Page 45 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
She leads us to a quieter part of the cemetery. A circle of moonlight rests on the ground.
“Un momento especial,” Elena translates. “A moment for those who know both worlds.”
She places a bowl of marigold paste in the center, steps back, and nods.
“What is this?” Raven asks softly.
“In my time, we called it athin place, where the veil bends, and what is hidden may be seen.”
Elena’s grandmother speaks again: “You are marked by death, each in your own way. Tonight, the veil is at its thinnest. You must acknowledge what binds you.”
We kneel. I dip my fingers in the mixture, ancient memory guiding my hands.
“In Rome,” I say, “priests of Pluto performed rituals like this. Not to command the dead, but to honor them. To acknowledge the path we all must walk.”
I meet her eyes. “Will you join me?”
She kneels across from me, the moonlight turning her face ethereal. “What do I do?”
“Offer something personal,” I say quietly. “Something that connects you to those you’ve lost.”
Without hesitation, she removes the pendant containing her grandmother’s hair, placing it beside the bowl. I reach into my pocket and withdraw the small bone amulet I’ve carried since my temple days—a piece of carved ivory bearing Pluto’s symbol that survived both my fall from grace and two millennia in ice. It’s thelast tangible connection to who I was before the arena changed me. I place it opposite her pendant.
“A priest guides the ritual,” I explain softly, “but he must also make an offering. Something that connects him to the threshold he seeks to open.”
We draw the spiral together. When our fingers meet at the center, the world tilts.
The clearing fills with golden light, warm and welcoming despite the cool night air. The very air shimmers, reality bending as the veil between worlds grows gossamer-thin. Raven gasps, wonder blooming across her face, but she doesn’t pull away. She can see them too.
My God stands at the edge of our circle, but he’s not alone. Beside him, a woman of ethereal beauty watches us with ancient eyes. Her hair flows like spun moonlight, and in her hands she holds marigolds that seem to glow with inner fire. The flowers pulse with an otherworldly rhythm.
“Pluto,” I breathe, then turn to the woman with growing understanding. “And… Proserpina.”
His queen, who bridges the worlds of living and dead through her own journey between realms, nods gracefully. The temperature around us rises, as if we’re standing in sunlight despite the midnight hour. The marigold petals at our feet begin to lift and swirl in an otherworldly breeze that touches nothing else in the cemetery.
Though neither deity speaks aloud, their message flows between us like warm honey, penetrating not just our minds but our very souls:You are both marked by death’s touch. One who has glimpsed beyond the veil, one who has served as its guardian. Together, you bridge worlds that were never meant to remain forever separate.
Proserpina steps forward, her luminous form radiating compassion.The work you will do together—teaching the living to understand death’s mysteries, honoring the traditions that connect all realms—this is a sacred purpose.
Pluto’s voice follows, deep and resonant as the earth itself:My priest, your service continues, but in new form. Guide the living toward understanding. Show them that death is not the ending, but a transformation. And you, death-touched daughter—his gaze shifts to Raven—your journey to the threshold was not an accident but preparation.
The divine presence intensifies, enveloping us in warmth that penetrates to our very souls. For a breathtaking moment, I feel what Raven experienced during her near-death journey—that expansion beyond physical limits, that connection to something vast and eternal. But this time, we share it, our consciousness briefly joining in that boundless space where all understanding converges.
Walk forward together,Proserpina’s voice whispers as the vision begins to fade.Bridge the worlds. Teach the mysteries. Your paths have converged for a purpose greater than either could achieve alone.
When the light fades, we remain trembling and awestruck, our hands still connected by the marigold mixture that now seems to pulse with its own inner light.
“Did you see—?” Raven whispers, eyes full.
“The lord of the underworld and his queen,” I say. “They say our work is vital.”
She’s quiet, then says, “I need to tell you what really happened when I died.”
I listen, knowing this ground is sacred.
Her voice trembles. “It wasn’t the impact that stayed with me. It was what came after. The walls of my world fell away. Time collapsed. I became… everything.”
“The temple texts spoke of that state,” I say. “The unbound soul.A truth most never touch.”
