Gaius - Time skipper

Gaius' eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, the world was a blurred mess of light and shadow. His body ached, a dull, throbbing pain radiating from his side, his arms, his legs—everywhere. He groaned, shifting slightly, and agony knifed through his ribs, sharp and merciless. He drew in a breath, shallow and ragged, forcing himself to remain still. The pain was not unfamiliar. He had woken to worse.

The murmur of voices, hushed but urgent, reached his ears. The rustle of cloth, the snap of a twig underfoot. Grass, damp and cool, pressed against his back. Slowly, his vision sharpened, and faces swam into focus. Strangers. A cluster of them hovered nearby, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and wary relief.

A woman knelt closest, her green eyes sharp and assessing. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead, her face streaked with dirt, but her hands were steady as she checked the crude bandages at his side. The scent of torn fabric and stale sweat clung to the air. "He's awake," she murmured.

A broad-shouldered man stood nearby, arms folded across his chest, his gaze heavy. "You lost blood," he said flatly. "A lot of it. Thought you might not wake."

The others lingered at a distance. A wiry, nervous-looking youth who kept fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Another, older, quieter, his eyes unreadable in the gloom. They all looked tired, wrung out and wary, their clothes torn, their bodies stiff with exhaustion.

Gaius exhaled through his nose, testing the weight of his limbs. He was sluggish, the strength not yet returned to him, but he could move. That was something. "Where?" His voice came out rough, a rasp more than a word.

"Dragged you off before more of those things could find us," the woman said. "Only made it this far."

He turned his head, scanning the terrain. A small clearing at the base of a mountain, the jungle curling thick beyond them, shadows shifting between the trees. Not a camp. Just a place to stop before the next step. His ribs protested as he pushed himself up on one elbow, but he ignored the pain. It was a familiar ache. The price of survival.

"How long?" he asked.

"Two hours, maybe less," the broad-shouldered man answered. "Figured you needed the rest before we moved again."

The nervous one swallowed hard. "You… you really killed it? With just that?" He gestured vaguely toward Gaius' vambrace, as if it were some relic of legend instead of a battered piece of armor.

Gaius flexed his fingers, feeling the dried blood crusted at his knuckles. "It was kill or die." His voice was low, firm. "I chose to live."

A silence stretched between them. The jungle did not share it. Far off, something howled.

Not the wind.

"We need to keep moving," the woman said, rising to her feet. "Sitting here makes us easy prey."

The broad-shouldered man nodded. "We thought we would head for higher ground. See what's ahead."

Gaius set his jaw, pushing through the haze of pain and fatigue. The others were watching him, waiting, their eyes expectant. They wanted him to lead. He had seen that look before, in the arena, before the gates opened and the blood began to flow.

He clenched his fists, feeling the sting of his torn skin, the dull hum of power from the creatures he had slain still pulsing within him. Hopefully it would be of help.

***

They trudged onward through the jungle, rising steadily, and Gaius felt every step grind against his bruised ribs. The suffocating heat of the jungle clung to him, every breath tasting of damp earth and decaying leaves. Despite the ache in his side, he forced himself to stay alert, keeping one ear tuned for the sound of those winged terrors. The group moved in tense silence for a time, their eyes shifting constantly between the tangled canopy above and the dense undergrowth at their feet.

At length, they reached a small clearing where a fallen log formed a rough bench. Aera—the woman with the sharp green eyes—motioned for them to stop. "Let's bind your injuries again," she said, glancing pointedly at Gaius' bandage. "We need you steady on your feet." He nodded wearily and sank down, leaning back against the log. His breath came ragged, chest heaving with the strain of the climb. The broad-shouldered man knelt to help tighten the bloodstained cloth around Gaius' torso. Gaius couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped when rough hands pressed against his raw skin.

As they worked, the younger man hovered close by, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. A question seemed to burn in his eyes, but he kept his silence until the makeshift bandaging was done. Then, unable to hold back any longer, he cleared his throat.

"You know," he began, voice hushed so as not to carry into the surrounding jungle, "you really look like… one of those gladiators. The way you dress—the armor, the vambrace—it's like a costume. Were you in some sort of… play… before you came here?" He flushed slightly, then pressed on, curiosity unbridled. "We've all been wondering. Though, judging by the way you fought that thing back there… you definitely know what you're doing. I'd say you've had a lot of training, right?"

Aera paused, darting a quick, curious glance toward Gaius. Even the broad-shouldered man looked intrigued, though he tried to hide it behind a stern expression. The older fellow, standing a few steps away, merely angled his head to listen. Gaius felt the scrutiny settle on him like a cloak he couldn't shrug off.

He swallowed, noticing an unexpected, unsettling twist in his gut. "A play?" he repeated, arching a brow in genuine confusion. "I'm no actor, if that's what you're implying."

The younger man shifted from foot to foot, swallowing nervously. "Well… it's just… I've read about gladiators, about Rome and the arenas. We all have. It's common knowledge, sure—but it's ancient. So to see someone dressed like—like you just stepped off a stage where they reenact those battles…" He trailed off, shrugging awkwardly.

Gaius glanced down at his vambrace, its surface streaked with both dried and fresh blood. He thought of the Colosseum's roaring crowd, the sickly-sweet smell of sweat and death in the humid air beneath the stands. It had all been so real—still was real to him. He raised his gaze to meet the younger man's stare. "I fought in the arena," he said quietly. "Not some reenactment. The real thing. Crowds roaring, sand underfoot. Blood for coin." His jaw set. "There was nothing staged about it."

Aera's eyes narrowed a fraction, and she exchanged a glance with the broad-shouldered man. The younger man's expression mirrored a bewilderment that made Gaius' pulse spike. "But… that was centuries ago," the youth ventured. "Gladiatorial combat—it's… from another time."

Gaius' breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he could only stare at them, stunned by the suggestion that his entire world was little more than a footnote to these people. The words rattled around in his head: Centuries. Another time. It was like being told the sun had turned to ice—impossible. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, confusion turning to a flicker of anger.

"But I was there not long ago. I—" He exhaled hard, the idea almost too big to grasp. "I bled in that arena. Rome was at its height, soldiers marched, the crowds—" He broke off, struggling to reconcile their certainty with his own memories.

No one answered immediately. The broad-shouldered man looked troubled, as though he wanted to doubt Gaius but couldn't ignore the conviction in his voice. Finally, he shrugged, voice gruff. "It doesn't matter. You can fight—that might keep us alive."

The younger man gave a small nod, face still etched with wonder. "Whatever's really going on… you sure fight like a demon."

Gaius forced himself to steady his breathing. There'd be time to grapple with the impossibility of it all later. He'd faced nightmares before—this was just another one, albeit stranger than any he'd known. He clenched his hand around the edge of his vambrace, knuckles whitening. If he had truly been hurled across centuries, he'd have to find the truth behind it. But first and foremost, he had to survive.

Aera finally broke the tense hush by standing and sweeping her gaze around the clearing. "We have to move," she said, her voice low but urgent. "Staying put only makes us an easy target."

Gaius let out a slow, uneven breath, then pushed himself to his feet. The raw burn of his wounds flared with every motion, but he ignored the discomfort. The old mantra in his mind held firm: keep upright, keep breathing, keep fighting.

They started off again, forging a careful path through the thickening foliage. The younger man stuck close, as if he might glean more details from every measured step Gaius took. And though Gaius' mind still whirled—Rome, a memory lost in the past?—he knew better than to let his guard drop.

Survival came first. Answers could wait. He adjusted his makeshift blade of a vambrace, and pressed on through the suffocating green, one painful step at a time.