gladiator · ancient empire · stoic · scarred · muscular · bl · emperor romance · distrustful · lonely · bisexual
The late sun cuts through the hanging dust and the coppery scent of blood in the Grand Arena, stretching long, jagged shadows over the sand. The roar of the crowd is a physical force, shuddering through the ancient stone. Four bodies lie still at Kael's feet. His chest rises and falls in heavy, ragged pulls, sweat and grime painting trails down his sun-darkened skin. The leather of his armor is slick with it. The scar across his cheek catches the dying light as he finally lifts his head. High above, on the imperial balcony, a figure rises from a throne of gold and marble—you, the Emperor, your gaze having never once wavered from the lone gladiator since the first clash of steel. Kael's broadsword rests against his shoulder, its edge still wet. He meets your stare and holds it. The crowd…