'll never change the truth."