62. Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Two

M arcus Fabius Varro

Over the past week, my comrades have been carefully chipped from the still-frozen ice and transported to Switzerland in freezer trucks. What if they’re thawed at great expense only to turn out to be decayed and rotting meat?

“Are you ready for this?” Laura asks, squeezing my hand and pulling me from my somber musings.

I nod, trying to project a confidence I don’t entirely feel. “It doesn’t matter if I’m ready. It must be done.”

As we enter, the cryo room is filled with tension and the hum of medical machinery. Cylindrical chambers line the walls, each containing one of my comrades. The metal surfaces reflect the harsh lights, giving the room a lifeless feeling. It’s a far cry from the warm, earthen tones of the ludus where I once trained alongside most of these men.

Dr. Diaz stands nearby, her crisp white coat a stark contrast to the colorless room. Laura’s presence beside me is a comforting anchor in this sea of modern technology and ancient lives.

“All systems are go,” Dr. Diaz announces, her voice excited even though she’s trying to sound professional and detached. “As we discussed, we’ll proceed with one subject at a time. This approach will allow us to monitor the process closely and make any necessary adjustments for future revivals.”

My gaze sweeps across the chambers, each one holding a story, a life interrupted. Names and faces flash through my mind—men I trained with, fought alongside, shared meals and dreams and fears with.

“Who do you recommend we start with, Varro?” Laura asks, her hand finding mine in a gesture that’s become as natural as breathing.

Before I can respond, Dr. Diaz interjects, “If I may suggest, there’s one candidate that stands out from a medical perspective.” She leads us to a chamber near the end of the row of men. “This one. He’s remarkably well-preserved, with a robust physique that suggests he may have a better chance at adapting to the revival process.”

Peering through the semi-transparent ice, I’m met with a familiar yet distant face. “Thrax,” I murmur. His name feels strange on my tongue, reminding me that it has, indeed, been millennia, not months, since I last spoke his name.

“You know him?” Dr. Diaz asks, her interest piqued.

“Not as well as most of the others,” I admit. “He joined us at the docks just before we set sail. A Thracian.”

Laura leans in, studying the frozen figure. “What can you tell us about him?”

Memories surface slowly, like bubbles rising through thick oil. “He was… big. Quiet. Kept to himself. Didn’t say much, which made some of the others think he wasn’t too bright.” I pause, recalling how he came alive during our final hours on the Fortuna , stepping up, taking charge, talking more than he had in weeks as he tried to buoy others’ spirits and keep them alive.

“There was something about him. Steady. Even. Never shirked hard work. The kind of man you’d want by your side in a fight. ”

Dr. Diaz nods, her expression thoughtful. “That steadiness could be an asset during the revival process and the subsequent adjustment period. What do you think, Varro? Should we proceed with Thrax?”

My eyes roam over Thrax’s frozen form. Even through the ice, his muscular body commands respect. Broad shoulders, thick arms—a body built for combat. But it’s his face that catches my attention. The ice has begun to clear enough to reveal features that speak of a hard life. His nose is crooked from multiple breaks and his left ear has deformities from being hit too many times. This is not a handsome man, but one carved by battle, pain, and survival.

“Yes,” I decide, feeling the weight of the choice. “Let’s give Thrax his second chance at life as a free man.”

Dr. Diaz springs into action, briefing us on the procedure ahead. “The thawing process will take approximately forty-eight hours,” she explains. “We’ll gradually raise the temperature while introducing a cocktail of nutrients, immunizations, and cellular protectants. Varro, that would be like slowly warming the humors to restore balance. After that, we’ll begin the delicate process of restarting his bodily functions.”

As the medical team bustles around us, preparing for the monumental task ahead, I find myself lost in thought. What will Thrax make of this new world? Will he adapt as I have, or will the shock prove too much?

As the doctor turns back to her work, I interrupt her. “Doctor, I never quite understood. How did I survive without any of this…” I wave my hand, “equipment when these men need all this care?”

She smiles and stares directly into my eyes. “That, Varro, is the biggest miracle of all because all the science I know tells me you should be dead.”

My heart clenches with the weight of that statement. It’s not as though I haven’t known I’m a miracle, but to hear her say it reminds me just how lucky I am—and to have the love of a wonderful woman like Laura is a double blessing. I whisper a silent prayer to the Goddess Fortuna .

Suddenly that last moment at the docks before the ship left pierces into my thoughts. There was something about the priestess, her potion, the look on her face that hinted she held a monumental secret. Could there have been something in the elixir that allowed me to live? And if it saved my life, could it save all the others?

Laura’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Hey,” she says softly, her eyes searching mine. “Where’d you go just now?”

A wry smile tugs at my lips. “Just wondering what Thrax will think of cars and ice cream and ‘Clair de Lune’.”

Her laugh, bright and unexpected in the sterile room, lightens the mood. “Well, whatever modern things he does or doesn’t like, I imagine he’ll be happy to be alive.”

“And free.”

After we share this calm moment, the serious mood returns. We know that Thrax’s life—all their lives—hangs in the balance. Hopefully, in a matter of days, another man from my past will open his eyes to this shocking new world. The thought is both exciting and terrifying.

Dr. Diaz approaches with Dr. Petrov, the medical chief. I would have thought their faces would be bland, but this is such a momentous procedure, they are both brimming with excitement. “We’re ready to begin. I’ll need you both to step out now. We’ll keep you updated throughout the process.”

With a final glance at Thrax’s frozen form, we make our way to the door. On the threshold, I pause, looking back at the man who may soon join me in this strange future.

“Good luck, my friend,” I murmur. “May the Gods grant you strength for the journey ahead.”

As the door closes behind us, sealing Thrax in with the medical team, I can’t help but feel we’ve set in motion something that will change all our lives forever. Whatever comes next, there’s no turning back now.