Page 55 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

Chapter Forty-Three

Damian

The steady rhythm of metal on stone grows stronger—three quick taps, a pause, two slow. A pattern I haven’t heard since the hypogeum beneath the Colosseum, where we gladiators developed our own language of signals. Varro was always the best at it, able to send complex messages through walls of solid rock.

“Is that them?” Maya whispers, her laced with excitement.

“Yes. They’re guiding us in.” I tap a response to let them know we are now receiving their messages.

Their pattern shifts slightly—a warning, perhaps unstable ground ahead. Even after two thousand years, my body remembers these codes as clearly as arena sand remembers blood. “Stay close to the right wall through this section.”

The tunnel widens a bit, ancient timber creaking overhead and a faint but familiar scent reaches me—garum, the fermented fish sauce that was once Rome’s most prized condiment. The gladiators must still make it, maintaining that small piece of our shared past. I haven’t smelled it since I was awakened from the deep. The aroma mingles with fresher air, telling me we’re near some kind of ventilation.

Another pattern echoes through the stone. This I remember well. It was used to announce a victory. I know what this means—almost home.

“Flavius,” I tell Maya. “I’d know his signal pattern anywhere. He always hits the stone harder than necessary, like he’s still trying to prove his strength.”

Her fingers squeeze mine. “You remember so much about them.”

“My body may have been frozen for millennia, but in my mind we were all together on theFortunamere months ago. They’re my brothers in ways that transcend blood.” The words come easily in this dusky space between past and present. “We faced death together, survived together, lost everything together. Now…”

“Now you find each other again.” Her voice carries understanding deeper than the mines themselves. “Across two thousand years.”

The passage takes a sharp turn, and suddenly the distant light resolves into distinct shapes. Several massive figures wait ahead, holding powerful flashlights that cast their faces in sharp relief.

Thrax stands like a mountain given human form. His mangled ear and nose are now perfect, a testament to modern medical miracles, I suppose. Beside him, Varro’s warrior’s grace remains unchanged, though his hair is shorter than I remember. Both wear modern clothing, but their stances remain pure gladiator—balanced, ready, alert.

For a moment, we all freeze. Two thousand years of separation hang between us like a physical thing. Then Varro steps forward, arms opened wide.

“Frater.” He calls me brother in Latin. All the men wear translation devices like mine. “The gods themselves must have guided you home. Bless the Goddess Fortuna.”

The embrace feels like stepping back in time—the smell of leather and sword oil, the strength that comes from countless shared battles. Quintus’s massive arms encircle us both, and for a moment, I’m transported to theluduswhere we first became family.

When we finally separate, I find Maya watching with suspiciously bright eyes. “Maya,” I say formally, “may I present my brothers—Varro, I understand he was the first of us to wake in this age, and Thrax.” I gesture toward the man. “If I remember correctly, this strong beast tried to keep me afloat at… at the very end.”

“We’ve heard much about you,” Varro says, switching to what sounds like perfect English. “Laura speaks highly of your courage.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you and a relief to finally be here.” She reaches back and draws her father forward. “This is my father, Franky.”

Varro takes his hand, holding it in both of his own. “Welcome, Franky.”

Franky stammers a response and drifts back behind Maya as the rest of my brothers surge forward.

“You still favor your right leg,” Quintus observes with a warrior’s eye, his voice gruff with emotion he struggles to contain. “Some things never change.” His massive arms enfold me in an embrace that would crush lesser men.

Flavius circles us, too energetic to stand still even in this moment. “I told them you’d survive,” he says, words tumbling out rapid-fire as always. “When the ship broke apart, I saw you grab that floating timber. Said you’d be too stubborn to drown.”

From the back, Lucius watches with those unsettling pale eyes. “The wheel turns,” he says cryptically. “What was separated rejoins. As the oracle at Cumae foretold.” Still the mystic after all this time, finding meaning in patterns others miss.

“You brought our brother home. Thank you,” Quintus says to Maya, his face almost exploding with emotion. Back in theludus, he and I were close.

A distant rumble reminds us we’re not yet safe. Varro’s expression turns serious. “The corporate hunters have teams searching the area. We should move. The others are waiting.”

“Others?” Maya asks as we start moving. “How many…”

“All of us, and our women,” Thrax says proudly. “Except for Sulla.” The name makes him frown and make a face as though he ate a piece ofcacas.

“After two thousand years, our formerludusmaster is still anirrumator?” I ask, remembering how the man had once been our overseer, not our brother. His cruelty during training had been legendary, though it seems fate forced him to join our ranks on theFortuna.

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