Page 53 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

Hours later, the truck rumbles at less than ten miles an hour along back roads choked with underbrush, a risk we accept since it’s within a two-mile radius of Potosi.

Once we reach the mine entrance, we conceal the vehicle beneath a thick pile of brush. It’s served its purpose in getting us this far. I’ll contact Joseph. I imagine one of his men will come retrieve it. From here, we travel light and quiet.

The mine entrance looks exactly as I imagined it, concealed behind decades of vegetation. To casual observers, it’s just another sealed shaft in a region full of mining history. But Damian’s capable hands find the hidden catches in the seemingly solid barrier, revealing the passage beyond.

“Wait.” I offload things from our packs until we’re carrying only what we need: flashlights, phone, water, a few nutrition bars, and the flash drive with my father’s evidence.

Just before we enter, Damian pulls me close. In the pre-dawn darkness, his eyes hold a fierce intensity that makes my breath catch.

“Whatever we find in these tunnels,” his tone is earnest, “whatever waits at the end of this path—know that meeting you has made every step worth taking.”

His kiss tastes of promise and destiny. When we part, I see my own determination reflected in his gaze. We’ve come too far to fail now.

The tunnel mouth yawns before us, dark as fate itself. But somewhere in that darkness lies a path to freedom. To family. To future.

Together, we step into the Earth’s embrace, leaving the watching skies behind.

Chapter Forty-Two

Maya

The darkness swallows our flashlight beams like a living thing. Water drips somewhere in the blackness ahead, each hollow plunk echoing through tunnels that smell of wet stone and ancient rust. The air sits heavy in my lungs, thick with minerals and the musty sweetness of rotting timber supports.

“Watch your head here,” Damian murmurs, his hand finding my shoulder to guide me under a low-hanging beam. The wood creaks overhead, centuries of weight pressing down on ancient oak. Small sounds carry strangely in these passages—our footsteps seem to come from all directions, while the distant dripping could be ten feet or a hundred yards away.

My father’s breathing grows more labored behind us. The tunnel ceiling presses down, barely six feet high in places, making us stoop. The walls glisten wetly in our flashlight beams. The cavern is veined with dark streaks of lead ore that seem to pulse in the shifting light.

“How deep are we?” My whisper sounds unnaturally loud.

“My guess? Not more than fiftypedem,” Damian answers. “But it feels deeper, doesn’t it? The earth has its own weight here.”

Fifty feet? It doesn’t sound too deep until you imagine it all caving in on you. My breath stutters in my chest at the thought. But I press on.

Each step carries us further from the surface, from air and light and safety. The tunnels branch and intersect like veins in a giant organism. We’d be lost without Laura’s careful directions and Damian’s incredible intuition.

Something skitters in the darkness ahead—probably a rat, but the sound raises the hair on my neck. Our lights catch abandoned mining equipment, the metal twisted into strange shapes by time and rust. A pickaxe head protrudes from one wall like a skeletal hand reaching for passing victims.

“Just a bit further to the main junction,” I say, checking Laura’s map again. The paper feels damp despite only being in the tunnel for an hour or so. Everything down here wants to rot, decay, or return to the earth.

A distant rumble makes us all freeze. “Thunder?” my father asks hopefully.

“Perhaps settling rock?” Damian’s voice stays calm, but his hand tightens on mine.

We press on, our lights catching more signs of the tunnel’s age—support beams bowed under centuries of pressure, walls polished smooth by countless axes, mineral deposits forming bizarre formations that look almost ghostly in our passing beams.

The air grows thicker as we descend a slight grade. Each breath tastes of copper and time. Water seeps through my shoes, cold as death against my skin. The darkness behind us feels alive, watching, waiting for our lights to fail.

“Stop!” Damian’s command comes sharp and sudden. His light plays across the floor ahead, revealing where part of the tunnel has fallen into a deep gap. A narrow ledge offers passage, but the drop beside it vanishes into blackness.

As I stare into the void, a strange shimmer catches my eye—something that shouldn’t exist in this lightless place. For a moment, the blackness seems to ripple, revealing a woman’s face formed of shifting shadows and golden light. Her features are both ancient and timeless, her eyes holding wisdom that makes my breath catch.

Damian freezes beside me, his body suddenly tense. “Tyche,” he whispers, the name falling from his mouth in awed tones.

The Goddess’s lips curve in a smile that somehow both reassures and challenges. Though she doesn’t speak aloud, I feel rather than hear her message washing over us: “The wheel turns for all, but the brave may guide its path.”

Her gaze shifts to me, and I feel a strange warmth spreading through my chest. There’s approval in those ancient eyes, and something more—a blessing, perhaps, or a promise.

Then she’s gone, leaving only dancing dust motes in our flashlight beams. Damian’s hand finds mine, squeezing tightly. “She has followed me across millennia,” he says softly. “My mother’s goddess… now watching over us both.”

---