She was in another house now with her Dominus, 5 years having passed since fate had taken unfortunate turn. She stood behind him with another body slave, head bent and mind numb.

She was a young woman now, unaware of her pull and beauty. No house slave at her dominus' was allowed to see self in mirror, her master believing the ill will of the gods would descend upon his fortune if such a thing occured. A cruel, superstitious man, he firmly held his slaves as bringers of bad luck and as a result, there was little they were allowed to do absent his consent.

Braiding her dark locks every night, she imagined if she looked like her mother. She would grow her hair long and tie it exactly as she remembered her mother did, casting it to the side. She tried to make out the color of her eyes in the reflection of water or a passing pond, but there was only little she could see staring back. Whether she had willed it through prayer or not, but her eyes stood as her mother's, blue and soft, sometimes filling with a resonating kindness that was so rare to find in that world.

Now they stood empty.

Laurus was sitting with the town's magistrate, taking his time to toll over a game of latrones, their mouths voicing gossip and curses she held no concern for.

She contented herself by staring at the pieces on the board. They were so beautiful, carved to perfection. With her eyes she traced the contours of the castle, the pawns, her attention caught by the hard angles of the knight upon horse. The pieces kept moving as her master deemed necessary, some thrown carelessly aside as the game progressed.

I am just like them, she thought.

A piece in this world, to be claimed or thrown away at leisure, without any consequence to follow. No different than this wooden knight, she mused. The same hard angles had been built inside her to shield her from feeling all pain so callously inflicted.

Her heart jolted as the knight was struck to the side as her master shouted in triumph.

He did not notice her look of revulsion and continued on with his boisterous conversation. For a moment she was drawn in before idle mind took up another subject to fix gaze and thoughts upon.

They talked of the games.

What games? There were no games but those on the streets in Sinuessa.

She listened intently as the magistrate spoke of city far away from her home.

Capua.

'The largest arena in the Republic? Truthfully?' Laurus sneered in disbelief.

'Upon my honor. While we sit idle content with a game of indoor latrones, other cities have taken upon reveling in gladiator sport.'

'A thing I long to set eyes upon!' Laurus exclaimed, 'The blood of these shit eating slaves upon the sands is hardly an opportunity to let amiss.'

'I couldn't agree more, old friend. Although I do hear of tale of one granted freedom upon opening day.'

'Freedom?' Laurus snarled in disgust, 'For what purpose? It stands utter blasphemy to even speak of such for these ignoble creatures!'

'The first champion of Capua they called him, I forget his name. They speak of him as a golden god upon the sands.'

Laurus scoffed, 'A slave can never be a god, their place is forever in shackles and lash.'

Pausing, he added, 'That city shall soon learn lesson from its mistakes of lending such ill placed honor upon these foulsome beings.'

'Of that I have no doubt,' the magistrate let out a laugh, 'Although tale doees inspire need to see the games for once and to behold such a marvel as the man who stood champion.'

'Champions are but myths, if I was to ever cross paths with this man, rest assured I would see him to his true place.'

'As I know you shall,' the magistrate returned with good humor, 'I have grown accustomed to recognize your slaves by means of fear transpiring from them. It would be a shame if you made an exception for any other.'

Laurus laughed, seeming pleased with this reputation.

'God or not, freedom means shit with marks of slavery carved so deep within their loathsome souls. Despite the glory this tale offers, his place as well as the place of all these fucking shits,' he glanced at Sibyl and the body slave, 'Is beneath my heel.'

'This one shudders easy,' the magistrate raised his eyebrows, eyeing Sibyl.

'Barely notice this one any more. She is as a shadow, one I don't concern self with, yet her body is a prize I deal with occasionally. She has brought me great profits upon day.' Laurus replied with a malicious smile.

Sibyl felt the wind knocked out of her as he grabbed her roughly, 'Fetch more wine, vermon.'

He pushed her away, her quick steps taking her away from their satisfied laughter at her terrified demeanor.

Her heart always beated faster when her master cursed at her, yet she suspected cause of such was not the same as old.

It was this man they spoke of.

The golden god.

The gladiotor who won his freedom upon the sands.

Sibyl swallowed, her throat constricting with the thought.

This man roamed free right this moment, she thought, his days as a slave long forgotten, his eyes bright with thoughts of a future he can now have.

Something denied her.

She was a mere body slave, a woman. What chance did she hold of earning her freedom?

She was no gladiator.

The tiny shimmer of hope she always kept alive suddenly grew dim.

She was caught in a dream and the light was fading, her eyes darting to the reality of a life unattainable. She envisioned a gladiator in the distance, golden haired, reaching towards the horizon, beckoning her to follow, but her feet stood still as stone.

She could not even see his face in the light, yet he was glorious.

Envy.

That was all Sibyl felt towards Gannicus that day.

The man who would become her everything.