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"You have control over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength."

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—•—

That evening, the sun was almost at the point of setting; sitting low in the sky, casting long shadows across Rome. It sent glimmering rays of gold that glittered along the surface of the Tiber river.

The colosseum was bathed in the early evening sunshine, teeming with life as crowds filed through its narrow doors, filling the stands. The grand building took resemblance of a beehive; arched and curved, with walls of sandy stone. The plebeians and aristocrats were the bees; entering the hive eagerly, buzzing amongst themselves as the sun slowly lowered above them.

Inside the colosseum, within the highest box overlooking the entire arena, sat the emperor of the Roman Empire. The front window of the box was covered in an almost sheer curtain; a baby blue covering to obscure the royalty from the prying eyes of the growing crowd.

However, if they could see in, they would be met with quite an interesting spectacle.

A forlorn Emperor George sat in the large, golden seat in the front-middle of the box. He rested his head against his fist, with his elbow and arm propped up against the armrest. His eyes were downcast as he gazed at the fluttering sheet in front of him, and he absentmindedly picked at the matching light blue fabric of his toga.

He appeared paler than usual, and his kohl pronounced his saddened eyes even more. His hair, as fluffy as usual, appeared tousled; as though his hands had been running through it constantly. The emperor tapped his foot anxiously against the floor, bouncing his knee, feeling the slight, warm-smelling breeze that was carried beneath the curtain.

Beside him, in a similar but smaller chair, sat Karl. He looked the part; regal and sophisticated, dressed in fabrics of purple and blue and green. His neck and wrists glittered with jewels, the colours and pure essence of Roman wealth. In his right hand, a fan, made of peacock feathers and flapping lazily. In his left, holding another mans hand.

The other mans hand belonged to Sapnap. Sitting on a chair similar to Karl's, the gladiator still wore his leather pleated skirt and soft cotton tunic, with a strip of white cloth tied around his head. He gripped Karl's hand in his right hand protectively, and held the top of his axe in his left; all the while whispering something to Karl which George was probably glad that he couldn't hear (judging by Karl's giggles, anyway).

What was strange about this wasn't the emperors sad state, or his friend and his lover, but the group of plebeians behind him.

Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo and Quackity sat behind the trio on tall wooden stools, chatting amongst each other and taking advantage of the working servants; ordering way too much food for the five of them. (Another stool was there, but empty, reserved for Zephyr who was yet to arrive).

Yet, they didn't look like plebeians.

Wilbur, dressed in a beige toga; Tommy, dressed in a red toga; Tubbo, dressed in a yellow toga; Ranboo, dressed in a black and white toga; and Quackity, who's toga was a deep navy.

Phil and Kristin also sat in the box, but towards the edge, where they sat together on plush chairs away from the ruckus of the adolescent boys throwing food at each other.

Ten minutes go by before, right on schedule, trumpets sound, echoing through the colosseum. Schlatt enters the room as the crowd beyond the box began to holler.

"You know the plan, your majesty?" Schlatt bowed after walking up to George.

George nodded bitterly. "You are to announce all of the games, with the exception of one. I'll be announcing the final fight."

"Excellent. Does anyone have any objections to this schedule?" Schlatt voiced into the box, met only with silence.

With that, he clasped his hands together, before turning to the curtain and ripping it away. It fluttered out and down into the crowd, with several plebeians screaming and scrambling to snatch it up.

"Good evening, people of Rome!" Schlatt announced, and the crowd responded with excited cheers. "Welcome to the Colosseum, where some of the known worlds greatest fighters will battle it out in hopes of winning their freedom."

After waiting for the crowd to die down, Schlatt cast a side-long glance at George, as if debating something. Yet, he must have cast the thought aside as he spoke back to the crowd.

"All fights, in honour of our great Emperor George, will be to the death!"

And as the crowd erupted into shouts and cheers, guilt nestled into the pit of George's stomach. There was nothing he could to do to change Schlatt's decision and, even if he did, that would mean turning half of Rome against him.

Schlatt waved towards the crowd. "Let the first fight commence!"

—•—

Dream stood uncomfortably in a new cell, listening to the grinding of metal coming from down the hall, where his sword was being sharpened for battle. The cell he was shoved into beneath the colosseum was a lot smaller than his back at the ludus. He could barely stand up straight.

His ankles, bound in the usual shackles, ached and all of his muscles were riddled with pain. The previous night, and that day, Dream spent his time training under the strict discipline of Schlatt.

Over and over again the blond gladiator would train, until his old wounds opened and his entire body was slick with perspiration.

Now, Zephyr applied thick ointment to the reopened slashes on his back. The ointment smelled of aniseed, and Dream held back a disgusted wretch at the scent.

After tending to those wounds, Zephyr helped Dream into his armour, all in relative silence, only punctuated by the sharpening of his sword beyond and the aggressive crowd above. Zephyr would flinch slightly as the two gladiators in combat above would grapple almost directly overhead.

Once Dream was decked out in his tunic, and leather and metal armour, Zephyr stepped back with her hands on her hips.

"Can I get a peek?" Zephyr asked and Dream spluttered.

"What?"

"Of your face," Zephyr nodded at his mask. "I wanna see if my Dreamy is as handsome as I think."

Dream scoffed, shaking his head. "Zeph, sorry to break it to you, but I'm not interested... in you, I mean."

"Neither am I, big boy, I just wanna see your face," Zephyr winked. "Besides; I like girls."

Dream laughed timidly, before unbuckling his mask and pulling it away from his face.

He didn't know why he did it.

If it was anyone else asking, he would have adamantly refused.

But, it was Zephyr. He trusted Zephyr.

Zephyr reached up to Dream's face, running the tips of her fingers delicately along one of the many scars that ran vertically down his face.

Dream closed his eyes as if scared to see her reaction, but she just patted him fondly on the cheek, before taking the mask out of Dream's hands and admiring it for herself.

"You're a handsome boy, Dreamy," She handed Dream his mask back. "Thank you for trusting me and showing me your face."

Dream buckled his mask back onto his face just as the crowd roared above him.

A guard appeared only a moment later, unlocking the door and ordering Zephyr to leave; for her time was up and she was expected in the emperors box.

She turned to Dream for a long moment, eyes lingering through the slits in his mask where she could see his remarkable green eyes.

"He really misses you, you know."

Dream huffed. "Sure he does."

"He does. He really doesn't want you to do this."

"I have no choice, Zeph."

"I know... just, stay safe, alright?" Zephyr nodded, backing out of the cell. "And, for gods sake, you better fucking win."

Dream chuckled as he was once again locked within his cell. "I'll try my best."

—•—

The sky was ominously dark by the time Dream was escorted from his cell and out into the blacksmiths quarters. He was handed his sword, polished and sharp like the tooth of a metal lion, and he gave it a swing, watching it impressively swoop through the air.

All too soon, he was ushered up several flights of narrow, claustrophobia-inducing stairwells, and into a room with a sandy floor and barely any light. The large door at the end of the room told Dream wordlessly that they would open and present him to half of Rome.

The room was chillingly cold, with the breeze blowing under the large door, and through the cracks in the wood. He stepped towards the doors and pressed his eye to it, looking through a gap. Beyond the wooden door was a metal gate, that would also lift.

Double security, Dream thought as he looked down and away from the door, noticing the blood staining the ground.

"Now, what you've all be waiting for: the final fight of the night! Like the previous fights, the winner will earn their freedom if their ludus approves of it and the loser will succumb to a death within the mighty colosseum!" Came Schlatt's voice. "I present to you, Emperor George, who is graciously going to announce the final fight."

Dream swallowed nervously as George began to speak, and his scalp prickled with guilt; his stomach flipping in anxiety.

"For our final fight, the first fighter to enter the ring tonight is one of the most feared and respected gladiators in all of Italia. After a short period of time away from the ring, he has returned. People of Rome, please welcome... Nightmare!"

Dream heard the metal gates open as the crowd erupted. Then, the wooden door followed, allowing Dream to step out. The coolness of the night greeted him with a breeze, edged with ice. The moon also greeted him with a full, white face, glowing in the sky like the side of a silver coin.

"And his opponent, one that he is very familiar with. The reigning champion, and the best gladiator in all of Gaul, please welcome, The Blood God!"

Fuck, Dream cursed as the doors on the other side of the arena clanked open, revealing the Blood God. He stepped into the arena in his usual fighting attire; wearing his signature boar head and painted in the colours of his Gaulish tribe.

The duo of fighters met in the middle of the arena, bowing to each other under the scrutiny of the Roman crowd. Dragging his axe, the Blood God smiled sinisterly at Dream.

"It's lovely to see you again, Nightmare." The Blood God muttered, exiting the bow.

"And you as well, Blood God." Dream replied, turning to look up at the box.

The Blood God lifted his axe, pointing it at the emperor, who was gripping the edge of the box with white knuckles.

"We, who are about to die, salute you!" The Blood God called.

"We, who are about to die, salute you!" Dream shouted, pointing his sword at George.

Then, as if time slowed down, Dream saw something. George looked down at him, worry in his eyes, despair moulded into his features.

Please don't do this, George mouthed silently, words only for Dream.

Dream, subtly, shook his head and lowered his eyes. A silent gesture: I'm sorry.

George, utterly defeated, lifted his head and held it high, announcing to the audience a sentence that made Dream's stomach flip with nervous fervour.

"Let the final games commence!"

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Hey homies, this is an authors note!

L o l

It probably won't get worse than this... or will it MWAHAHAHA

This chapters question/statement: can you speak more than one language? if so, what are they?— and if not, what language(s) would you like to learn?

Also, chapters might be a bit less frequent/updated a bit slower cause school is really kicking me in the arse rn— sorry, but I'll try my best! :] (thank you for all your support<3)

Until next time,

Blue :)