Chapter 46: Oseka’s Cooking
Chapter 46: Oseka’s Cooking
The carriage rolled on in silence as the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold that stretched across the horizon like a promise of rest.
Alex sat with his back against the cushioned seat, his eyes fixed on nothing, his mind still churning through questions the system refused to answer. The revelation from earlier, sat heavy in his chest like a stone he couldn’t swallow.
Across from him, Ignatius was lost in his own thoughts, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Beside Alex, Gaius was still "sleeping"—his chin against his chest, his breathing slow and even, the picture of an old man who had dozed off hours ago and wouldn’t wake until morning.
The sun was setting now, the shadows stretching long across the road, and Ignatius leaned toward the window. "We’ll stop here," he called out to the driver. "Set up camp for the night."
The carriage lurched to a halt. Outside, the guards began the familiar rhythm of camp-making; unloading tents, gathering firewood, the low murmur of men who had done this a hundred times and would do it a hundred more. The smell of dry grass and evening dew drifted through the carriage window, clean and cool after the stale air of the road.
Gaius’s eyes snapped open, like a man who had never been asleep. He straightened in his seat, rolled his shoulders with a series of audible cracks, and pushed open the carriage door without a word.
Alex and Ignatius both stared at him.
Gaius stepped down onto the grass, stretched his arms above his head with a grunt, and walked off toward the camp like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just confirmed every suspicion Alex had been nursing since the carriage started moving.
"He wasn’t sleeping," Alex said.
"He was not sleeping," Ignatius agreed.
They exchanged a glance. Neither of them knew what to do with it.
Alex climbed out of the carriage. The evening air was cool against his skin, a relief after the suffocating stillness of the ride. He took a deep breath, and let it out. The system was still silent. The questions were still there. But for the first time in hours, he could move. He could breathe. He could pretend, for a moment, that he was just a man on a journey, not a gladiator walking toward his own execution.
He went looking for Oseka.
He found him near the supply carts, surrounded by guards. Not in the way that meant trouble—in the way that meant food.
Oseka had a clay pot balanced over a small cooking fire, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hands moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times. The firelight flickered across his face, catching the concentration in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow as he adjusted the heat.
A sack of dried herbs sat open beside him, their scent sharp and green. A wooden board held chopped vegetables; onions, something that looked like peppers,and roots Alex didn’t recognize. The guards, hard men in polished armor, were hovering around him like hopeful children, their spears forgotten, their mouths already watering.
Alex stopped a few paces away and watched.
There was something familiar about the way Oseka moved, the rhythm of his hands, the ingredients laid out on the board, the smell drifting from the pot—rich, savory, laced with spices that Alex couldn’t name but somehow recognized. It stirred something in him. Something that had nothing to do with Rome or the arena or the system pulsing silently in the corner of his vision.
He stepped closer. "What are you making?"
Oseka looked up, a grin spreading across his face. "My mother’s native dish, Egusi." He stirred the pot, the thick mixture bubbling gently, releasing another wave of that rich, familiar scent. "She used to make it back home. Took me years to get the spices right."
The word hit Alex like a stone dropped into still water.
Egusi.
He knew that word. He had eaten that dish. A friend who had insisted he try it—some guy from his history seminar who wouldn’t shut up about how his country’s dish would change Alex’s life. He remembered the lasting taste on his tongue.
He opened his mouth to say something. To tell Oseka that he’d had this before, that he knew this dish, that it came from a world neither of them should know anything about.
But the words caught in his throat.
How would he explain it? What would he say? That he’d eaten egusi in a city that didn’t exist yet, in a country Oseka had never heard of, in a century that hadn’t happened? That the dish Oseka was making, was something a friend forced him to try while they binged shows on Netflix?
He couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say any of that.
So he just stood there, watching the pot bubble, the spices drifting up into the evening air. The scent wrapped around him like a memory he couldn’t quite place.
"It smells good," he said quietly.
"It’ll taste better," Oseka said. He gestured toward the camp with his wooden spoon. "Go relax, dinner will be ready soon. You look like you need it."
Alex let out a small laugh. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means you look like a man who’s been trapped in a box with two old men for an entire day. Go breathe. I’ll call you when it’s ready."
Alex shook his head, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re a lifesaver, you know that?"
"I know." Oseka turned back to his pot, still grinning. "Someone has to be."
"Still can’t believe you know how to cook." Alex said as he turned.
"What was that?"
"Nothing." Alex chuckled.
He retreated toward the camp, the evening settling around him like a blanket. The sky had deepened to a soft purple at the edges, the first stars beginning to prickle through the dark. The guards were still hovering around Oseka’s cooking fire, their laughter low and easy. Gaius was somewhere in the shadows, probably still thinking about everything he’d heard in the carriage, still carrying the scroll in his bag, still waiting for the right moment to speak. Ignatius was standing near the tents, speaking quietly with one of the soldiers, his expression unreadable in the firelight.
And Alex, for the first time since the sun had risen, felt something close to peace.
The questions were still there, the system was still silent, and he still didn’t know how he’d gotten here or what had been taken from him. But Oseka was making egusi, the smell of his mother’s recipe was drifting through a Roman camp, familiar, strange and heartbreaking all at once. And for now, for tonight, that was enough.