Page 14 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

I consider the question carefully. In the past, I would have given a vague answer, something safe that wouldn’t invite further questions. But with Skye, I find myself wanting to be honest. “I am… adjusting,” I say slowly. “Some days are easier than others. But I’m grateful for your help.”

Skye’s eyes soften, and she reaches out as if to touch my arm, but stops herself. I wish she hadn’t pulled her hand back. “I’m glad I can help,” she says. “And I’m here if you ever want to talk about… anything. I never dreamed Varro and Laura would be gone for so long. Aline, their assistant, said Laura’s father took ill and they’ve extended their stay in the States. I imagine you wish Varro were here, someone who understands you.”

I nod, swallowing hard. There’s so much I want to say, so many memories and fears swirling inside me. But I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet. Still, that I’m even considering sharing feels like growth.

We work side by side for a few more hours, Skye asking for my input on Latin pronunciations, which almost all need what Skye calls “tweaking.” I do my best to help, proud that I can provide something valuable.

Eventually, Skye stretches again and turns to me. “I need to focus on some complex coding now,” she explains. “Do you want to take a break? Maybe explore the facility a bit?”

I freeze, fear gripping my chest. Explore? Alone? What if I do something wrong? What if I’m not allowed in certain areas?

But then I remind myself: I’m free. I’m not a slave anymore. I can go where I want.

“Sic,” I agree, though my voice sounds far steadier than I feel. “I will… explore.”

Skye gives me an encouraging smile as I stand to leave the atrium. My steps are hesitant at first, but as I move through the halls, I feel a thrill of excitement. This is the first time I’ve ventured out alone since waking up in this new world.

I peek into every open door, discovering not just what is in each room, but finding a curious part of my nature I never noticed before. Most rooms are like mine, though they’re deserted, but one is larger and filled with tools. A workshop?

Inside, a man in a tunic andbraccaeof the material Skye calls jeans sits on a stool, a small knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other. He’s carving something, his movements sure and practiced.

I watch from the doorway, fascinated. The man looks up and sees me, then offers a friendly nod. He says something in a language I don’t understand that doesn’t sound like the English Skye uses—and gestures for me to come closer. As he stops to take a bite of his sandwich, I decide he works here in this room with many machines. Is this what he does for fun on his break?

I pause, unsure if I should enter. But then I remember Skye’s encouragement, her belief in me. Taking a deep breath, I step into the room.

The man holds up the piece of wood and then mimes the action of carving. I nod, understanding dawning. He’s showing me what he’s doing.

Tentatively, I imitate his carving motion back to him. He grins and nods enthusiastically, then holds out another piece of wood and a spare knife to me.

As I take them, a memory surfaces—Caecilia’s necklace, the carved phallus she gave me for protection and good luck. My throat tightens at the thought, but for once, the pain is mixed with something else. Determination.

I may not be able to recover the necklace Caecilia gave me, but perhaps I can create something new. Something for Skye, to thank her for her kindness and patience.

As I carve under the man’s watchful eye, I feel a sense of purpose I haven’t experienced in a long time. This small act of creation, this gift I’m making with my own hands, feels like a step toward something new. Something hopeful.

For the first time since waking up in this strange new world, I feel like I might find my place. A purpose that has nothing to do with being a slave.

Chapter Thirteen

Thrax

As I return to my room, my fingers still tingling from the unfamiliar motions of carving, a sense of accomplishment I haven’t felt in years washes over me. It’s like conquering an imposing opponent in the arena—a mixture of pride, relief, and excitement.

The wooden pendant I began carving is far from perfect, but it’s mine. I’m creating it with my own hands, guided by nothing but my memories of the original and sheer determination. As I turn the small object over in my palm, tracing its rough edges, my mind drifts back to another time when I surprised myself—and everyone else.

I’m fifteen again, gangly and uncertain, standing in the shadows inside the barracks. The other gladiators no longer tower over me; I’ve had another growth spurt. But I’m still the butt of many jokes. I shrink away from their laughter and jeers, trying to make myself invisible.

“Stultus,” one of them sneers, calling me an idiot. “After all these years of training, he still can’t properly attack his opponent.”

I lower my eyes, shame burning in my chest. They’re right. I don’t belong here. I’m too weak, too slow, and far too stupid to be a gladiator. But I have no choice. This is my life.

Theludusmaster’s voice cuts through the air like aflagrumwhip. “Thrax! You’re up next in the arena. No wooden sword today, dog. It’s iron for you and Kallias. We have visitors to our renownedludus. I want Kallias to impress them with your easy defeat.”

“To the death?” Kallias’s voice is eager, as though he’s dreamed of killing me for years. Perhaps it’s just that he wants to impress our visitors.

“We’ll see what yourlanistadecides when you get Thrax on the sand. Of course,” he sneers, “accidents can happen…”

My blood runs cold. I’m not ready. Everyone within earshot knows this. But before I can protest, I’m shoved into the blinding sunlight of the arena, a heavy metal gladius in my hand for the first time.

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