It had been a while since Asprenas and his two classmates had entered the Circus Maximus.
They'd weaved through the throng of sweaty, noisy bodies with the ease of experts until they reached their designated seats.
The rest of their classmates were already there, mingling with noble boys and girls Asprenas recognized.
Then, his attention snapped to the arena—drawn instantly to the fight between the murmillo and the thracian—both gladiators—as he sat down.
The air reverberated with a deafening crash as the two gladiators' weapons collided, the sound of shattering steel echoing through the arena.
BOOM BOOM BOOM
He couldn't help but shout—momentarily forgetting Caligula, who was supposed to be trailing behind them.
Asprenas cheered, immediately joining the roaring crowd.
His blood surged with excitement.
Then the fast-moving thracian stepped back, danced around the heavy, sturdy shield of the murmillo, looking for a way to attack.
"Gracchus! Gracchus!" The well-built murmillo roared in response to his name being called.
He charged forward, relying on brute strength and his shield to try and overpower his opponent.
But his shield only met the sandy arena.
"Atticus! Atticus!" And the agile thracian used his speed and agility to dodge and weave around Gracchus's relentless attacks, sending sand flying everywhere as they clashed.
Sand clung to their sweaty bodies, but the two gladiators in a one-on-one match didn't seem to care.
Their weapons—odd-shaped swords and curved shields—crashed with ferocity.
Gracchus aimed for a power strike, looking for a decisive blow.
But Atticus was too quick.
Even with gaps in his defense, if Gracchus couldn't land a hit, he couldn't win.
The murmillo shifted his stance, let out a guttural roar, then dropped into a defensive position—baiting Atticus to attack.
Asprenas leaned forward, more invested than ever.
He had always appreciated the artistry in bloodshed.
The grace, the skill—others saw only brutality. But he saw choreography. Intention.
The crowd erupted as the thracian lunged, spinning away after a feint.
Another roar as Atticus struck again, the murmillo staggering back, his shield buckling.
Blood had been drawn.
"Raaaahhhh!" Asprenas screamed, totally forgetting about Caligula.
"Where's your cursed friend Caligula?" one of his classmates from the Plautii family asked, voice barely audible through the crowd.
Asprenas's head whipped around. "What?"
The boy gestured to the empty seat. "He's not here."
Asprenas frowned. 'That brat…'
His eyes scanned the benches—no Caligula.
'Huh. Maybe he's with his slave?'
He muttered a response, "Probably with his slave."
"Not there either," the classmate said, pointing to the upper tiers where the slaves sat.
Asprenas's gaze swept over the slaves. The ones who'd come with them were there.
But not Caligula.
The crowd's chant—"Blood! Blood! Blood!"—faded into a dull roar.
'Where is he?'
His mind wandered back to the day his father had returned home.
He'd been in the academy, just a boy on vacation, when his father—a senator—had walked in after a day spent in Agrippina's political procession in the Roman forum.
Asprenas remembered the dry, stern look his father had given him when he asked if he remembered Gaius Germanicus, now Caligula.
Of course, he remembered. He had known him since infancy.
Then came the request.
Agrippina had asked for Asprenas to reinstate the bond they'd once shared.
It seemed simple enough, at first.
'Agrippina must have had political motives', Asprenas thought.
"Soon, her sons will take the throne," his father had said.
He'd urged Asprenas to rekindle the connection with Caligula.
"It wouldn't hurt," his father said. "It might even be useful in the future."
'Foolish.'
Asprenas hadn't wanted to. He'd tried to avoid it, but his father's word was law.
And so, he'd played the part.
Charming. Entertaining. Drawing Caligula out of his silence, his oddities.
And now? After all that effort? Caligula wasn't even here.
"Tch. Just stay here—I'll be back," Asprenas muttered, rising abruptly and moving toward the entrance of the Circus Maximus.
He debated asking the slaves, but the thought repulsed him.
The filth. The stench.
'What if someone sees me?'
'My reputation…'
Instead, he leaned against a column, arms crossed, pretending to search the crowd.
Find him in this sea of bodies? Fat chance.
He'd wait. Let the minutes pass. Maybe Caligula had returned to their seat.
Then in his peripheral vision he saw it. He whipped his head.
Golden hair, catching the sun. Shimmering, even in chaos.
The sharp contrast of it against the mass of moving people made Asprenas's chest tighten.
He barely noticed the fight continuing—the murmillo had been taken down, the crowd going wild, who cares?
He studied Caligula from a distance. 'What's so great about you?'
He couldn't help but admit it—Caligula did look… wonderful.
Extraordinary.
People glanced. Stared. Paused just to look at him.
It wasn't just bloodline. It was something else.
But then Asprenas realized. 'He's trembling.'
Caligula's shoulders shuddered, his hand trying to hold on to something—someone.
His whole body was shaking.
The realization hit Asprenas like a slap in the face. His brow furrowed, and his heart tightened.
He was about to move in and help.
Suddenly, a boy—no older than sixteen—pulled Caligula through the crowd.
Asprenas blinked. 'What?'
The boy. He looked like a slave. With that visible brand on his face.
Not the usual Roman features.
His skin was darker, and he carried himself with an unusual, confident grace.
Like a big cat.
There was something about him—his face, the way he moved—that made Asprenas pause.
'What's this?'
And then the unthinkable happened—Caligula's hand shot out. Not just one hand—two hands—wrapped around the slave's forearms.
Asprenas's lip curled in disgust. A slave. A slave? 'What was going on?'
He narrowed his eyes. The boy… he really looked familiar.
There was something about him. Asprenas couldn't place it.
Sun-kissed skin. Not Roman. Maybe... Nubian?
His skin was a bit light to be pure, though.
Then he remembered—years ago, the Aemilii family parading a dark woman from the Cornelii family.
Marcus Aemilius, stupid and clueless. He just thought his wife's color was rare.
Not remembering the color of the Nubian slaves.
Well, because the Corneliis told him his wife was a descendant of a royal from the East, was it?
An obvious lie.
'Idiot.' he silently mocked Marcus Aemilius.
Eastern people's color is yellow, not black. When he found that out, he was livid.
'How far have the Cornelii sunk? Mixing blood with slaves?' Asprenas thought with distaste. 'Look at that now. An Aemilii family bastard.'
He couldn't hold back. His curiosity, his frustration—it all boiled over.
"Raaaahhhh!! Gracchussss!!!" While the crowd was getting wild, Asprenas's mood was darkening.
He pushed his way through the crowd, taking in one last look at the slave's handsome face before he approached the now-separated Caligula.
Asprenas's fingers shot out, grabbing Caligula's arm.
"Are you alright?" he demanded, his voice rough with irritation.
***********************************
'Lepidus.' Caligula said his name on his mind—and unlike the usual jumble of his thoughts, the name flowed clearly.
'That face—it's Lepidus?.' He can't believe it.
A moment of clarity.
A moment of colors coming back even for a second.
Those eyes. Like he was staring straight into Caligula's soul.
But then—
A surge of people jostled past, loosening Caligula's grip on Lepidus's forearm.
Taking him with them like a wave.
Then a hand shot out from the crowd—before his brain could catch up.
Grabbed him. Pulled him. Breaking their eye contact.
Not cruel. Not rough. Just… warm. Steady.
The crowd's roar—which had felt suspended when he was standing face to face with Lepidus—resumed all at once.
Like the world that stopped for a heartbeat started to flow again.
The smell that he almost forgot started to assault his nose.
It didn't smell great—sweat, food, oil, dust. The smell of mint is gone.
He felt like vomiting.
All teeth and thunder, like wolves howling for blood.
Caligula blinked, heart galloping, eyes darting—too many faces, too many shadows melting into grey.
Everything blurred again. His world resumed rotating.
He squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun pounding down on the arena.
A pressure on his arm jolted him out of whatever storm had swallowed him whole.
Caligula turned sharply—Lepidus was gone. Lost in the crowd like a dropped coin.
But beside him stood… Asprenas?
Caligula furrowed his brow.
That familiar gait—yes, it was him.
The arrangement of his hair—too neat. Impossibly neat.
His toga, crisp. Not a crease out of place.
How? When people were shoving left and right, crashing like waves on stone.
"Raaaahhhh!! Gracchussss!!!" the crowd roared, calling the murmillo's name.
"Are you alright?" Asprenas asked, gripping his arm tighter.
The voice pulled him back. Cut through the haze.
Caligula didn't answer. His head snapped back to where Lepidus had been. That face—he had seen it.
Clearly.
For once, clearly. Not the blur his cursed eyes usually gave him.
Green eyes. Straight nose. A strong, defined jaw with sharp angles.
Youthful. Soft, but already shaped by something sharper underneath.
Like he hadn't yet grown into the man he would become—but Caligula could already see the shape of it.
Thin lips. And those eyes. He had looked right into him.
It was as if—for one second—he wasn't broken.
"I thought I saw someone," Caligula murmured, distant.
Asprenas followed his gaze lazily. "No one important. Come, another fight's about to start."
But Caligula hesitated. 'But he was important.'
He didn't understand it, but he felt it in his chest. A pressure. An ache. A pull.
He touched his arm—the spot where Lepidus had steadied him.
He could still feel the warmth.
It lingered.
And then he realized Asprenas was still holding him.
Caligula pulled his arm away, sharply.
He didn't like Asprenas's hands.
Except him. Only him.
Why?
Why did it feel wrong?
Why did the same hand—same gesture—make him want to recoil?
'Why do I feel so disappointed with Asprenas?'
He'd known him since infancy. His childhood friend.
They even crawled on the same grass together, didn't they?
Someone he knew.
So he should feel safe with Asprenas. Although… he couldn't remember all of that.
But Lepidus—a boy he barely knew—barely remembered from his fractured haze—felt like… a shelter.
He had only just met him on the forum. And today.
Although… a flicker of a half-formed memory surfaced.
Vague shapes in the periphery.
A sense of being watched when the world swam around him.
A feeling of… being seen, even in his brokenness.
Like calm in the chaos.
Like breath after drowning.
How could a mere boy make him feel safe—and another, his friend, make him feel so uncomfortable?
Shouldn't he feel safer with Asprenas?
He was supposed to know him. So it made sense to trust him.
But now, Caligula only felt cold.
He looked at the crowd again, trying to find Lepidus.
Gone.
Asprenas was still speaking beside him, but Caligula barely heard it.
His mind kept echoing the same thought:
'It feels like I've known him forever.'
But it felt… strangely familiar. Like a half-forgotten dream. A melody he couldn't quite place.
It felt impossible to have known those green eyes from before.
A deep, unsettling pull toward a stranger—And a sudden, inexplicable distance from someone he had always relied on.
The logic of it twisted and turned in his confused mind, offering no easy answers.
***********************************
INDEX:
Nubian- an ancient region along the Nile River in what is now southern Egypt and northern Sudan. Known for its rich culture and history.