Page 25 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I… I remembered something,” I say slowly.

Diana leans forward, her eyes wide with interest. “What was it?”

I hesitate, uncertain how to explain. Will she look at me with the same disgust she showed for the hunter in the picture?

“I killed a lion,” I say finally. “On a hunt. I was on horseback with a spear. It was… exhilarating.”

Diana’s expression is a mix of surprise and concern. “Oh, Cassius. That must have been terrifying.”

I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t. I felt alive. Powerful.” The words taste strange in my mouth, at odds with the person I’ve become since waking in this new world.

Diana is quiet for a moment, processing this information. She covers her mouth with her hand, perhaps in an effort to hide her disgust.

“It’s different,” she says finally. “You were from a different time, a different culture. This guy,” she gestures at her phone, “he’s killing for fun in a world that should know better.”

But wasn’t I killing for fun, too? The memory, vivid as it was, didn’t feel like a necessity. It felt like… sport. A game. The realization unsettles me.

“Maybe,” I say, not wanting to argue. “It’s all a bit hazy.”

Diana reaches out, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay. You’re not that person anymore. I guess that explains why you took to the horses so easily. Your muscles remembered.”

Her words are meant to comfort, but they stir up a strange mix of emotions. Am I not that man who killed for sport and felt like a god? If so, then who am I now? The thrill I felt in that memory, the pride in my skill—was that wrong? The memory reinforces something deeper—not just the thrill of the hunt, but the natural order of things. Some are born to command, others to serve. Even here, in this strange time, I notice how the staff defer to Dara’s wealth and power. As they should.

I force a smile, not wanting Diana to see my inner turmoil. “You’re right,” I say. “It’s different now.”

As we sit in silence, watching the last light fade from the sky, I can’t shake the memory of the hunt. The rush of the chase, the weight of the spear in my hand, the respect in my friends’ eyes—it all felt so real, soright.

For the first time in this strange new world, I find myself longing for the past I’m starting to remember. I was strong, confident, obviously respected, and in a position of power. How did I end up a gladiator slave on the shipFortuna?Who was I? And more importantly, who am I now?

The Cassius who killed that lion without remorse—is he still inside me, waiting to emerge? And if he is, what will that mean for the life I’m building here?

Chapter Nineteen

Cassius

I burst from sleep to wide awake, my mind swirling with yesterday’s memories of the hunt, the thrill of the chase echoing in my bones. I need to move, to feel that rush again.

Without a second thought, I dress and stride to the barn. In the gray morning light, the air is crisp. A few leaves on the trees are turning yellow. Autumn must be coming. I pause at Buddy’s stall, my usual mount, but something pulls me further. I approach Atlas’s stall. He’s the larger, more spirited of our two horses.

“Hey, boy,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke his nose. He snorts softly, pushing against my hand. “What do you say we go for a ride?”

I grab a saddle, frowning slightly at its shape. It’s nothing like the comfortablesellaI remember from my estate. Still, it will do. I work quickly. Although I’ve been riding with this tack for weeks, something is different this morning. My hands now move with surprising surety.

Leading Atlas out of the barn, I take a deep breath. The sun is just cresting the horizon, burning away the morning mist in a low fog. For a moment, I consider waiting for Diana. She’d want to know where I’m going, would probably insist on coming along. But the urge to ride, to be alone with these new-old memories, is too strong.

After mounting Atlas with ease, I settle into the saddle. It feels right, like coming home. With a gentle nudge, we’re off, starting at a slow trot as we leave the corral behind.

The property stretches out before us, a mixture of open grassy fields and woods. As we pick up speed, the wind whips through my hair. Each hoofbeat seems to echo in my chest, stirring something primal inside me.

Memories flash through my mind—galloping across my family’s estate, the exhilaration of the hunt, the pride in my father’s eyes as I mastered a difficult jump. The ache of nostalgia is almost physical, but it’s overwhelmed by the sheer joy of the moment.

Unable to contain myself any longer, I lean forward and urge Atlas into a full gallop. The world blurs around us as we fly across the field. I can feel every powerful movement of the horse beneath me, our bodies moving perfectly together.

This is freedom. This is power. This—this is who I am.

I laugh out loud, the sound carried away by the wind. For the first time since waking in this strange new world, I feel truly alive. My head is clear, not even a hint of the headache that has plagued me daily. My body feels stronger than it has since I awoke. Every sense is heightened—the thundering hooves, the rushing wind, and the earthy scent of horse and grass.

We race across the property, leaping over small streams and fallen logs with ease. It’s as if Atlas can sense my mood, matching my enthusiasm with energy of his own.

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