Dawn’s grip on Luke’s wrist was tight as she yanked him away from the gambling table, dragging him through the crowd with the force of a battlefield commander. Chris stumbled after them, barely keeping up.

  "You’re both idiots," she muttered under her breath, her pace unrelenting.

  Luke twisted his wrist, slipping free of her grasp, but he didn’t slow down. He could tell by the way she was moving—sharp, quick steps, tense shoulders—that she was pissed. And when Dawn was pissed, it was usually best to let her get it out before arguing.

  Chris, however, didn’t have that kind of survival instinct.

  "Hey, what’d I do?" he complained, jogging to her side. "I just—"

  "You encouraged him," she snapped, shooting him a glare. "We’re supposed to be the older ones here, Chris. Not the other way around."

  Chris frowned. "I mean… yeah, but it was awesome."

  Dawn groaned. "That’s exactly the problem!"

  Luke sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright, alright. I get it. No more showing off in public."

  Dawn scoffed. "Like hell you do."

  Luke smirked but said nothing. He had no intention of stopping. He was good at what he did—too good. And whether it was sheer skill or just bad luck, situations like this always seemed to find him.

  Dawn knew it too. That was the real reason she was annoyed.

  She knew her little brother couldn’t help himself when trickery, sleight of hand, and deception were involved. He’d always been clever—too clever, or maybe not quite clever enough. Dawn had never been able to decide which.

  And honestly? She couldn’t even blame him. It wasn’t like she was perfect.

  Dawn had her own weakness.

  She could never resist a good fight.

  Not just brawls—any fight. Duels, wars, feuds, bar fights, street squabbles, she devoured them all. The strategy, the technique, the raw human instinct behind them—it fascinated her. While other people obsessed over kings and emperors, she cared about the warriors.

  She’d been in Rome for a week now, and she couldn’t tell you a single thing about the city’s politics, architecture, or culture. But she could tell you about every famous duel fought on Roman soil. She could name every general who had ever bled here.

  And as they stepped through the towering archway of the Colosseum, she finally felt what she’d been waiting for all week.

  Her chest tightened. A rush shot through her veins.

  This.

  This was what she lived for.

  She would never get to watch a real gladiator fight, never see two warriors battle to the death in this arena like they had centuries ago.

  But standing here on the very same ground where blood, sweat, and screams had once filled the air was the closest she would ever get.

  She exhaled slowly, taking in the full scope of the ruins.

  The Colosseum wasn’t just a building. It was a battlefield. And battlefields never forgot the warriors who had fallen on them.

  She closed her eyes for a second, letting the weight of history settle on her skin.

  Luke, meanwhile, felt something entirely different.

  He had been here for days already, walked past the Colosseum multiple times, but he had never actually looked at it. Not really.

  His eyes weren’t on the ruins, the tourists, or the performers weaving through the crowd.

  For the first time since they arrived, he wasn’t watching people at all.

  Instead, he saw the statues. The symbols. The layout of the entire arena.

  And suddenly, he understood.

  Or—almost understood.

  Something about this place wasn’t right. Not the ruins, not the building—the land itself.

  It felt… older than it should be. Not in the way history usually felt, but deeper. Like the earth beneath the Colosseum had a memory—one that the builders had tried to preserve through every statue, every carving, every deliberate placement of stone.

  A language was being spoken here, one far older than Latin.

  And somehow, he knew it.

  It was right there, just beyond his grasp. He could almost read it, almost understand what it was trying to say.

  But the words never fully came.

  He clenched his fists, a strange buzz filling his chest—not fear, not excitement, just… something.

  Dawn and Chris didn’t seem to notice.

  Chris, in fact, had only noticed one thing—the smell of food.

  His stomach growled loudly. "Oh man, do you smell that?"

  Dawn barely looked at him. "What?"

  "That smell. I don’t even know what it is, but I need it."

  Luke snapped out of his thoughts just in time to see Chris scanning the crowd, completely oblivious to the fact that something was wrong.

  Luke exhaled. If Chris wasn’t feeling anything strange, then maybe…

  Maybe it was nothing.

  He pushed the feeling away and followed Dawn as she walked toward a tour group gathered near the center of the arena. A tour guide was finishing his speech, half-informative, half-promotional, rattling off facts about the Colosseum while also pushing various attractions.

  Dawn had tuned him out.

  Until she heard one thing.

  "The highlight of the day, of course, is the Gladiator Challenge! For those of you interested in testing your mettle, you can sign up to fight against a classically trained gladiator—wooden weapons and padded armor, of course!"

  Dawn’s head snapped toward him.

  Luke saw it immediately. That gleam in her eyes.

  Oh no.

  "Dawn."

  She didn’t even look at him.

  "Dawn, no."

  A slow grin stretched across her face.

  "I have to see this."

  She was already moving before Luke could stop her.

  Chris, still tracking the scent of his mystery food, perked up. "Wait—people can fight real gladiators?"

  Luke groaned.

  Chris grinned.

  "Dude, we have to do it."

  Luke stared at him. "You? In a fight? Against a trained gladiator?"

  Chris rolled his shoulders. "I mean, how bad could it be?"

  Luke exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face.

  Dawn looked at Luke and grinned.

  "We don’t have to partake," she said, tilting her head toward the attraction, "but I at least want to watch a few bouts. I’ve never seen a classically trained gladiator, have you?"

  Luke sighed but didn’t argue. If Dawn wanted to watch, they were watching.

  They made their way through the crowd, sticking close together as they wove between tourists and guides. Luke kept a watchful eye on his own pockets and those of his group, but thankfully, there seemed to be fewer pickpockets inside. Likely because there were plenty of places for tourists to lose their money willingly. And only one way out—back through the Street of Thieves.

  The gladiator ring itself wasn’t large. It was about the size of a slightly oversized boxing ring, with a low wooden wall on each side. Lining those walls were rows of wooden weapons—gladiuses, spears, short staffs.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  A short line of teenagers, grinning eagerly, waited their turn.

  Luke frowned. He’d expected something more… dramatic. But what stood before him was nothing more than a tourist attraction with a stage performer playing warrior.

  At least, that’s what he thought—until he saw the current match.

  A stocky boy, maybe eighteen or nineteen, stood in the ring. He gripped a wooden broadsword in the overhead stance common for katana in movies and video games—both hands high above his head, blade pointed skyward.

  Dawn immediately recognized the mistake. There were overhead stances for that kind of sword, but the one the boy was attempting wasn’t one of them. In reality, a broadsword of that weight needed to be held closer to the body, not left hanging in the air.

  Still, it was wooden, so he could manage.

  The gladiator standing across from him, however, looked entirely at ease. He wore the classic tunic and skirt, strapped-on sandals, and carried a wooden gladius and shield, the latter missing a small notch in the side—a detail so historically accurate it almost surprised her.

  The boy, on the other hand, had just thrown the padded tunic and skirt over his jeans and T-shirt. His sneakers looked out of place next to the gladiator’s period-appropriate sandals.

  A bell rang. The match began.

  The boy sprang forward, swinging wildly at the gladiator’s center mass, but his strikes met only shield and sword.

  Every time the wooden broadsword came crashing down, the gladiator simply angled his shield or parried just enough to redirect the force.

  Three strikes.

  Then four.

  By the fifth attempt, the boy was visibly slowing down.

  Dawn felt herself frowning. That wasn’t good. He was too focused on offense, putting everything into each swing without considering defense, footwork, or conservation of energy.

  It wasn’t surprising, then, when on the sixth swing, the gladiator sidestepped, caught the strike on his sword, and smoothly pivoted—whacking the boy’s ribs hard as he passed.

  The solid thunk of wood hitting padding echoed through the ring.

  The boy staggered sideways, gasping.

  The crowd cheered.

  The gladiator turned toward them, raising his sword high, miming the dripping blood gesture that ancient warriors once used to show off their kills.

  Dawn raised an eyebrow. A bit much.

  But maybe that was part of the act.

  When she looked back at the boy, she noticed his stance had shifted.

  His hand lowered on the grip, his blade angled forward rather than overhead. His feet adjusted, weight more balanced.

  And his eyes—wet with pain, but determined.

  Dawn’s grin widened.

  Oh. Maybe he wasn’t just another idiot after all.

  Luke wasn’t paying attention.

  His focus was still outside the ring, scanning the crowd.

  He hadn’t been able to confirm it yet, but he was almost sure that the woman from outside had followed them.

  Chris, meanwhile, was barely paying attention at all.

  While Dawn was invested in the fight and Luke was tracking a potential tail, Chris was entirely consumed by the smell of food.

  Something meaty, spiced, and vaguely unfamiliar lingered in the air.

  Chris was currently trying to decide if he should ask what it was before or after eating it. Or if he wanted to know at all.

  Another gasp from the crowd snapped both of them back to the match.

  The gladiator had gone on the offensive.

  The boy had parried and dodged two strikes already, and as the gladiator raised his shield to block another, the boy took advantage of the momentum—stepping into the opening, shouldering the gladiator back, and slashing down across his chest.

  The crowd erupted.

  The gladiator hit the ground.

  For a moment, everything was still.

  Then the boy whooped, gripping his sword with both hands, shaking it over his head in celebration.

  Dawn’s grin faded.

  He was being stupid again.

  Luke noticed it too.

  He sighed. "Dawn, tell me he’s not—"

  "He is," she muttered.

  The boy had completely let his guard down.

  Which meant that when the gladiator sprang to his feet in one swift motion and rushed him from behind, the only warning he got was the sharp intake of breath from the crowd.

  By the time the boy turned around, the wooden gladius was already thrusting forward.

  A perfect strike to the chest.

  The boy staggered.

  The gladiator didn’t let up.

  A slash—blocked.

  Another thrust—deflected, but barely.

  Then a third.

  Right to the ribs.

  The exact spot he had already bruised.

  The match was over.

  The boy fell to one knee, clutching his side. He tried to play it off, turning his stumble into an awkward bow.

  But Dawn knew that look.

  She knew exactly what kind of pain he was in.

  Chris, who had barely been paying attention at first, now looked at Luke, eyes wide.

  Luke was thinking the same thing.

  Chris had asked, "How bad could it be?"

  Apparently, pretty damn bad.

  The fight had been just brutal enough that Luke was certain of one thing.

  If he knew his sister and he did this fight had all but sealed her decision.

  Dawn was always drawn to conflict.

  Not in a mean way. Not in a cruel or trashy way.

  She didn’t like one-sided fights. She liked justice. She liked people getting what they deserved.

  And right now, she wasn’t so sure the gladiator deserved to win.

  Sure, beat him if you’re better. That was the point.

  But going for the already bruised ribs? Attacking while the kid’s back was turned?

  That wasn’t just ruthless. That was dishonorable.

  Luke exhaled.

  Yeah.

  Dawn was going to fight.

  And Luke was absolutely not getting in the ring

  The next challenger stepped forward.

  She was younger than the last boy, maybe seventeen, with a lean, toned build and a confident but measured expression. Unlike her friend, she didn’t hesitate at the weapon rack. Instead of the heavy broadsword, she took a gladius and shield—just like the gladiator.

  Dawn’s brows lifted slightly.

  Smart choice.

  As the girl strapped on the padded gear, Dawn noted the way she held the weapons. She knew how to grip them properly—not too tight, not too loose. Shield up, sword angled—not defensive, but poised to strike.

  She’s trained.

  Not just swinging sticks with friends, but real training. Maybe even formal lessons.

  She stepped into the ring, rolling her shoulders as she adjusted her stance. The gladiator barely reacted.

  The bell rang.

  The girl didn’t hesitate.

  She lunged immediately—fast, aggressive, closing the gap with a clean, sharp thrust aimed straight for his chest.

  The gladiator didn’t move.

  He simply angled his shield.

  Clack.

  The strike deflected harmlessly.

  The girl reset quickly, slashing at his side. This time, he tilted his sword, catching the blade lazily, pushing it aside.

  Still, she didn’t stop.

  Another thrust—sidestepped.

  Another slash—he jumped back, not even bothering to block.

  Dawn’s jaw tightened.

  He’s not even trying.

  He was reading her. Studying her.

  The girl’s attacks were sharp, clean, and precise—but too rigid.

  Like she had only ever practiced against dummies.

  She knew the forms, the movements, the execution—but not the flow of real combat.

  And the gladiator had figured that out immediately.

  Instead of fighting, he simply toyed with her.

  Five minutes passed.

  The crowd started murmuring.

  The girl attacked, again and again. He dodged, again and again.

  She was starting to tire.

  Finally, she adjusted her footing. She planted herself lower, feinted left, then thrust hard for his ribs—a clean, decisive strike.

  For the first time, the gladiator had to actually react.

  He pivoted—too late.

  The tip of her wooden gladius skimmed his padding.

  It wasn’t enough to score, but it was close.

  The gladiator’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  And then, he ended it.

  In an instant, he rolled sideways—

  A quick thrust straight into her ribs—four points.

  Before she could react, he spun back around, parrying her sword away—then a sharp slash across her torso—two points.

  She stumbled back, breath catching.

  She tried to reset, to lift her shield—but he was already moving.

  He jumped back, dodging with ease, then lunged forward in a final sharp thrust—straight to her stomach.

  Four more points.

  Ten total. Match over.

  The girl froze for a second.

  Then slowly, she exhaled, lowering her sword.

  The crowd cheered.

  The gladiator gave a small nod of respect—but nothing more.

  He hadn’t been fighting her.

  He had been playing.

  Chris let out a low whistle. "Damn, she actually lasted a while."

  Dawn folded her arms, shaking her head. "She could’ve won if he actually took her seriously."

  Luke raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"

  Dawn scoffed. "Of course. He played with her the whole time. Look at how fast he ended it the second she got close. He could’ve done that from the start."

  Chris frowned. "I mean… yeah, but she got close, right? Maybe if she had better endurance—"

  "Endurance wasn’t the issue," Dawn interrupted. "He was reading her movements the entire fight. The moment he figured out her patterns, it was over. She was too rigid, too practiced. He exploited it."

  Luke nodded slightly. "Yeah, I saw that too. He didn’t even block half the time. Just dodged."

  Chris snorted. "Sounds like a cheap way to win."

  Dawn smirked. "Sounds like a good way to win."

  Luke sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright, well, at least that’s the end of it."

  Chris turned, about to agree, but then his eyes landed on the next person stepping forward.

  The smallest of the three friends.

  The scrawny one.

  Chris’s expression fell. "Oh, no."

  Luke groaned. "Oh, yes."

  Dawn exhaled sharply. "This is about to get ugly."

  The next challenger hesitated before stepping into the ring.

  He was the smallest of the three friends, wiry and thin, barely filling out the padded tunic as he strapped it over his clothes. His grip on the gladius was unsure, fingers adjusting and readjusting as he tested its weight.

  The taller boy—the first one to fight—cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, "You’ve got this! Just play it smart! Don’t be stupid like me!"

  The scrawny boy turned, offering a small, nervous nod.

  Chris leaned over to Luke. "Should we… stop this?"

  Luke exhaled. "No. We should just brace for impact."

  Dawn didn’t comment. She was watching the gladiator.

  Something about his stance had shifted.

  The cocky grin had faded, replaced by something colder. His grip on his gladius had tightened, his muscles coiled just slightly beneath the tunic.

  He wasn’t just looking at the boy anymore.

  He was looking at all three of them.

  Dawn’s jaw clenched.

  He’s pissed.

  He had seen the group for what they were—a trio of friends, standing together—and he didn’t like it. He had crushed one, humiliated another, but now?

  Now, the last of them had stepped forward.

  And that, to him, was an insult.

  The scrawny boy finished adjusting his gear and took a breath. Instead of the heavy broadsword his friend had used, he opted for the gladius and shield—like the gladiator himself. A smart choice, but it didn’t matter.

  The bell rang.

  The boy barely had time to react before the gladiator rushed him.

  He had no interest in letting the fight play out.

  The scrawny boy lifted his shield—too late.

  The gladiator rammed into him, full force, slamming his shoulder into the boy’s chest.

  His feet left the ground.

  The crowd gasped as he hit the dirt hard, air knocked from his lungs.

  Dawn tensed.

  Luke muttered, "Yeah, this isn’t a fight. This is a message."

  The boy scrambled to his feet, gasping, but the gladiator was already moving.

  A brutal thrust to the ribs—four points.

  The boy staggered back, barely keeping his grip on his weapon. His shield dipped slightly.

  The gladiator didn’t hesitate.

  A swift, clean slash across the chest—two points.

  The boy sucked in a sharp breath.

  Dawn’s eyes flicked to the bruised spot on his ribs.

  Same place.

  He had aimed for the same exact place where the first boy had taken his worst hit.

  Chris whispered, "That’s… messed up, right?"

  Luke’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah."

  The scrawny boy gritted his teeth and lunged forward, swinging wildly.

  The gladiator angled his sword—not to parry, but to disarm.

  A flick of his wrist, a sharp tap to the boy’s gladius, and the wooden weapon went spinning to the ground.

  The boy froze, staring at his empty hands.

  Luke exhaled. "That’s game."

  The gladiator confirmed it a second later.

  A final thrust—straight to the same bruised ribs.

  Four points.

  Ten total.

  Match over.

  But he wasn’t bowing.

  He wasn’t laughing it off.

  He was standing there, fists clenched at his sides, blinking hard.

  Tears welled up in his eyes.

  Dawn looked away.

  Chris muttered, "Damn, man…"

  The boy turned, walking off stiffly, his head down.

  The first boy had lost with overconfidence.

  The girl had lost with dignity.

  The scrawny boy had lost with humiliation.

  And Dawn had seen enough.

  The line was gone.

  The remaining kids waiting had all taken one look at the last fight and silently stepped back. Some wandered off, pretending they had never been in line at all. Others murmured amongst themselves, shaking their heads.

  But one person stepped forward.

  Dawn.

  Ten-dollar bill in hand.

  The gladiator looked up.

  For the first time, his grin flickered.

  Luke felt a hum in the air.

  Then he saw it.

  That golden sheen.

  Dawn grabbed a wooden gladius from the rack, testing its weight. She didn’t ask about the rules. She didn’t hesitate.

  She stepped into the ring, locked eyes with the gladiator, and smirked.

  "Alright," she said.

  "Let’s see how you do against someone who fights back."