Page 4 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
The bedside clock reads 3:17 AM—the dead hour. Appropriate. Sleep isn’t coming tonight, not with my mind racing through the possibilities of interviewing an actual priest of Pluto. This couldbe the breakthrough episode that takesBeyond the Veilfrom cult following to mainstream success.
More importantly, it could finally validate what I’ve been saying all these years. Death isn’t the end. The boundary is thinner than most people realize.
My phone buzzes with a text. Megan, my producer and best friend since college.
Please tell me you didn’t actually trespass on private property to get material for the next episode.
I grimace. Megan knows me too well.
Define trespass,I text back.
Three dots appear immediately.Oh God, Raven. We talked about this. We can’t afford another cease and desist.
It’s fine. I met someone interesting. Potential interview that could change everything.
That’s what you said about the supposed witch in Salem who turned out to be selling essential oils from her basement.
I roll my eyes.This is different. Trust me.
Last time you said that, we ended up fleeing a haunted sanitarium with security guards chasing us. Just PLEASE tell me you didn’t break any laws getting whatever footage you got.
I stare at the screen, considering my response. Technically, I did break laws. The rusted sign on the old cemetery said it was open from dawn to dusk. But the footage I captured isn’t what matters now. It’s him. The albino gladiator-priest who materialized from the shadows like he belonged there.
No footage,I reply finally.But I made contact with one of those thawed gladiators everyone’s been talking about. The weird ones from that sanctuary compound outside the town I’m staying at.
The three dots appear and disappear several times before her response comes through.
Bullshit.
Not bullshit. He was an actual priest of Pluto before becoming a gladiator. Roman death cult, Meg. The real deal.
If you’re messing with me…
I swear on my collection of Victorian mourning jewelry. This is the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.
I grab my journal—leather-bound, filled with notes from every investigation since I started the podcast. Flipping to a blank page, I sketch his face from memory—the sharp angles, the otherworldly eyes, the controlled power in his movements.
He doesn’t belong in this century with its fluorescent lights and digital noise. He belongs to shadows and stone temples, to ancient rituals and forgotten wisdom.
The question is: will he talk to me again? The card I left might as well have been tossed into the void. Men like him don’t call podcasters who trespass at midnight.
But I saw something in his eyes when I mentioned my near-death experience. Recognition. Maybe even understanding.
The motel walls feel suddenly confining. Sliding out of the bed, I move to the window and push aside the faded curtains. The small town of Potosi sleeps under a blanket of stars, its buildings casting shadows that hint at its mining history. Somewhere beyond the town limits lies Second Chance, the mysterious sanctuary where time-lost gladiators are building a new life.
My grandmother’s pendant, containing a lock of her hair, feels heavy against my sternum. She’d been the only one who believed me after the accident. “Some people get glimpses behind the veil, Rose,” she’d said. “Doesn’t make you crazy. Makes you a bridge.”
A bridge. That’s what my podcast was supposed to be—connecting the living with the reality that death isn’t the end. Not just entertainment for the morbidly curious. Something meaningful.
But five years and 157 episodes later, I’m still chasing validation. Still trying to prove to myself and everyone else that what I experienced wasn’t just oxygen deprivation or trauma-induced hallucination.
Lucius could change that. A man who served death professionally, both in Pluto’s temple and in the arena. If anyonecould confirm what I saw on the other side was real, it would be him.
My phone buzzes again. Megan.
If this pans out, it’s bigger than the podcast. We’re talking book deal, documentary series… But only if you don’t scare him off by being, well, YOU.
I snort. Megan knows exactly how intense I can get when I’m onto something legitimate.
