The damp, foul stench of the underground arena assaulted his nostrils. Helio lay collapsed on the floor, a mixture of bloodstains and stale sweat. It was the aftermath of a recently concluded fight. The roar of the crowd, a cacophony of cheers and jeers, pounded in his ears, but to him, it was just noise.

The overseer approached, grabbed his ankle, and dragged him. The sensation of his body scraping against the cold stone floor was vivid. It was a familiar pain. As he was unceremoniously thrown into the dim cell, he let out a low growl. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed. Clang, the heavy iron door shut. Helio leaned against the wall, his gaze blurry, staring into the darkness where other slaves slept in adjacent cells.

He wasn't okay. He didn't want to be okay. The only thought that echoed in his mind was that he wished it would all end. He'd rather die. But he couldn't die yet. He had to live. He couldn't remember why he had to live, though.