The infirmary had transformed in the hours since Lucius's arrival. What had begun as a sanctuary of medical quietude now bustled with orchestrated activity — assistants entered and exited carrying vials and bandages, while Servius conducted the apparent drama of urgent treatment.
To the guards positioned discretely by Varro's order, the spectacle was convincing: a man fighting against some mysterious ailment, physicians working frantically to save him. Within the inner walls, however, the reality was different.
Lucius lay on the examination table, body perfectly controlled. When doors opened, his performance was impeccable — a spasm here, an agonizing moan there. When they were alone, his eyes revealed only absolute vigilance.
"Our little theater is having the desired effect," said Servius, returning from a consultation in the corridor. A thin smile played at the corners of his mouth as he closed the door. "Flavius says Macro and Sven are almost pissing themselves with fear."
The corner of Lucius's mouth rose minimally — the closest he came to a smile. "And Varro?"
"Mobilized half the guard." Servius unnecessarily adjusted a bandage on Lucius's arm. "He's scouring the arsenal like a man possessed, counting every blade and questioning the guards who should have been supervising."
"Perfect," murmured Lucius. The word escaped like a satisfied sigh.
Servius studied him for a moment, tilting his head. "You calculated his reaction precisely."
Lucius shrugged slightly. "Varro is predictable when you observe his patterns. A man with his military background obsessed with order... confronted with a threat that violates his precarious sense of control? He could only react one way."
"Even so..." Servius didn't complete the thought, distracted by a gentle knock on the back door.
The physician frowned — this visit wasn't in the plans. His steps were silent as feathers crossing the room. When he opened the door, he found Atticus in the service corridor, a shadow waiting patiently.
After a moment of mutual evaluation, Servius stepped back, allowing the veteran gladiator to slip inside.
Atticus closed the door and approached the table where Lucius rested. His eyes swept the elaborate medical performance before meeting Lucius's. A moment of silent recognition passed between them.
"Elegant," he finally said, the word carrying genuine weight. "Transforming an assassination attempt into opportunity... few would have the vision for that."
Lucius abandoned the pretense of debility, rising to a sitting position with fluid movement. He showed no surprise at Atticus's perception — only renewed interest.
"You see clearly," he replied, studying the man before him as if seeing a new piece on a complex board.
"I saw the little comedy your ally Flavius staged for Macro and Sven." A touch of amusement tinged Atticus's voice. "The desperation in their eyes when he mentioned that Servius had identified poison... almost poetic."
Servius raised an eyebrow. "You already knew about their plan?"
"In this place, walls don't just have ears — they have eyes and tongues too." Atticus spoke as one sharing an obvious truth. "Information is the only currency that never loses value."
Lucius recognized confirmation of what he already suspected — Atticus was much more than he appeared. "Why are you here?"
An enigmatic smile touched the veteran's face. "First, to express admiration. I rarely see someone manipulate circumstances with such... economy." His eyes gleamed with something close to respect. "Second, to propose mutually beneficial collaboration."
"Be specific," said Lucius. His voice was calm, but his eyes didn't miss a single movement from Atticus.
"The conspiracy against you goes beyond Macro and his Nordic friend," revealed Atticus, leaning against the wall. "They're just pawns. Someone is uncomfortable with the interest Tribune Cornelius has shown in you."
The confirmation of his suspicions made Lucius nod slightly. "Who?"
"I'm not certain yet." Atticus made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "But there are indications pointing to Senator Cassius's inner circle. Someone who prefers to keep Quintus exactly where he is... far from Rome and any real influence."
"Fascinating," murmured Servius, inserting himself into the conversation. "This transforms a gladiator feud into something much more complex."
"Precisely." Atticus lowered his voice, leaning forward slightly. "And there's more. The 'specialist' the Tribune is bringing to train you? I have reason to believe he belongs to the Custodians."
The name fell like a stone in still waters. Servius visibly paled, his professional control momentarily shaken.
"Impossible," whispered the physician. "The Custodians don't show themselves so openly."
"In ordinary times, no." Atticus's eyes narrowed. "But these aren't ordinary times, are they?"
Lucius processed the information quickly, noting the physician's reaction. There was clearly meaning beyond the obvious in this name. "Who are these Custodians?"
The two men exchanged glances heavy with significance. It was Atticus who answered.
"An ancient order, operating in the empire's shadows for centuries," he explained. "Officially, they preserve knowledge too dangerous for common eyes. In practice..." He made a significant pause. "They eliminate anything or anyone they consider a threat to the established natural order."
"They're particularly interested," added Servius, with a caution Lucius had never seen in the physician, "in people with... abilities that challenge what they consider possible."
An internal chill ran through Lucius, though his face remained impassive. The implication was clear and disturbingly close to his true nature — a mind from another world, transplanted into this reality.
"An interesting historical curiosity," he commented with studied indifference. "But how does this relate to your proposal?"
"Our interests converge, at least for now," replied Atticus pragmatically. "Your survival benefits certain... initiatives I value. And those who want to eliminate you interfere with other objectives of mine."
"Convenient," observed Lucius, without committing. "And what exactly do you propose?"
"The basics. Information for information. Assistance when useful to both. Non-interference when we follow separate paths." Atticus's words were simple, direct, without unnecessary flourishes.
Lucius considered the offer, weighing benefits and potential traps. Atticus was clearly more than he appeared, but had demonstrated a type of integrity — even if it was only the integrity of a consistent pragmatist.
"Acceptable as provisional arrangement," he finally decided. "But first, I need a demonstration of good faith. Something beyond what you've already shared."
A gleam of approval passed through Atticus's eyes. "Fair." He moved a little closer, lowering his voice. "Here's something you might not know: Varro isn't just an ex-legionary concerned with security. He's an active agent of the Silent Watch."
The name confirmed suspicions Lucius had been cultivating since previous observations.
"And what brings the Silent Watch to a provincial ludus?" he asked, testing the depth of Atticus's knowledge.
"Initially? Senator Cassius's visit. Political figures of that caliber always attract attention from the empire's invisible protectors." Atticus paused, his eyes fixed on Lucius. "Later... you. Your exceptional abilities raised red flags."
"Do they suspect something specific?" Lucius kept his voice neutral, though internally calculating rapidly the implications.
"They believe you might be an operative of the Cult of the Ascending Shadow." Atticus's words fell heavily between them. "An infiltrated assassin, perhaps targeting the Senator during the games."
The mention of the same cult Septimus had discussed with Caius was no coincidence. Multiple lines of investigation converging on the same point indicated genuine concern at various levels.
"Based on what?" inquired Lucius.
"Suspicious circumstances of your appearance. Abilities incompatible with your history. And," Atticus tilted his head significantly, "certain... movements you demonstrated against Sven. Apparently, there are records of similar techniques used in assassinations attributed to the cult."
Silence reigned while Lucius absorbed these revelations. His defenses had been penetrated more deeply than he'd imagined — not just his disguise as an amnesiac gladiator, but potentially elements of his true nature were under scrutiny.
"Valuable information," he finally conceded. "Our collaboration is established, provisionally."
Atticus nodded, satisfied. "Absolute discretion, naturally."
"Obviously," agreed Lucius. "And your visit here..."
"Never happened," completed Atticus, already moving toward the back door. "For your planning: when do you intend to end this... convalescence?"
"Tomorrow at dawn," replied Lucius, offering this information as calculated demonstration of confidence. "A remarkable recovery, but not miraculous enough to arouse additional suspicions."
Atticus absorbed the information with an appreciative smile. "Useful to know. Until our next meeting, then."
After the gladiator's silent departure, Servius turned to Lucius, lines of concern marking his face.
"A useful alliance, but risky," commented the physician.
"Every ally is a double-edged sword," replied Lucius. "The question is simply who controls the handle at any given moment."
Servius nodded slowly. "The Custodians are... concerning. I encountered mentions of them in forbidden texts during my studies in Alexandria."
"Tell me more," instructed Lucius, recognizing the value of the physician's specialized knowledge.
"They exist at the intersection between political power and... inexplicable phenomena." Servius's voice lowered, as if the very walls might be listening. "They seek and study anomalies. People with abilities that defy natural understanding. Entities that shouldn't exist, but do."
The echo of these words resonated deeply in Lucius. An organization dedicated to identifying beings like him — consciousnesses transplanted between worlds — represented a threat he hadn't anticipated.
"Curious superstition," he commented with studied indifference, hiding the concern germinating within. "Let's focus on more immediate matters. How long will we maintain this charade?"
Servius seemed relieved with the shift to more practical ground. "Twelve more hours of apparent crisis, followed by gradual recovery. Tomorrow morning you'll be 'miraculously' better, though still weakened enough to justify caution."
"Perfect," approved Lucius.
While Servius prepared more bandages for the next check-up visit, Lucius allowed himself a rare moment of true reflection. What had begun as a simple maneuver to neutralize two mediocre adversaries had revealed layers of complexity that transcended the ludus by far. Secret cults, disguised imperial agents, ancient organizations hunting anomalies like him...
The game had expanded dramatically, stakes rising beyond mere immediate survival. Greater dangers lurked, but also vaster possibilities.
A slight smile touched his lips. Complexity meant opportunity for those skilled enough to navigate it. Each new threat could be transformed into advantage with correct application of intelligence and relentless will.
And if there was something he didn't lack, it was precisely that.