Page 13 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

More laughter. My cheeks burn with shame in front of all these seasoned gladiators.

“Thrax,” I say again, louder this time, but my voice wavers.

Theludus master’seyes narrow. “Gods help us,” he mutters. “Alright then, let’s see what you can do. Valerius! Give the boy a practice sword.”

A wooden sword is thrust into my hands. It’s heavier than I expected, and I nearly drop it.

“Now,” theludusmaster says, “show us your stance.”

I’ve never held a sword before, never even seen one up close. I’ve never had a chance to watch gladiatorial games—I’ve only heard of them. Stance? I panic and try to copy the poses I’ve seen around me in the last few minutes, but my body feels clumsy, like it’s not quite mine.

The courtyard bursts into laughter again. Even theludusmaster can’t hide his smirk.

“Well, men,” he says, his voice carrying across the yard. “I think we’ve found ourselves the perfect example of what not to be. Watch closely, boy, and you’ll learn how to fail spectacularly.”

That day sets the tone for my life in theludus. I become the target of every joke, the example of what not to do. No matter how hard I try, or how much I improve, I can’t shake that first impression.

The physical training is brutal, but it’s the constant mocking that cuts deepest. Words like “stupid” and “useless” become so familiar they might as well be my name. And when words aren’t enough, fists and whips drive the point home.

I quickly learn to keep my head down. I recall the lessons from the farm—speak only when spoken to, and even then, say as little as possible. Silence becomes my armor, invisibility my shield.

The memory fades, and I’m back in my hospital room, gasping for breath as if I’ve just fought a battle in the arena. As I sit up, tears run down my cheeks. Tears! The last tears I remember crying were my first night in that firstludus.

The gladiator in the bunk next to me told me to shut up and quit crying or he’d give me more to cry about. I tried, but when one more little sniff came out, he punched me in the gut so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. For long moments, I thought I would die.

Now here I am, shedding tears held inside for decades. Well, for millennia.

What was I thinking, opening up to Skye like that? People like me don’t get to have normal conversations, to share thoughts and feelings. We’re meant to be silent, to serve, to fight and die for the entertainment of others.

But even as these thoughts spiral through my mind, another voice—quieter but insistent—speaks up. Skye isn’t like the others. She listened. She cared. She saw me—really saw me—and didn’t turn away.

I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me. I’ll see Skye again tomorrow. Part of me wants to hide, to retreat to the safety of silence and invisibility. But a larger part, a part I’m just finding within myself, wants to be brave enough to connect, to be seen.

As I lie down, exhausted, I make a decision. Tomorrow, I’ll try again. I’ll speak, I’ll listen, I’ll allow myself to be known. Itterrifiesme, but for the first time in my life I have a reason to take a risk. This feels more dangerous than stepping into the arena.

With that thought, I close my eyes, hoping for dreams of brown eyes and gentle smiles rather than the nightmares of my past.

Chapter Twelve

Thrax

As I enter the atrium, I don’t examine the sky as I normally do. Instead, my gaze darts to Skye as she taps away at her machine. I’ve been quietly watching her for days, learning the little tells in her expressions. The way her brow knits when she’s locked in focus, or how her fingers race across the black squares with symbols on them. She calls them keys. And when she leans back and stretches, it means she’s ready for a break.

I’ve been waiting for that moment.

I’ve only been here a few moments when she sighs and rolls her shoulders, the signal I’ve been looking for. My pulse quickens as I stand, two steaming cups of that dark, bitter drink she calls “coffee” in my hands. She seems to rely on it, especially when she’s deep in her work.

“Skye,” I say softly, setting one of the cups next to her silver device I now know is a “computer”.

She looks up, her warm brown eyes wide in surprise. She clicks the key on her computer that turns on the translation program before she says, “Oh, Thrax! Thank you. That’sso thoughtful.”

I give her a small nod, letting a faint smile slip through. It feels good—this simple gesture of bringing her coffee, a quiet way of showing my gratitude. “You’ve been working hard,” I say, my voice low but steady. “Thought you might need this.”

Skye’s smile widens, and something inside me warms at the sight. Over the past few days, our interactions have become something I look forward to. It’s still hard to open up, to let my thoughts and feelings out, but with her, it’s different. She listens, always with a gentle smile and those kind eyes that never make me feel judged.

We sit, quietly sipping our coffee. I’m still not fully used to the sharp bitterness, but I think I’m starting to understand why Skye loves it so much. It’s strong and complex, much like this new world I’m trying to navigate.

“How are you feeling today?” Skye asks, her voice soft, though the translator’s volume is the same as always.

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