Page 56 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

“Yes,” Quintus says, “Still an asshole.”

“Enough talk about the man whose lash abused us all. We’re in happier times,” Varro says. “We’ve made something here—a real home. A place where ancient and modern meet.”

“Come to the barracks. We have food waiting. And if you’re not too tired, there’s time to talk, get reacquainted. Welcome to Second Chance,” Varro says softly. “We’re so glad our lost brother found his way home.”

Maya’s hand finds mine as we stride across a field drenched in sunshine and filled with wildflowers. We approach several structures—the barracks he mentioned, with the smell of food andgarumwafting toward us, a structure for horses, a house with a porch, and other smaller buildings. My new future waits.

Some journeys end not where they began, but somewhere better—with family, with purpose, with hope burning bright as arena torches in the night.

Chapter Forty-Four

Maya

As my eyes adjust to the light, I catch my first glimpse of Second Chance sanctuary. A collection of buildings spreads across a lush, grassy field, and horses graze in paddocked fields in the distance. Behind me, my father emerges from the tunnel, looking exhausted but relieved as he takes in our surroundings.

“Maya!” The woman jogging toward us must be Laura, her face lighting with relief. “When our lookouts heard movement in the old mine entrance…” She breaks off as more figures emerge from the shadows. Her eyes briefly flick to my father, who hangs back awkwardly, unsure of his welcome.

My breath catches as I see them. More gladiators join our original greeting committee. All moving with that distinctive combination of power and grace I’ve come to know in Damian.

Two men break from the group first—one lean and quick as a striking snake, the other broader but moving with similar urgency. “Victor!” they call in unison, using his gladiator name. I haven’t used it in so long I’d almost forgotten it.

“Brothers,” he says, his voice carrying both love and certainty, “I want you all to know that Victor was the name given to me by our masters—a Roman slave name.”

His shoulders straighten as he says, “I am Damian, the Greek name my father gave me. It means to tame, to subdue. He said it would remind me always to master my own nature before attempting to master others.”

The gathered gladiators exchange glances, then Varro steps forward. “Damian,” he says, testing the name as he grips Damian’s shoulder. “It suits you better than Victor ever did. You were always more than what they tried to make you.”

“Damian it is then,” Flavius agrees with a warm smile. “Though you’ll always be brother, no matter your name.”

The reunion becomes a tangle of Latin exclamations and fierce embraces. I try to keep the men straight, recalling stories Damian told me when I couldn’t sleep, and now putting faces with the names.

There’s Rurik, who looks as though he stepped out of a Viking movie, and Zakur, the Phoenician ship captain who struggled mightily to keep them afloat while the deluge bombarded them for days. Their joy at seeing Damian feels almost tangible.

“You look well for a man who’s been missing so long,” Quintus says in careful English. “Though you had us worried, brother.”

“Some things never change,” Flavius adds with a grin. “Still finding the most complicated path possible.”

A blond man, his arm protectively around a woman, steps forward. “Glad to see you alive and well, brother. This is my…” he seems to search for the right word before he says, “my beloved. Diana.”

“May Venus bless your bond, and may it endure like stone.” Damian can’t help glancing at me and pulling me tight—his unspoken declaration of similar feelings about me.

After a few moments, the attention slides from me to my father, who shifts his stance like he’s not sure whether to run or speak. Damian surprises me by gesturing toward him.

“This is Franky, Maya’s father. Despite his… earlier mistakes, he helped us reach you.”

Laura steps forward, all business despite the emotional reunion. “We need to get you inside. You’re probably tired and hungry.

We move toward the nearest building—a long, low-slung rustic structure that must be the barracks. I imagine the kitchen is in there, because that’s where the food smells are coming from.

Inside, long banquet tables fill the space, encouraging discussion and the joy of breaking bread together. The gladiators arrange themselves with subconscious precision—those who trained with Damian staying close, while Thrax and Cassius, who I understand didn’t join the men until they met at the docks before they boarded theFortuna, maintain a respectful distance.

“The others will want to hear everything,” Laura says, “but first, you need food, I’m sure. And then rest. Real rest.” She eyes our mud-streaked clothes and exhausted faces. “We’ve prepared quarters for you.”

“You’re right. I’m famished and exhausted. Still, can you hint at what you did to keep us safe? I have a feeling that in addition to some help we had along the way,” I eye Damian as I think of Kane, the tribe, and what just might have been the Goddess Tyche, “that you had a hand in things.”

“Dara Hobson has elected herself the gladiators’ patron,” Laura explains.

Other than the gladiators, Dara is one of the most famous people on Earth. She’s a billionaire many times over.

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