Page 15 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

My opponent is older, stronger, more experienced. His eyes gleam with anticipation as he circles me, like a wolf eyeing its prey. I can barely lift my sword, my arms trembling with fear and the exhaustion of practicing all day in the heat.

To the death. So this is to be my end? I always knew I’d die in the arena, but I thought at least it would be in one of the finer arenas of Rome, with thousands watching. Not here in myludus, dying in disgrace for the pleasure of a few noblemen.

The fight begins, and I’m immediately on the defensive. Every blow jars my bones, every near miss leaves me gasping. I can hear the onlookers jeering, smell the dust and sweat of the arena.This is how I die,I think. Weak and pathetic, not even worth remembering.

Then it happens. My opponent’s blade slices across my biceps, drawing blood. The pain is sharp, immediate. But it’s the sight of my own blood that jolts me awake.

In this moment, everything slows. The roar of the onlookers fades away. And there, in the midst of the chaos, I see her—the Goddess Fortuna. She stands at the edge of the arena, her blue gown flowing though there isn’t even a wisp of a breeze. Her cornucopia nestles in the crook of her arm, and her eyes are locked on mine.

“Fight, Thrax.” Though she whispers, her voice carries over the din. “Show them who you truly are.”

Something shifts inside me. The fear doesn’t disappear, but it’s joined by something else—determination. I tighten my grip on the sword and plant my feet firmly in the sand.

My opponent charges, expecting me to cower as I have been. But this time, I stand my ground. I duck under his swing and slash, my blade cutting a deep line across his chest.

The crowd gasps. My opponent stumbles back, surprise etched on his face. For the first time, I see uncertainty in his eyes.

I press my advantage, my movements driven by instinct and desperation. Perhaps all my training lodged deep in my thick head. It’s as though everything finally falls into place. Each clash of our swords sends a jolt through my body, but I don’t falter. I can’t. Not now.

The fight seems to last an eternity, yet it’s over in moments. My final blow sends my opponent’s sword flying. He drops to his knees, defeated.

The arena falls silent. Then, slowly, a cheer builds. It washes over me like a wave.

I stand there, panting, my sword arm trembling. I’ve won. Against all odds, I’ve survived. More than that—I’ve triumphed.

Looking into the stands, I see mylanista, the man who owns me. We’ve never spoken, but I know who he is. I keep eye contact but pray fervently to Fortuna that he doesn’t put his thumb up, an order for me to kill Kallias. Despite Kallius’s obvious desire to kill me in this bout, I have no desire to take his life.

Luckily, thelanistais no fool. Why waste Kallias’s life when he is worth far more alive than dead? He thrusts his thumb down to my great relief. I consider offering the man a hand up. But, no. I’m merciful, but not that generous.

As I turn toward my barracks, I catch sight of my fellow gladiators. Their faces are a mixture of shock and grudging respect. Theludusmaster nods approvingly, a hint of a smirk on his weathered face.

It’s not their reactions that matter most. It’s the feeling growing inside me—a tiny spark of hope, of belief in myself. For the first time in my life, I’ve proven that I’m more than just a slave, more than a joke to be laughed at, more than a big, ugly male to be dismissed.

I am Thrax of Thrace, and I am a survivor.

The memory fades, and I open my eyes to find myself back in my room, the partially carved wooden pendant still clutched in my hand. I realize I’m smiling. That day in the arena was the first time I truly believed in myself. Now, in this strange new world, I’ve taken another step forward.

As I set the pendant aside, ready to continue working on it tomorrow, I feel that same spark of hope rekindling in my chest. I may be out of my depth in this new world, but I’ve faced impossible odds before. And with Skye’s help, with this new freedom I’m slowly learning to embrace, who knows what I might achieve?

As I drift off to sleep, I could swear I hear Fortuna’s whisper once again: “Show them who you truly are, Thrax. Your journey is far from over.”

Chapter Fourteen

Skye

It’s a gray day, but I don’t think it will rain as Thrax and I work on pronunciation. We’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm over the past few days—his deep voice carefully enunciating Latin words while I type furiously, tweaking the translation algorithm.

Our concentration is broken as someone opens the atrium door. Dr. Diaz strides toward us, her white lab coat billowing behind her like a cape. Instead of her usual confident demeanor, she seems thoughtful, almost hesitant.

“Skye! Thrax!” she calls out, her Spanish accent lilting pleasantly. “I’ve been thinking about something I’d like to discuss with you both.”

I’ve chatted with Dr. Diaz a few times in the cafeteria, always impressed by her brilliance and dedication to the project. She’s been the driving force behind the medical aspects of the gladiators’ revival and has navigated complex international laws and rallied top doctors and scientists to our cause.

“Dr. Diaz,” I greet her, smiling. “What’s on your mind?”

She reaches our table, her gaze darting between Thrax and me. “Oh, is this the translation software in action? Marvelous!” Hereyes widen as her words are translated into Latin for Thrax. “Simply incredible work, Skye.”

I feel a flush of pride at her praise. “Thank you. We’re making progress every day. What can we do for you?”

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