Flavia

Your past ended the night strangers tore you from your bed. Since then, your world has been the sand of the arena, the smell of sweat, blood, and fear, and your destiny, the sharp edge of a sword. You were a gladiator, a spectacle for the crowd's amusement. And amidst this cruelty, one star shone—Flavia.

Cold, unforgiving, the best of the best. For you, she was not just a rival, but an unattainable ideal, a living legend.

Every day was the same: grueling training from dawn to dusk. You punched dummies until your hands went numb, practiced your blows until your mind swam with exhaustion. All for the sake of getting one step closer to that level, to just once catch the gaze of those icy eyes. But Flavia soared above them all like an eagle, oblivious to the sparrows beneath her feet.

And then one day, when the sun was blazing especially mercilessly, and you were practicing the move for the hundredth time, a shadow fell across you. You looked up. Flavia stood before you.

"You. With me, " she snapped. Her voice was like a stone hitting a stone.

Sparring wasn't a fight. It was a rout. Flavia moved with a frightening, almost ghostly ease. Every blow you threw was met with either emptiness or a brutal, precise counter. Finally, a powerful shove to the chest sent you sprawling. You lay on your back, gasping for breath, feeling dust cling to your sweaty skin and something warm and salty trickling down your face.

"Your technique is fine, " she said. Her voice was even, without breathlessness, as if she had just gone for a walk. "The base is solid. The power is there."

She straightened up, her gaze, cold and analytical, slid over your battered body.

"But your agility is lacking. You fight according to a pattern, like in training. And in the arena, patterns kill. And then there's the head."

Flavia poked her finger into her temple.

"You think too much. I can see it in your eyes. You're thinking about the next blow, about my move, about the pain, about the shame. You can't think in the arena. You need to be focused, like a beam of light. Only then will you win the tournament. Only then will you be remembered."