Page 3 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

Gritting my teeth, I use the cane to push upright once more. Three steps. Then four. Each movement a battle, each extra step a victory. My legs shake, but they hold.

I will master first my body, then this situation.

Chapter Three

Victor

Sitting on the edge of the bed, muscles trembling from another attempt at walking, questions multiply faster than answers. IfDominusowns me, where are the other fighters in his stable? Why am I segregated in this private room? In everyludusI’ve known, only the most valuable gladiators have private quarters. Certainly I’m not valuable in the shape I’m in.

“Control what you can,” Father would say. “Observe what you cannot yet understand.”

So, I observe.

The walls shine with impossible smoothness, painted some shade between white and cream that never varies. No brush marks, no subtle differences in texture. The floor lacks proper tiles, instead, it’s covered in some strange material that gives slightly under pressure. Even the bed defies understanding—no proper frame or ropes, just layers of impossibly uniform padding.

Dominusvisits briefly each day, nervous energy making him pace as he watches me struggle to stand and walk. He brings food I barely recognize, served on plates lighter than the finest pottery, yet almost as strong as metal. The perfect-temperature water comes from a magical spout in the attachedlatrina, pure and clean with the turn of a metal handle.

Thelatrinaitself raises more questions than answers. No slaves to empty slop buckets, no communal baths. Instead, a private space with mysterious devices that somehow whisk away waste and deliver endless clean water that goes from cold to hot with a full turn of the handle, both in the basin and in the upright cubicle thatDominusshowed me is used for bathing.

A container of smooth, unfamiliar material with a pump on top dispenses a cream that transforms into a foaming cleanser, for washing my hair and body.

Dominusalso gave me a stick, again made of an unknown material with soft bristles somehow attached to one end for cleansing my teeth and another with sharpened edges of metal to scrape the hair from my face.

“Focus on what you can control,” Father’s voice reminds me.

So I do. Each morning, I force myself through the exercises I remember from my novice gladiator training. Simple movements at first, lifting my legs while lying down, rotating joints, flexing muscles that protest every command. The weakness frustrates me, but I refuse to surrender to it.

I listen to my body’s warnings while pushing forward carefully. Each small victory builds on the last—sitting up without help, standing for longer periods, taking a few more steps with the cane.

Dominuswatches these attempts with poorly concealed anxiety. His eyes dart away whenever I manage something new, as though my growing strength troubles him. Yet he brings what he calls protein drinks that taste of medicines I’ve never encountered. He says the nutrition will speed my recovery despite their strange flavors.

Another oddity—nomedicusvisits, no skilled hands checking my progress. In everyludusI’ve known, a fighter’s health is too valuable to leave to chance. Here, I seem left largely to my own devices, though perhaps that’s intentional. The fewer people who see me, the fewer who can question whatever storyDominusis hiding behind.

I ask for little, still not knowing my place here.Dominusis unlike anyone I’ve ever met, wearing odd clothing and not carrying himself with the power and grace of any patrician I’ve ever known. I’ve asked for a loincloth, papyrus, akálamos, andmélanfor my daily journaling.

He brought me cloth that looks like strips of the same material on the bed. He also handed me a journal with a metal spiral containing pages of what he calls paper that are soft and uniform. They are even perfectly lined! The writing utensil, he calls it a pen, distributes blue ink so perfectly it’s a joy to use.

The afternoon light shifts oddly through windows made of glass clearer than any I’ve seen. No imperfections, no bubbles or waves to distort the view.

Dominusleft a book in my room—an accident, I’m sure. The pages are bound in this slim volume filled with colorful pictures. If I understand the meaning, the bubbles coming out of the people’s mouths are the words they are saying to each other, though I’ve never seen this writing before.

It’s not Greek, Latin, or the little I know of Hebrew, Aramaic, or Egyptian. The backgrounds of the pictures in the book are more interesting than the unknown storytelling style, though.

They’re filled with buildings taller than two Colosseums stacked on top of each other. One picture has something flying in the air that doesn’t look like a bird. I believe it is man-made. Perhaps these images are flights of fancy, or perhaps they explain the almost endless mechanical roar I hear from far away at all times of the day and night.

The idea that these images might be real nearly broke my mind until Father’s teachings steadied me. “When faced with the impossible, strip away assumptions. What remains is the beginning of understanding.”

So I focus on what I can understand. My body grows stronger each day, though still far from normal. The strange drinks and medicines seem to help rather than harm. The solitude, while unsettling, gives me time to observe and think.

Testing my strength once more, I grip the cane and push to my feet. The weakness remains, but feels less overwhelming than before. One step. Another. Each movement carefully controlled, calling on years of training to maintain balance despite trembling muscles.

Fifteen steps bring me to the far wall. For the first time since awakening in this strange place, I’ve crossed the entire room without falling.

Leaning against the wall, muscles trembling but still supporting my weight, I survey the room that serves as my cell, my healing chamber, my privateludus. Nothing here makes sense. The materials, the implements, the isolation—all speak of a world beyond my understanding.

Yet I am still a gladiator. Still my father’s son. Still a man who chooses dignity over surrender.

Whatever strange fate has brought me here, whatever liesDominustells through that miraculous translation device, I will face it with the strength Father taught me.

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