Page 57 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

Chapter Forty-Six

Cassius

The snow from a few weeks ago has melted and they tell me it’s unseasonably warm for what they call December. I lean against the fence, my attention split between the approaching visitors and Diana, who’s stomping her well-worn riding boots, trying to rid them of caked mud. My chest aches watching her purposeful movements, the way her honey-blonde ponytail swings in time with her graceful motions.

These past weeks of professional distance have been exquisite torture. Every day I work beside her, following her instructions, keeping my voice neutral, my eyes averted. After the near-kiss in the pasture, she’s reestablished her boundaries, and I respect them—but gods, holding myself back is harder than any gladiatorial training I’ve endured.

When she laughs at something Jason says, the sound carries across the yard like music. I want to be the one to make her laugh again, to see that sparkle in her hazel eyes directed at me. But I lost that right with my arrogance and cruelty. She’s right not to trust me, right to keep her walls up. However, understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Laura greets Mayor Richards and his three aides, handing them each a translator. Despite the city’s initial resistance to Second Chance, they’ve agreed to see our program in action. Everything we’ve built here rides on this visit.

“The translation devices work both ways,” Laura explains to the group. “You’ll hear the gladiators in English. They will hear you in Latin.”

She introduces Alex, Bailey, and Jason, who then begin the demonstration they’ve been nervously preparing for the past few weeks.

I straighten as they approach, pushing away thoughts of Diana. I need to focus on the task at hand. The future of Second Chance depends on it. Without improved relations with the people in town, we’ll always be outcasts, always be met with suspicion.

Jason moves with easy confidence now, his angry shell cracked to reveal the natural leader within. And Alex—their hands still shake slightly as they explain the training signals to the mayor, but their voice grows stronger with each word.

“The horses respond to body language more than force,” Alex explains, demonstrating how Atlas follows their subtle cues. “It’s about trust and respect.”

I catch Diana’s eye across the corral. She’s watching her students with that particular mix of pride and protectiveness I’ve come to recognize. When she notices my gaze, she quickly looks away, but not before I catch her expression softening.

“Impressive,” Mayor Richards says, though his tone suggests he’s not entirely convinced. “But how does this translate to real-world benefits?”

“If I may?” I step forward, consciously relaxing my stance, just as my father taught me to address the Senate. The memory no longer stings as it once did.

I could answer in halting English—my late-night study sessions have given me enough vocabulary for basic conversation—but this moment is too important to risk miscommunication. I speak in my native Latin.

“When I first arrived in this time, I was lost. Angry. Unable to trust. Not unlike many of the youth who come to us.”

The mayor turns to me, interest flickering in his shrewd eyes. “Go on.”

“Even as a gladiator who once commanded fear and respect, working with the horses taught me patience. Humility.” I gesture to the students. “But more importantly, watching these youngpeople grow and heal has shown me the true meaning of Second Chance.”

“Pretty words,” the mayor’s aide interjects, “but the community has concerns about having troubled youth and ancient warriors in their backyard.”

“With respect,” I reply, drawing on every lesson in diplomacy I learned at my father’s knee, “they should be more concerned about what happens if these young people don’t get the chance to heal. Every teen who finds purpose here is one less troubled soul on your streets.”

Jason steps forward, his chin lifted with quiet dignity. “Before I came here, I was angry all the time. Getting into fights. Pushing everyone away.” He glances at me before continuing. “The horses—and the people here—they taught me I could be more than my past.”

“And you?” The mayor turns to Alex. “What has this program done for you?”

Alex’s hands twist in Atlas’s mane, but their voice is steady. “Here, I’m accepted for who I am. No judgment, no shame. Just the chance to discover my own strength.”

I watch as understanding dawns in the mayor’s eyes. This isn’t just about horses or troubled teens or displaced warriors. It’s about transformation. About hope.

“We’re not asking for charity,” I say softly. “We’re offering partnership. A chance to show what’s possible when acommunity comes together to support its most vulnerable members. And we want acceptance, just as every person on Earth wants… and deserves.”

Mayor Richards studies me for a long moment. “You speak well for a gladiator.”

“I was many things before I was a gladiator,” I reply, thinking of my father’s lessons in the art of persuasion. “Just as these young people are more than their struggles.”

The mayor nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps we’ve been too hasty in our judgment. Let’s discuss how the city can support your program.”

As the meeting continues, I notice Diana watching me with an unreadable expression. For once, I don’t look away. I let her see that I can use my patrician training for good, that I’ve learned to wield influence with compassion rather than arrogance.

The wintry wind gusts again, carrying the promise of snow and change. Something is shifting here at Second Chance—not just for our students or our standing in the community, but in the very fabric of who we are becoming.

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