Two Years Earlier

The guttural roar of the crowd echoed through the sandstone amphitheater, mingling with the acrid tang of burning incense and the iron scent of blood in the air. Selene’s blade caught the dying light of the dusty sun as she sidestepped her opponent’s lunge, the cheers swelling around her like a tidal wave threatening to pull her under. She was faster. She had always been faster.

The man before her, a mountain of muscle draped in crimson feathers and jagged bronze plates, snarled as he stumbled forward, his weapon—a grotesque mace adorned with jaguar teeth—slamming into the arena floor. Selene’s emerald tunic fluttered in the dry wind as she pivoted, the woven threads streaked with the grime of combat but vibrant still, an echo of the jungle canopy she’d once called home. Her bronze greaves caught the sunlight, casting thin, shifting beams as she circled him, tightening the noose with every step.

"Feathered serpent give me strength!" the man bellowed, invoking one of the gods that had long deserted these blood-soaked sands. His eyes burned with desperation, but Selene could see it—the flicker of fear beneath the fury. They all feared her by the end.

Selene jabbed her obsidian dagger toward him, testing his guard. He bared his teeth but didn’t advance. The crowd chanted her name now, the syllables of it twisting in the guttural language of the Empire. They drenched her in glory, oblivious to how hollow it all felt inside. To them, she was a predator—an avatar of death made flesh, bedecked in the jungle-green tunic of their mythical heroes. Yet Selene knew she wasn’t a conqueror. She was a slave, a tool sharpened and discarded by forces far beyond her control.

The jungle was alive with the song of cicadas when Selene first heard the shrill cries of the raiders. She had crouched among the thick ferns, her mother’s woven sash clutched in her hand, the colors of the embroidery as vivid as a rainbow after the rains. The colors had once been comforting—evoking images of festival dancing beneath moonlight—but that day, they would betray her. The raiders saw her in an instant, dragging her from the foliage with jeers and sneers. Her mother’s screams had faded quickly behind her, replaced by the clamor of the iron-clad warriors who hauled her away to the capital.

The first days in the city were a blur—gilded spires rising into the sky like the gods had frozen lightning, grand plazas teeming with life, and deep, labyrinthine dungeons that reeked of despair. They threw her into training pits and warned her that every drop of water, every feast of roasted maize, was conditional. Her survival depended on one talent: killing.

"You must carve your name into the stones of the arena," demanded Ek-Chuah, her gaunt-faced trainer with scars tracing his cheeks like fractals. "If you falter, the Empire will carve it for you—on your grave."

For months, Selene wrestled with the weight of her captors' expectations. Her agility, honed from years spent threading through jungle underbrush, lent itself to deadly precision. But her heart rebelled. It rebelled against the cruelty that demanded she kill others like her—those enslaved and stolen from their homes, bound by chains both iron and abstract.

The Turning Point

Her latest opponent’s scream pulled Selene back to the present—a near-fatal mistake. The mace barely missed her, the wind of its swing brushing the exposed side of her arm. Instinct had saved her yet again. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the man’s heavy breathing, the sag in his shoulders. He was powerful but cumbersome. Sweat coated his brow, and anger fueled his every move. Selene, too light to endure his strength head-on but quick enough to dance circles around him, allowed herself a hint of pity before moving in for the kill.

A sudden burst of color flashed to her right—a child running along the stands, no more than six, wrapped in a brilliant emerald scarf. Selene froze. For the first time in an eternity, she saw herself. Not as a warrior. Not as the legendary gladiator who had won twenty bouts in a row. Just as she had been: a girl lost amid chaos, clutching at the fragile remnants of a life now far beyond her reach.

An Unforeseen Choice

Her opponent seized the opportunity, rushing at her with a guttural cry. But Selene let her dagger fall to the arena floor. The collective gasp of the crowd rose like a wave crashing against the cliffs. Her opponent hesitated, his eyes flickering between her and the enraptured crowd.

"Do it," she whispered, voice steady yet devoid of emotion. "Before they demand you finish this."

The man’s weapon wavered. His breath hitched. "What are you doing?" he hissed, risking the wrath of the overseers by speaking.

"I refuse," Selene murmured. "I won’t kill another for their amusement."

The commotion in the stands was deafening now—boos, jeers, and the rhythmic pounding of feet against stone. Overseers in jaguar pelts began converging on the pit, their obsidian-studded whips gleaming under the fading sunlight. The man’s eyes met hers for one extended moment, and without a word, he flipped his weapon upside down to strike the earth. A gesture of submission.

The Aftermath

The penalties were swift and ruthless. Selene was dragged into the bowels of the coliseum, chained and bloodied for her disobedience. But as dawn broke the next day, she found herself surprisingly calm. In defiance of expectation, another chant echoed from the streets above. It wasn’t the jeers she had heard moments after her rebellion—it was a new rallying cry. Her name being sung once again, this time with awe. Her act of defiance had rekindled a dormant flame within the people, daring them to question the gods they so blindly revered.

Selene, bruised but unbroken, leaned back against the cold stone of her cell, staring at the sliver of sunlight creeping through the bars. They may have taken everything from her—her freedom, her family, her past—but for the first time, she felt something stir within her chest.

Hope.

Genre: Historical Fiction (Inspired by Pre-Colonial Mesoamerica)

The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: THIS is how incredibly SUCCESSFUL people THINK: Proven Strategies

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