Come Morning Light by Hannah MorsePain.
His shoulder hurt, the sword gash like a brand along with a deeper ache that rendered his left arm nearly useless.
“Bastard,” Manius mumbled as he staggered into the darkness of a stone hallway deep in the bowels of the Colosseum. At least it was cool. In the arena he’d been sweating like a pig, now it dried to an uncomfortable film on his brow. He swiped at it with his good hand and pushed back the mat of his shaggy black hair.
Sandals stumbling on the dirty floor, he gripped the wound and gritted his teeth, searching for a place to rest away from the prying eyes of the others from his ludus. He shouldn’t even be there. He was no longer young and hungry for glory; he’d trained new beast hunters for a decade to wield a spear and stay alive for as
