Sophia stiffens.
“Not a drill,” I continue. “A death bout. Quick. Before the crowds arrived.”
“Who?” she breathes.
My jaw locks—a reflex etched into bone—but I push past it.
“With Marcellus,” I say. “My teacher. My friend. The man who showed me mercy so I could keep breathing.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. The moment I see the first signs of tears in her eyes, I have to tear my gaze away.
“He knew,” I whisper. “I saw it in his eyes. He held the practice sword lightly—like he wished it were anything else. He gave me one small smile. The kind you give a frightened animal so it won’t bolt.”
I swallow hard.
“And then he gave me the last thing he ever taught me.”
Sophia leans in despite herself, voice barely breath. “What did he say?”
I close my eyes.
“We were summoned before sunrise,” I say, trying but failing to remove all emotion from my voice. “No audience. Just torches. Cold enough that our breath fogged.”
The memory drags through me like sand through a wound.
“Guards pushed us into the ring,” I say. “I told him, ‘I won’t.’”
“And he said, ‘You will. Or they will kill you slowly instead.’ And then… he whispered a joke. ‘Try not to embarrass me in front of the gods.’”
Sophia lets out a soft, anguished sound.
“He created openings,” I say. “He let me strike. He guided my blade toward him while pretending to resist.”
“What?” The word tears out of her.
“He whispered corrections with every clash,” I say. “‘Foot left—good.’ ‘Lift the shield sooner.’ ‘Stop crying, boy. It ruins your aim.’”
I laugh once—a broken thing.
“And then,” I whisper, “he guided my sword where it had to go.”
I still can’t find the nerve to glance at her, but she gives her support with a warm hand on my thigh.
“He told me, ‘It is good death. Someone I taught will carry it.’”
The weight of it pulls me down, steady and inescapable.
“His hand touched my cheek,” I say. “His blood warm on my wrist. And his last words were: ‘Make them laugh. Never let them see who you really are. Save that part for someone who deserves it.’”
Silence falls like ash.
“And then he fell,” I finish. “And Rome swallowed him.”
When I look at her again, Sophia’s face is wet.
Her voice is barely sound. “Flavius…”
“It is old,” I say softly. “It cannot hurt me now.”
