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Chapter Thirty-Five

D amian

The drums had been silent for a while, but they wake me just before dawn. Their rhythm pulses through the earth itself, calling to something deep and primal in my blood. Beside me, Maya stirs, her eyes opening with clarity after sleeping almost a full day.

A soft knock at our door reveals a young woman who introduces herself as Sarah, Joseph’s granddaughter. She carries two bundles of clothing—simple garments in natural fibers. “Grandfather invites you to observe our summer solstice celebration,” she says. “But only if you leave everything of the modern world behind. No phones, no watches, nothing to anchor you to the current time.”

The significance of her words isn’t lost on me. A man unstuck from time, being asked to step even further from the modern world. Maya looks at me, unspoken questions etched on her features, but I’ve already decided. After all, what is time to one who has slept through two millennia?

We dress in the offered clothing—loose pants and a simple shirt for me, a dress of similar material for Maya. The fabric feels handwoven, reminding me of the clothes of my youth. We follow Sarah along a path lit by the first hints of dawn to a natural amphitheater formed by red rock walls. Fire pits arranged in a sacred pattern burn bright against the dimming stars.

Joseph awaits us at the center, adorned with feathers and stones that catch the pre-dawn light. “Today we honor the turning of the wheel,” he says as we take our places. “When past and present dance together.”

Maya’s hand finds mine as the ceremony begins. The drums speak in patterns that feel older than Rome itself, yet somehow familiar to my blood. Dancers emerge from the shadows, their movements telling stories I cannot understand but somehow recognize in my soul.

“Join them,” Joseph says softly. “Let your bodies remember what your minds have forgotten.”

For a moment, I hesitate—then the drums find the rhythm of my heartbeat, and Maya is already moving. Her fighter’s grace adapts instantly to the dance, as though she’s done this a thousand times before. My feet follow of their own accord, finding steps that feel ancient yet natural.

We move together, our trained bodies in perfect harmony. Time loses all meaning—minutes or hours, it no longer matters. The drumbeats fill my blood, my breath, my being. Maya’s eyes meet mine as we move, and I see in them the same wild joy, the same release from the weight of past and future.

“Now you understand,” Joseph says as the ceremony winds down. “Time is not a straight line, but a turning wheel. What seems lost may return. What seems broken may find new wholeness.”

I touch the coin of Tyche at my neck—my mother’s goddess of fortune and fate, whose wheel symbol matches Joseph’s words. How strange that across oceans and millennia, these profound truths remain unchanged.

We sink to the ground, spent but somehow renewed. Maya’s skin glows with early sunlight and exertion, her smile more radiant than I’ve ever seen it. The persistent worry about her father, the constant fear of our hunters—all temporarily burned away by the dance.

“The first peoples of Rome,” I say softly, “they danced to honor their gods before temples were built. Before rigid ceremonies. They simply… danced.”

“All people danced, once,” Joseph agrees after Maya translates. “Before we built walls between ourselves and the spirits. Some of us remember. Some of us are chosen to remind others.”

Maya molds herself to my side as the other dancers begin sharing food and water. “For the first time since this started,” she whispers, “I can breathe. Like everything tangled inside me has come unbound.”

I know exactly what she means. For the first time since waking in this age, I feel truly present—not torn between past and future, but simply… here. Now. With her.

Joseph hands us cups of herbal tea that taste of earth and sky. “Rest. Let the medicine of the dance work through you. Tomorrow… tomorrow will take care of itself.”

As the sun climbs higher, Maya and I remain seated on the red earth, letting the lingering drumbeats pulse through us. Perhaps being a man out of time isn’t a curse but a gift—a reminder that all moments connect, all wisdom endures, and love transcends the boundaries we place around it.

Maya’s head rests on my shoulder as the dancers depart. “Thank you,” she murmurs, “for sharing this journey with me.”

I press a kiss to her temple, tasting salt and sunlight on her skin. “We teach each other. And we learn together.”

The morning wind carries the scent of sage and possibility. Whatever comes next, we face it with renewed spirits and the knowledge that some bonds transcend time itself.