Page 5 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
What’s that supposed to mean?I text back, though I know perfectly well.
It means don’t show up at their compound with recording equipment and that look you get when you’re about to bulldoze someone’s boundaries. Build trust first. For once in your life, take the slow approach.
She’s right, as usual. The slow approach. Not exactly my specialty.
Fine. I’ll be the picture of restraint and professionalism.
Sure you will. Just like at the Waverly Hills Sanitorium fiasco, where you broke into the body chute at 3 AM.
That was different. The groundskeeper said we could explore “anywhere on the property.”
The AUTHORIZED parts of the property! Just… promise me you won’t do anything impulsive this time?
I stare at her message, fingers hovering over the screen. Impulsive is practically my middle name. Every significant breakthrough we’ve had on the podcast came from me following my instincts, pushing just a little further than the average investigator would dare.
But Megan’s right. This requires a different approach. Lucius isn’t some local ghost story or tourist-trap haunted house. He’s a living, breathing connection to ancient death rituals—and possibly the only person who might understand what I experienced on the other side.
I promise I’ll be careful,I text finally. Not quite what she asked, but as close as I can honestly get.
The digital clock flips to 4:13 AM as I open my laptop again. I start drafting an outline for what could be the most important episode of my career:
“Death. Humanity’s constant companion since the beginning of time. Every culture, every civilization has created rituals to honor, placate, or understand it. But what if some of us have glimpsed beyond the veil that separates life from what comes after? And what could we learn from someone who once served as death’s official priest in ancient Rome?”
There’s a fine line between respectful investigation and exploitation. Between genuine connection and using someone for content. I’ve always prided myself on staying on the rightside of that line, but this… this feels different. More personal somehow.
The memory of his pale eyes studying me sends another shiver down my spine. He saw through me, past the carefully constructed aesthetic, past the professional podcast persona, straight to the frightened seventeen-year-old who woke up in a hospital bed with memories no one believed.
For the first time in years, I feel exposed. Vulnerable. And strangely, inexplicably drawn to someone who seems to understand the weight of carrying death’s touch among the living.
Dawn leaks through the crappy motel curtains, pale and indifferent. I close the laptop, but the outline keeps unraveling in my head—threads of history, ritual, death, and the man who might be the key to all of it.
Lucius isn’t just a story. He’s a survivor of blood and empire, a priest of the underworld trapped in a time that no longer believes in gods or ghosts.
And yet… when he looked at me, something ancient looked back. Not pity. Not curiosity. Recognition.
I’ve interviewed morticians, mediums, death doulas, and skeptics. But none of them made me feelseenlike that. Not the way he did.
This isn’t just research. Not anymore.
I don’t need better equipment.
I need to earn his trust.
Chapter Three
Lucius
Morning training with the others proves a welcome distraction from last night’s unexpected encounter. The sanctuary’s central yard pulses with life. Bodies in motion, steel ringing against steel, the familiar rhythm of combat training that spans centuries.
Varro oversees everything from the raised platform, his natural authority undiminished by two millennia.
“Your form is slipping, Lucius.” Quintus blocks my strike with practiced ease, then counters with a sweeping leg maneuver that nearly connects. “Still wandering the graveyard at night instead of sleeping?”
The observation hits closer than he knows. “The dead make for quieter company than the living.”
Quintus actually laughs—a sound rarer than honest politicians.
“Fair enough. Though you might want to be more careful with your midnight wanderings. Sulla’s in a mood this morning.” He gestures toward the main building, where our formerludusmaster stalks around like a caged wolf.
