13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
T hrax
As I return to my room, my fingers still tingling from the unfamiliar motions of carving, a sense of accomplishment I haven’t felt in years washes over me. It’s like conquering an imposing opponent in the arena—a mixture of pride, relief, and excitement.
The wooden pendant I began carving is far from perfect, but it’s mine. I’m creating it with my own hands, guided by nothing but my memories of the original and sheer determination. As I turn the small object over in my palm, tracing its rough edges, my mind drifts back to another time when I surprised myself—and everyone else.
I’m fifteen again, gangly and uncertain, standing in the shadows inside the barracks. The other gladiators no longer tower over me; I’ve had another growth spurt. But I’m still the butt of many jokes. I shrink away from their laughter and jeers, trying to make myself invisible.
“Stultus ,” one of them sneers, calling me an idiot. “After all these years of training, he still can’t properly attack his opponent. ”
I lower my eyes, shame burning in my chest. They’re right. I don’t belong here. I’m too weak, too slow, and far too stupid to be a gladiator. But I have no choice. This is my life.
The ludus master’s voice cuts through the air like a flagrum whip. “Thrax! You’re up next in the arena. No wooden sword today, dog. It’s iron for you and Kallias. We have visitors to our renowned ludus . I want Kallias to impress them with your easy defeat.”
“To the death?” Kallias’s voice is eager, as though he’s dreamed of killing me for years. Perhaps it’s just that he wants to impress our visitors.
“We’ll see what your lanista decides when you get Thrax on the sand. Of course,” he sneers, “accidents can happen…”
My blood runs cold. I’m not ready. Everyone within earshot knows this. But before I can protest, I’m shoved into the blinding sunlight of the arena, a heavy metal gladius in my hand for the first time.
My opponent is older, stronger, more experienced. His eyes gleam with anticipation as he circles me, like a wolf eyeing its prey. I can barely lift my sword, my arms trembling with fear and the exhaustion of practicing all day in the heat.
To the death. So this is to be my end? I always knew I’d die in the arena, but I thought at least it would be in one of the finer arenas of Rome, with thousands watching. Not here in my ludus , dying in disgrace for the pleasure of a few noblemen.
The fight begins, and I’m immediately on the defensive. Every blow jars my bones, every near miss leaves me gasping. I can hear the onlookers jeering, smell the dust and sweat of the arena. This is how I die, I think. Weak and pathetic, not even worth remembering.
Then it happens. My opponent’s blade slices across my biceps, drawing blood. The pain is sharp, immediate. But it’s the sight of my own blood that jolts me awake .
In this moment, everything slows. The roar of the onlookers fades away. And there, in the midst of the chaos, I see her—the Goddess Fortuna. She stands at the edge of the arena, her blue gown flowing though there isn’t even a wisp of a breeze. Her cornucopia nestles in the crook of her arm, and her eyes are locked on mine.
“Fight, Thrax.” Though she whispers, her voice carries over the din. “Show them who you truly are.”
Something shifts inside me. The fear doesn’t disappear, but it’s joined by something else—determination. I tighten my grip on the sword and plant my feet firmly in the sand.
My opponent charges, expecting me to cower as I have been. But this time, I stand my ground. I duck under his swing and slash, my blade cutting a deep line across his chest.
The crowd gasps. My opponent stumbles back, surprise etched on his face. For the first time, I see uncertainty in his eyes.
I press my advantage, my movements driven by instinct and desperation. Perhaps all my training lodged deep in my thick head. It’s as though everything finally falls into place. Each clash of our swords sends a jolt through my body, but I don’t falter. I can’t. Not now.
The fight seems to last an eternity, yet it’s over in moments. My final blow sends my opponent’s sword flying. He drops to his knees, defeated.
The arena falls silent. Then, slowly, a cheer builds. It washes over me like a wave.
I stand there, panting, my sword arm trembling. I’ve won. Against all odds, I’ve survived. More than that—I’ve triumphed.
Looking into the stands, I see my lanista , the man who owns me. We’ve never spoken, but I know who he is. I keep eye contact but pray fervently to Fortuna that he doesn’t put his thumb up, an order for me to kill Kallias. Despite Kallius’s obvious desire to kill me in this bout, I have no desire to take his life .
Luckily, the lanista is no fool. Why waste Kallias’s life when he is worth far more alive than dead? He thrusts his thumb down to my great relief. I consider offering the man a hand up. But, no. I’m merciful, but not that generous.
As I turn toward my barracks, I catch sight of my fellow gladiators. Their faces are a mixture of shock and grudging respect. The ludus master nods approvingly, a hint of a smirk on his weathered face.
It’s not their reactions that matter most. It’s the feeling growing inside me—a tiny spark of hope, of belief in myself. For the first time in my life, I’ve proven that I’m more than just a slave, more than a joke to be laughed at, more than a big, ugly male to be dismissed.
I am Thrax of Thrace, and I am a survivor.
The memory fades, and I open my eyes to find myself back in my room, the partially carved wooden pendant still clutched in my hand. I realize I’m smiling. That day in the arena was the first time I truly believed in myself. Now, in this strange new world, I’ve taken another step forward.
As I set the pendant aside, ready to continue working on it tomorrow, I feel that same spark of hope rekindling in my chest. I may be out of my depth in this new world, but I’ve faced impossible odds before. And with Skye’s help, with this new freedom I’m slowly learning to embrace, who knows what I might achieve?
As I drift off to sleep, I could swear I hear Fortuna’s whisper once again: “Show them who you truly are, Thrax. Your journey is far from over.”