Rafael dipped his mop into the bucket, wringing it out slowly. As the water dripped back into the bucket, he caught his faint reflection in the floor, a distorted figure with tired green eyes and a worn uniform.
Above him, the muffled sounds of combat echoed through the mezzanine. Rafael paused, leaning on his mop as he looked up. Behind the enchanted glass barriers, gladiators trained in pairs, with their heavy movements. Spells erupted in bursts of light and sound as the energy casting shadows flickering on the marble floor below.
"Hard at it again, huh?" a voice interrupted.
Rafael turned to see Olric, a wiry older custodian, Wandering into view. He was holding a broom, but the relaxed slouch of his shoulders made it clear he didn't intend to use it anytime soon.
"What else would I be doing?" Rafael replied with a dry tone..
Olric grinned. "Day in, day out, you're always here. Makes me wonder if you secretly enjoy it."
"Yeah, I love scrubbing floors and pretending I don't exist," Rafael muttered while resuming his mopping.
"Hey, at least you're good at it," Olric joked with a widening grin. "The gladiators? They're just lucky you're keeping this place spotless. Slip on a patch of water, and bam! That champion career? Over."
"Thanks for the pep talk," Rafael said without looking up.
Olric laughed, a rough sound echoed. "I'm serious! You've got your place here, kid. It's honest work."
"And yet it doesn't stop you from slacking off," Rafael shot back.
Olric raised his hands in mock surrender. "Caught me. I'd best leave you to it, then. Wouldn't want to slow down the Arena's most dedicated janitor."
As Olric wandered off, Rafael shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Dedication. Sure."
Above, the sparring intensified. A flash of light erupted as two gladiators clashed, their weapons amplified by magic. The marble under Rafael's feet trembled faintly as the shockwave rippled outward. He looked up just in time to see Garrick, a hulking veteran with a booming voice, bark orders from the mezzanine.
"Again! Core strength, people, not brute force! You think the crowd will cheer for sloppy technique?"
Rafael watched as a trainee stumbled back with their shield barely holding against a crackling arc of lightning. The trainee scrambled to recover, their face flushed with effort and embarrassment.
"Sloppy work like that will get you killed!" Garrick shouted. "Do it again, and this time, don't embarrass yourself."
"You know, staring at them won't suddenly make you one of them," came another voice from behind.
Rafael jumped, spinning around to see a younger custodian leaning against a pillar with a smirk. The junior's uniform was freshly pressed, and his confident swagger made Rafael's stomach churn with annoyance.
"Mind your own business," Rafael said tightly.
"Oh, relax," the junior said with a chuckle. "You spend more time gawking at the gladiators than you do mopping. What, hoping some of their magic will rub off on you?"
Rafael tightened his grip on the mop but forced himself to stay calm. "I've got work to do."
"Yeah, yeah, don't let me stop you," the junior replied, strolling away with an exaggerated wave. "Try not to slip on your dreams, mop-boy."
The insult echoed in Rafael's ears as the junior disappeared into a side hallway. He stared at the mop in his hands, his grip so tight his knuckles turned white.
"It's just talk," he muttered to himself. "Ignore it."
But the sting of the words lingered, twisting in his chest. He glanced at his faint reflection again, noting the tired slump of his shoulders. The faint green glow in his eyes flickered for a moment, a brief reminder of the magic within him, magic that had never been strong enough to matter.
"You dreaming down there, janitor?"
Rafael snapped his head up, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as Garrick's voice rang out. The trainer had descended from the mezzanine, his heavy boots thudding against the marble. He crossed his muscular arms with a steely gaze fixed on Rafael.
"N-no, sir," Rafael stammered.
"Good," Garrick grunted. "Because while you're cleaning, we're building champions up there. Don't get any ideas about joining them."
"I wasn't—"
"Good," Garrick interrupted with a firm tone. "Stick to what you're good at. This arena's no place for daydreamers."
Rafael bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. Garrick gave a blunt nod and walked off
As the mezzanine emptied, Rafael leaned against his mop, watching the gladiators disappear into the upper corridors. The hum of residual magic lingered in the air, shimmering faintly in the enchanted glass barriers. For a moment, the silence felt almost oppressive.
"One day," he whispered to himself.
But even as he said the words, doubt gnawed at him. Dreams of the arena were for those with power, with talent he had never truly possessed.
As the last echoes of the arena faded, Rafael made his way down the narrow stone steps leading to the maintenance tunnels. The air grew colder and mustier with each step, the faint hum of the arena's magical systems vibrating through the walls.
His lunch break couldn't have come soon enough. He sat on an upturned crate in the dimly lit break room, pulling a simple cloth-wrapped sandwich from his bag. The room was sparse, illuminated by a flickering bulb that gave the space a sickly yellow glow.
With a sigh, Rafael unwrapped the sandwich and stared at it for a moment before taking a bite. The bread was dry, and the filling barely qualified as edible, but he chewed in silence as his thoughts were elsewhere.
Pulling a small, battered book from his pocket, he flipped it open to a page marked with a fraying ribbon. The text, written in elegant but faded script, detailed beginner-level spells, nothing flashy, just the basics of channeling and focusing magical energy.
He placed the book on the crate beside him and held out his hand. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, imagining the magic coursing through him, waiting to be unleashed. His fingers tingled faintly as he muttered the incantation under his breath with a low and steady voice.
"Come on, just a spark," he murmured.
A faint flicker of green light danced across his fingertips before sputtering out, leaving a faint wisp of smoke in its wake. Rafael groaned, slumping back against the wall.
"Still trying to light a candle, huh?"
A sharp voice came from the doorway with amusement. Rafael's eyes snapped open to see two arena workers leaning against the frame, both wearing identical smirks.
"Thought you'd have given up by now," one of them said, crossing his arms. "What is it they say? 'If you don't got it by fifteen, you're never getting it.'"
"Guess he didn't get the memo," the other added, chuckling.
Rafael clenched his fists, shoving the book into his bag. "Mind your own business."
"Oh, touchy!" the first worker said, nudging his companion. "Come on, we're just having some fun. No harm in that, right?"
"Leave me alone," Rafael muttered, rising to his feet.
The second worker gave him a mocking bow. "As you wish, oh mighty mage."
Their laughter echoed down the corridor as they left, the sound cutting deeper than Rafael wanted to admit. He leaned against the crate, exhaling shakily as the tension bled from his shoulders.
"Why do I even bother?" he whispered to himself, staring at the empty space where the sparks had fizzled out.
Because one day, he told himself. One day, it'll be more than sparks.
The words felt hollow, but he clung to them anyway, like a lifeline in the storm.
The day dragged on as Rafael returned to his duties. The maintenance checklist was relentless, having to polish the arena's grand viewing boxes, scrubbing the staircases, and ensuring the crystal windows gleamed as if untouched by the countless crowds they had seen.
By evening, the arena's energy had shifted. The training chambers were quiet now, and the crowd from the day's minor matches had long since dispersed. Rafael made his way up to the private viewing boxes, where the city's elites watched the gladiatorial spectacles.
He stepped into the first box, mop and cleaning supplies in hand. The spacious chamber was adorned with gilded trim and plush seating, its opulence a stark contrast to the grimy tunnels below. Setting his supplies down, he began wiping the crystal window that overlooked the arena.
It was still and empty now, the towering stands bathed in the faint glow of the magical barriers that lined the perimeter. Even without a match, the barriers shimmered faintly, their energy humming like a heartbeat.
Rafael paused, the cleaning rag in his hand as his eyes drifted toward the arena floor. His reflection in the crystal was faint, almost ghostly, but the view beyond was clear.
"You'll never be on the other side of that window."
The thought came unbidden as his own voice laced with bitterness. He shook his head, muttering under his breath, "No. Not tonight."
But the dream was hard to silence. He imagined himself standing on that floor, his palms crackling with magic, the roar of the crowd washing over him like a wave. For a moment, he could almost feel it, the energy, the power.
The door behind him creaked open, and he spun around, startled. One of the junior custodians stood there with a bored expression on his face.
"Still here?" the younger man asked, leaning lazily against the frame.
Rafael frowned. "I'm working. Unlike some people."
"Relax, I'm not here to pick a fight," the custodian said, raising his hands defensively. "Just checking in before I head out. You should, too. Not like anyone's gonna care if this place sparkles or not."
"I care," Rafael snapped with a sharp tone than he intended.
The younger man blinked, then shrugged. "Suit yourself." He lingered for a moment longer, then added, "You know, you could save yourself a lot of trouble if you stopped trying so hard. Nobody's watching you, janitor. Nobody cares."
The words hung in the air as the junior custodian walked away, leaving Rafael alone once more. He turned back to the crystal window, gripping the rag tightly.
"No," he whispered, his reflection glaring back at him. "I care."
Outside, the magical barriers flickered again, their glow dimming for a moment before surging back to life. Rafael stared at the empty arena floor, his breath fogging the glass.
One day, he thought, his chest tightening with determination. One day, I'll stand there, too.
He pulled the rag across the glass one final time, ensuring it was spotless, then gathered his supplies and left the viewing box. Behind him, the shimmering dome of magic pulsed faintly.