Page 16 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
“In Rome, he was ourludusmaster—the one who trained us, punished us, prepared us for the arena.” Lucius’s voice remains carefully neutral. “Now he finds himself equal to those he once controlled. The adjustment has been… challenging for him.”
“I can imagine.” Though I really can’t—the dynamics between these men span centuries and experiences I can barely comprehend.
We’re interrupted by approaching footsteps—Varro, whom I recognize from news coverage, accompanied by Laura. They make a striking pair, both radiating natural authority tempered with compassion.
“Showing our guest around?” Varro asks, his English perfect—impressive, considering how recently he must have learned it.
“Raven brought sun protection supplies,” Lucius explains, gesturing to the items still in my trunk. “Thoughtful.”
Something passes between Varro and Laura—a look that communicates volumes without words. “Perhaps you’d like tojoin us for lunch?” Laura offers. “We were just heading to the dining hall.”
The invitation surprises me. From everything I’ve read, Second Chance keeps visitors to a minimum, especially those connected to the media. Before I can formulate a response, Sulla materializes beside us, his sudden appearance making me jump.
“Careful, Varro,” he warns, his voice silky with contempt. “First, it’s lunch, then she’ll want exclusive access for her death-worshipping audience.” His gaze shifts to me. “How many subscribers would a genuine Roman death priest add to your following?”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I protest, heat rising to my cheeks.
“No?” His eyebrow rises in mock surprise. “Then perhap—”
“Enough, Sulla.” Varro’s command cuts through the tension. “Raven is welcome here as Lucius’s guest. Your concerns are noted, but hospitality remains a sanctuary value.”
Sulla’s jaw tightens, but he offers a stiff nod before retreating. As he passes Lucius, he murmurs something too low for me to catch. Whatever he says makes Lucius’s expression harden before his composed mask returns.
“I should probably go,” I say, uncomfortable with causing discord. “I just wanted to drop these things off.”
“Stay,” Lucius says simply. The single word is sincere.
“At least for lunch,” Laura adds with a diplomatic smile. “Our chef has recreated several authentic Roman dishes. I’d be interested in your perspective as someone who studies historical practices.”
The offer is tempting—not just for the rare access to the sanctuary, but for the chance to observe Lucius in his environment. To learn more about this community that exists between ancient and modern worlds.
“Thank you,” I accept. “I’d like that.”
As we walk toward the dining hall, Lucius falls into step beside me. “Sulla will not be joining us,” he says quietly. “He takes his meals separately most days.”
“What did he say to you just now?” The question slips out before I can reconsider its prying nature.
Lucius is silent for several steps before answering. “He said you’re using me. Just like they always used us.” His voice drops even lower. “He said the difference is that he admits what he is.”
The accusation stings, particularly because my initial interesthadbeen professional. But something has shifted since that first cemetery meeting—a connection that crept past my defenses when I wasn’t looking.
“And what do you think?” I ask, my voice matching his quiet tone.
His pace slows as he considers his answer. “I think intentions can evolve. What begins as curiosity can become genuine interest. What starts as a professional opportunity can transform into personal connection.”
“Yes,” I breathe, relieved he understands. “Exactly that.”
His lifts his glasses and his gaze meets mine, searching for something. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he nods slightly before continuing toward the dining hall. “Then let’s see where this evolution leads us.”
As we enter the building, my gaze takes in the sanctuary’s dining hall—a spacious structure built of rough-hewn wooden planks and beams that stretch overhead to support the vaulted ceiling. Rustic charm permeates every detail, from the hand-crafted tables arranged in long rows to the stone fireplace dominating one wall.
Large windows allow natural light to flood the space, illuminating the polished wood floors. The connected kitchen sends aromatic hints of bread and herbs into the air, while doorways along one side lead to tutoring rooms and common areas where the gladiators gather during leisure hours. It’s clearly the heart of sanctuary life—a place where past and present blend seamlessly.
Conversation stills for a moment as heads turn in our direction. I spot familiar faces from news coverage—Quintus, already seated at a long table, his salt-and-pepper hair and veteran’s gaze taking everything in; Rurik, flame-haired and massive, making the chair beneath him look absurdly small; and Flavius, in fullcommand of a rapt audience, his hands painting the air with whatever tale he’s telling.
“Welcome to our world, Raven,” Lucius says softly. “Such as it is.”
The simple invitation carries more significance than he likely intends. This sanctuary represents not just physical safety for these time-displaced men, but a bridge between worlds—ancient and modern, past and future.
