Heroes of Republic: Ancient Roman Super Heroes

[StrigaRosa]

The five Corvii stood in front of a tall, shining building; it was a stark contrast to the masses of indistinct lemurs that lived in spiritual squalor.

"It looks a bit like the Senate building." Sextus remarked.

"I was here once, when I became the Tribune of Shades." Considius pointed out. "Did not enjoy what I saw coming out from it. This place is not friendly to plebs."

"Well, you are not alone anymore. They have to deal with us a group now." Lidia murmured. "Besides, Quirinus is gone. They must acknowledge our legitimacy."

"Wait, did I just happen to support a coup?" Diodorus asked more amused than annoyed. "Damn Lidia, I did not know you had that in you."

"That would not be an unjustified observation." Aeneid replied, climbing the first steps. "But this is no place for hindsight. Let's go."

The similarities to the Senate continued within. Many circular seats, painted walls with scenes depicting the history of the Roman Republic - from its rise to different dooms that would threaten to quench the flame of Libertas. It took a while for their mind to process, but the meeting hall had some bizarre geometry, seeming to twist around the corner of the eye, defying time and space to accommodate an impossible number of specters. Considius was quick to note that the odd architecture and material choice prevalent across the Underworld was present in this august building; the rising pillars were made of compressed crushed bone that seemed to fade and reform from dust, the chairs carved out of fossilized wood and the floor paved with the bleached, chiseled skulls of those that had died in the name of freedom, justice and virtue.

Two radiant specters presided over thousand years of kings, elders, heroes, monsters, generals and politicians. Consuls of the dead dominated center-space, no matter in which direction you looked; the curved roof allowed Celestial light to shine upon them as a blinding righteous column. They stood apart from the other spirits even as they stepped forward, their features much more clear and detailed, almost if they were alive and real - death no more than an inconvenience of circumstantial relevancy. One of the consuls waved towards the Corvii, a man bearded, elderly and fit, flanked by two enormous corvines of his own.

But, it was the other consul that opened the session.

"You have been called here to answer for your crimes; would-be guardians, false Corvii, betrayers of Eagles." The specter accused them with a booming voice that seemed to come from the walls themselves. "Admit your guilt for the murder the appointed protector of Rome and surrender yourself to the mercy of its dreams and hopes."

That would be enough!" The consul with the birds interrupted. "I beg you, please accept my apology on behalf of my colleague, Triumphants of Rome. He seems to be acting under the misguided notion that I had not acknowledge you as my proper successors, as most exalted defenders of the Republic."

"And that is supposed to validate their aggression against another dispenser of heavenly retribution? I think not, Valerius Corvus! You tipped your hand, revealing to this Senate how you will always be willing to turn a blind eye when it comes to your favored children. May I remind you that your duties to the Crows should be second to those to the people of Rome and its shades?"

Diodorus was amused by the endless bickering and infighting that all democratic bodies seemed to foster. He had missed it dearly.

Aeneid struggled with a nervous smile, eyes toward the floor as she advanced a couple of steps. Senatorial lemurs turned on their seats, a twinkle of madness as they felt the allure of a Celestial spark.

"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" Lidia lifted her head towards the column of light. "This hearing is not about the actions of the gens Valeria, the Crows or any other of my companions and associates. It is about me."

The two consuls looked at each other. The leading one gestured to the audience and Lidia.

"It is indeed. We cannot let this go on without proper retribution; it would put into question this government body's capacity to safeguard the Roman soul. Imagine if you heard it yourself: a foreign power, a former slave, a non-citizen, coming from exile and murdering the Urbe's protector - only to declare themselves the new shield of the Republic. How can any proper Roman not squirm under what could be perceived as a coup backed by a foreign king." He then turned to one of the faded shades. "No offense, Servius Tullius."

Discussion spread across the specters, a cacophony impossible to follow. Somehow they came to a consensus. The consul of the crows accepted the common decision with a defeated sigh. Lidia quietly whispered something to Considius.

"The Triumph of Aeneias, acting through the Celestial person of Lidia of Sparda, stands accused of murdering an unknown Roman citizen of undetermined affiliation that had taken upon themselves the mantle of the divine Quirinus in its aspect of Dark Thunderer. A jury will be chosen from members of the Shadow Senate, and the trial will begin immediately.""I move to veto this motion." The Shadow Tribune interrupted. "The People disagrees with these terms; holding a trial under those terms would not be auspicious for their interests."

More squabbling; the other consul offered another rephrasing of the accusation. Another veto. More arguments. Consul proposed direct appointment of the jury by both parties; Considius vetoed it yet again. Lemurs and mortal went back and forth, the barber blocking the entire judicial process with a veto blockade.

"What are you doing?" Sextus whispered to Considius. "I appreciate this, but we cannot rely only in vetoing. Look at them, they are dead! They literally can go on forever and all you need to do is doze off for a second."

Considius winked at Lidia, the woman winking back with her good eye.

"I do not need forever. How much time do you need to build a case?"

*​

The trial, as it was only proper, was held in a public forum. There were seats for the jurors and a raised platform from which both sides would address the gathering mob. As everything in the Rome That Never Was, this could not be some mundane wood stage: it arched over assembled human spines, decorated with skulls fused together in an imitation of Janus and the two-faced nature of Justice.

The Crow sat on their corner, huddled around a contemplative Sextus; fingers entangled in a pyramid, eyes semi-closed. He raced through the entire collection of facts, laws, precedents and context; it was difficult to concentrate. Everyone was silent but screamed at him, their expectant gazes betraying their expectations. Lidia's false relaxation asked justice and harmony from him - even if Sextus was sure she would not like the price that demanded. Considius' confident profile demanded nothing but a win; such plebeian view of the role of the advocate; success was measured not in victorious verdicts but how often you presented the best possible case - and sometimes, the best possible case is still not a very good one. He was satisfied with Diodorus' amused presence; he wanted entertainment and Sextus was confident he would deliver. As for Orcus, even the titan seemed conflicted.

Sextus caressed his frowning brow. He was working for the team but he was not working with a team; none of them were of any help - through no fault of their own. Thinking that way helped him deal with the frustration; it did not, however, improve Lidia's case. Things would be different if Davinia was part of his defense team; the others knew he was an experienced lawyer but had no idea what that required. With his friend by his side he knew he would present to the court the best version of himself.

If he was down to such thoughts then there was nothing he could do to improve his case. He turned and climbed the stage with quiet resolve. In front of him stood the weird judges that Considius eventually agreed with: a king, three former consuls, two Latin nobles, a shade that had once served as dictator, two plebeians with no clients and - most curious of all - the nymph Adastreia. The prosecutor was the same consul that had been so adamant in punishing Lidia.

Sextus stood upright, stoic chin slightly raised; he suffered patiently as the prosecuting consul repeated the same accusations he had put forward in the Shadow Senate. A few touches to inspire emotion in the dead spirits, a few token insults towards Lidia, personal glorification of themselves and their politically and judicial career. Textbook stuff.

inally allowed to speak, Tabula Rasa offered the crowd his opening statements.

"Much has been said about Quirinus and Aeneid, mostly assumptions; one particularly poignant accusation. You heard it from the consul's mouth that Lidia is a foreign woman, unfit for the the power she wields; a point he will certainly keep pushing over the course of this trial. Anyone that has met this woman knows there is nobody that can match her love for the Republic and the Liberty and Hope it represents; she has been our ambassador to the four corners of the world, returned to us in our hour of need. And her talents? We should all be celebrating them; she had been wielding the Triumph of the Founder Aeneas ever since she was a young girl, and her skills have only improved over the years."

Sextus noticed as the attention of the audience was drifting away, the opening statement long and pedestrian. Time to go for the throat.

"Much about the character of a defendant and the merits of their case can be inferred by the advocate that takes them as a client. And who took her defense? A slave? An unpolished youth? A nobody?" Sextus approached the jury; he stood in front of one of the shades, pulled a knife and raised his hand. He slashed across the palm, dripping blood in front of the specter, inviting him to a taste. As the lemur took shape and memory, Tabula Rasa had questions ready.

"Who are you?"

"Gaius Atilius Regulus, consul of the Roman Republic, last of my gens."

"And who am I?"

"Sextus Sergius." The specter smiled. "Esplorator. Hero of Telamon, Vanquisher of the Celts, Bulwark of the Republic."

Man and specter traded glances, so much left unsaid. Sextus' guilty held a grip around his heart; he could finally ask for the forgiveness he needed from Attilus Regulus. But he had paid the blood price for another.

"And I am defending Aeneid." He turned to the mob, voice raised. "Who can deserve such patronage? A true paragon of Republican values, that is who."

The mob cheered, the jury and the prosecution looked at each other in confusion. Sextus had caused enough chaos; time to finish it off - while he still had the support of the people.

"Why would an exalted personally as Lidia commit such a heinous crime? People and Senate of the Rome That Never Was, not only is Aeneid innocent of the accusation levied against her by the specters in the Senate, the crime described has never happened." Incredulous and outraged mumblings. "During the course of this trial I plan to prove that there is reasonable doubt about the alleged murder; the fate of the wielder of the Triumph of Quirinus Niger Fulminator is unknown and has always been beyond the control of Lidia or any of the New Crows." The prosecuting consul blinked his immaterial eyes, incredulous at the claim. Lidia barely managed to keep a straight face; she kept being told how good a lawyer her servant was - and yet, for some reason, she assumed that meant he would come out, be open and honest and convince everyone to see the truth.

Sextus refused to engage anyone, resuming his distant stoic posture; it felt to the prosecution to proceed with the trial.

"This is utter non-sense. How can Sextus even say such things? Everyone present can attest that they felt the disappearance of Quirinus' powerful spark."

"What a funny consul we shades have." Sextus dismissed with a calculated shrug. "Could you sense a Celestial spark outside of the Underworld? Or above, in the living Rome? That is precisely what I meant; "fate outside of our reach". It is besides the point: if Quirinus was not murdered, there is obviously no culprit; and as this argument shows, whatever happened to Quirinus, the circumstances are too strange and arcane, governed by forces beyond the control of Lidia - or any other mortal."

Diodorus smiled, covered his mouth, leaned to the left and revealed an even wider smile.

"The defense is trying to obfuscate the issue, but Quirinus spark vanished suddenly - only death could explain such immediate disappearance." The presiding consul pointed out, his displeasure obvious. Lidia and Considius exchanged complicit glances. "Look at the woman the defense is trying to portrait as beyond reproach: perhaps the jurors are, like me, wondering how she has obtained such curious wounds and burns; maybe Lidia enjoys dancing with bronze jewelry during thunderstorms. We would not know, because nobody really knows anything about her; she is a rogue element, someone that has been away from Rome for what, fifteen years?"

The eyes of the prosecutor landed on Diodorus.

"She might have been compromised; which foreign powers could be using her to spread discord among our democratic league? Who knows which of our enemies might have offered her solace and asylum."

"Perhaps it is time the prosecution presents any evidence that supports such claims?" Sextus inquired, directing his attention to the jurors. "Or should it be noted that speculation is all they have to offer?"

"What better proof can there be than what transpired at the temple of Janus?" The consuls pressed. "That was mob rule, a perfect manifestation of the desire to destroy the peace that so many died for. Such enmity towards Concordia can only be justified if one is a terrorist or foreign agent."

"Just speculation, it seems." Sextus performed a short nod towards the consul, drawing a lot of laughter and insults from the spectral crowd. "It is well known that Quirinus and Aeneid did not see eye to eye on the issue of Gates of Janus, but to consider that a motive for murder? This Urbe was born from disagreements; not all have ended in kin-slaying."

The jurors called for a break as tempers started to flare; as they retreated for deliberation, Sextus approached the Crows. Lidia was livid.

"Who are you? I… do not recognize you." She blabbered. "What is this… thing? This is no Justice!"

"This is my ring, Lidia."

"Boasting Bacchus, he is smiling! You are actually enjoying this." Lidia blinked, incredulous. "I swear to the Manes, if you try another outrageous stunt... it will be my ring we visit next!"

The jurors had returned, willing to continue with the trial and wishing to hear from witnesses.

The prosecution called for Lidia.

"Lidia, Triumphant Aeneid, I can't help but be mesmerized for your battle scars." The consul started. "Could they have been obtained fighting Quirinus?"

"A lot of them were, indeed, obtained during our confrontations." Lidia replied with great sincerity.

"I see. And was this an isolated event? Have you previously fought Quirinus over a disagreement?"

"I have. There was at least another instance in which we fought on the Forum. There are multiple witnesses to what transpired that day."

"And the point of disagreement was the due punishment of a terrorist group, if I recall correctly."

"The issue was the murder of a human being." Lidia's good eye closed. "A scenario similar to the one I stand accused of."

"Quirinus is not on trial. You are, Lidia; the prosecution is pleased to confirm the existence of a previous violent feud between the two Triumphants."

Lidia swallowed dry, gaze piercing the consul as he backed away. He met Sextus' eyes as he approached, reluctantly putting Justice in the hands of his trained rhetoric.

"The defense acknowledges the fiery arguments between Lidia and Quirinus. However, we believe extra clarification is necessary." Sextus cleared his throat. "The day of Quirinus supposed murder, you have met in an abandoned fort in the Veneti region?"

"That is right." Lidia nodded.

"Why did you choose that place to fight Quirinus?"

"I did not."

"If that is the case, can you explain to the jurors what took you to an abandoned fort in the middle of nowhere?"

"I have been keeping an eye on Quirinus and I deduced he was going to commit atrocities against a group of concerned Italians that had united under the banner of the Bull." Lidia explained. "I evacuated the mortals and waited for Quirinus; once he arrived I explained to him the situation and made clear that the Crows had returned and would not tolerate unnecessary bloodshed."

"So only after you tried to settle things peacefully did Quirinus attack you."

"Yes." Lidia waved towards the jurors. "But I should have kept tying diplomacy; if I had gotten to him, all of this could have been avoided."

"One moment please, Lidia." Sextus interrupted her. "I would like to remind the witness and the jurors that a witness is a witness; they should refrain from acting as an advocate for the defense or prosecution."

Lidia's eyebrows almost popped out of her face; she clenched her fists.

Sextus did not even blink, continuing with his cross-examination without missing a beat.

"I too can't ignore your wounds. That messy eye, those burns on your side, your impaired arm; anyone that has seen you at the gymnasium knows of your fighting ability. Anyone with your experience protected by the Styx should have gotten away grazed. Would you say that you got hurt this bad because you risked your defense when trying to talk Quirinus down?"

Awkward, Lidia looked away.

"Quirinus did not make it easy, but I tried. Minerva Capitolina knows, I tried."

"That will be all for the defense. Thank you, Aeneid." Sextus finished before Lidia could slip any word that might hint at the degree of preparation involved in taking Quirinus down.

Too bad about the next witness.

Orcus was called to stand before the court. At the request of the prosecution, they revealed to living and dead alike what they had witnessed: the grounding traps laid by Sextus and Arpineia, them jumping up on Quirinus and tearing him apart, Quirinus and Lidia falling down the Black Stone of the Forum.

Sextus was near the limits of his composure; that was a rather dark storm of evidence, straight into everyone's mind. He would need to pull the best turnabout of his career.

Too bad the prosecution was not offering him any breaks.

"It seems our noble defense is not as virtuous as they would have the jurors believe." The consul scoffed. "All those ways to counter Quirinus' Triumph, that suggests planning and intent. The Crows planned to commit murder and Sextus was one of Lidia's accomplices."

"Such claims!" Sextus forced himself to laugh, ignoring the sweat running down his neck. "You are being ridiculous, painting my actions and those of my Vestalis friend as part of some malevolent conspiracy? Two individuals Closest to the Gods, one of them a priestess, are performing the proper appeasements and rites for the bizarre weather that threatened Rome. That is murderous intent?"

That did not seem to convince anyone, forcing Sextus to change tactics. He approached Orcus and asked him to show again the fight between them and Quirinus; slowly and with as many details as possible. Repetition gave way to horror, as everyone realized the cruel truth that Sextus and Lidia had suspected.

What is the prosecution trying to convince us of?" Sextus uttered, his tone carefully lowered and poignant. "That that is what a human looks like? Perhaps our august consul has forgotten too much in their death; humans are not usually made of shadows and rage. People and Senate, we have been asking if, how and who murdered Quirinus. We should consider if he ever existed and what thing seized his place."

The consul backed away, trying to recoup after shooting his own case on the foot. Sextus reciprocated the professional courtesy he had previously displayed, pouncing on him; Considius was called as a witness.

"I think there is only one last thing the jurors need to know: what exactly happened after Quirinus and Lidia disappeared below the Lapis Niger?"

"Not much." The barber downplayed the situation, acting pretty bored. "I jumped in to assist Lidia in her fight, she was pretty banged up at the time and needed a breather. Tried to talk with Quirinus; the conversation was pretty one-sided, the damn thing just growled."

"That is it?" Sextus raised an eyebrow.

"Oh no. He was already on the Underworld, so it was time for him to meet popular justice. I let my constituents loose on him."

"Are you admitting to the murder of Quirinus, Marcus Considius?" The consul interrupted, willing to jump on top of any opportunity to save face.

"I wish I could claim that." The Shadow Tribune raised his hands. "The guy, or thing, was a piece of work. No, it was the lemurs - many of them in the audience - and the Ghost of Romulus that finally punished him. If you want to ask anyone why they did it, just ask them."

Sextus circled the audience with a dramatic gesture, finishing with his raised hand; his palm, still red.

"I still feel a bit woozy, but if the jury demands, I am willing to offer even my last drop of blood to inflame the shades; I am willing to give all I am in exchange for clarity." He waited nervously to see if they would call his bluff off.

The jurors halt the trial and retired for deliberations.

 

[StrigaRosa]

Another day, another war.

Arpineia was lost in a thousand leagues stare, wondering about those truthful words as she finished this package. A worried Ovidia leaned over her colleague's shoulder, examining her work and face, waiting for Arpineia to even acknowledge her presence.

"Is everything okay?" She asked. "You do not seen to be into it."

"I'm fine, Ovidia." Arpineia forced a smile as she closed the box and moved to the next one. "Just going through all we need to do today."

"Are you sure? Because you have been absent-minded for the last few days."

"I'm sorry; hope I did not get in the way."

"We can do it on our own, you should go and get some rest."

Arpineia turned and looked to the pile of care packages they had prepared for the soldiers. If the legions were going to march again - allegedly for peacekeeping, community-building and support efforts, - then their character should change. Ovidia came up with a magnificent idea: bless every soldier with a small care package of treats, charms or small homely comforts. The catch? The Vestal flame would curse anyone selfish enough to keep the items for themselves, but reward with good luck anyone that gifted them to someone else - another soldiers, an ally or some of the Cisalpine people that they would meet. This was also an excellent move to improve the reputation of Ovidia's people; even as cute and adorable as Ovidia was, folks were always apprehensive around her collegium of Life and Death.

"I know this is important for you; do not worry, I will focus in being helpful."

Worry distorted Ovidia's face; there was more going on. Defeated, she gave up; they would talk later."

A reluctant Canuleia joined the two Vestalis, together leading their junior priestesses and servants as they left for the pomerium. Reaching the city limits, they split into smaller groups, disappearing among the gathered crowd. Reports from the north stated that the Triumphant Aeneid had confronted Quirinus in front of the army; the resulting fracas caused such ominous dissent that Lucius Aemilius Papus had no alternative but return to Rome and consult the Senate.

Many were disappointed, a few reassured; the open Gates of Janus made it clear that war was to continue - in one form or another. Arpineia did not think about what was going on, greeting people and sharing care packages. She looked towards Canuleia, who seemed just as distracted as she was; the other Vestalis seemed always on the tip of her toes, inspecting the faces of allies and legionaries, as if looking for something or someone - and becoming visibly frustrated.

The odd behavior of the usually proper and patrician Vestalis was enough to tear Arpineia away from her languor. A wicked smiled conquered Arpineia's face as she prepared to tease Canuleia; Arpineia stopped when she saw someone waving in her direction. Someone tall and blond.

"Fancy seeing you here." Arpineia greeted Lidia. The Triumphant woman responded with a cocky smile but did not seem comfortable meeting her gaze back.

"Oh you know, duties and responsibilities." The Vestalis studied Lidia as she mumbled. She had cut her hair short and rugged, covering a nasty patch of burned scalp with a cute little hairpin that evoked the feathers of a legionnaire helmet. That was not the only thing that seemed to evoke a more military presence; she whore her cloak not as an obscuring hood but like an officer's sagum and had exchanged her pleasant and green tunic for a white angusticlavia with a single colored strip. "They seem to have increased lately."

"Indeed, you seem to have become a veritable Symbol of War." Arpineia responded with more bitterness than she intended. Lidia's cheeks reddened.

"We could not longer sustain the lie, Arpineia. We must live in the real world, not in one spun from wishful thoughts."

"So everyone says, and the people decided this shall be our path going forth." Arpineia sighed. "I am sorry, I do not want to depreciate your achievements, but I am just not willing to give up on peace - specially when we never really gave it a chance."

Lidia held Arpineia's hand, her thumb caressing its back. "Things happened, and your deserve to know."

The Vestalis looked at Ovidia and Canuleia while Lidia stared at the ground and narrated the latest developments in the Underworld, including the verdict of the Shadow Senate.

"What does that mean? That you have to take Quirinus place?" The Vestalis inquired.

"I have to assist and support the proper authorities - in this case, the consul Aemilius Papus. The dead jurors might have dismissed the accusations against me but everyone doubts my loyalty. So I have to go to Cisalpine Gaul and assist the legions; since we only have a consul and a lot of urgent issues in Rome, these new forces will be led by two praetors instead - my abilities will be essential for coordination between magistrates."

o, you gonna be punching instead of throwing lightning; other than that, all is going to remain the same?"

"I hope not." Lidia finally looked into Arpineia's eyes. "Look around, Vestalis. Most Romans and Latins were given leave to return to their homes and farms; this is an allied force of Italians and Gauls. These people are not conquerors, they are road-builders."

Arpineia frowned.

"Are you just an extension of that man's will? I thought you were your own person; I thought you would do more."

"I am building institutional credibility and preparing the ground for others, Arpineia." Lidia justified. "The rest of the Crows will continue their work, but we cannot be seen taking any overtly political or civic stance - especially one that would go against the magistrates that serve the People and Senate."

"This does not seem right." The inquisitive look in Lidia's face made her put additional emphasis in the last word. "Everything is messed up! The man is dancing too close to tyranny and kingship. A single consul is just wrong."

"The elections are a few months away, rushing them would be more disastrous than anything. He is already handing imperio over the troops to lesser magistrates, showing full respect for republican traditions."

"Talking about traditions, why are we not bringing up the Dictatorship for a smooth transition? There you go, a position made just for these situations."

Lidia looked embarrassed.

"I do not know for sure, but I was told that a Dictator demands a crisis; something hard to sell the Senate and People when we can dismiss a consular army, Sardinia is pacified, the pirates repelled and things are improving on every front."

"Just because I understand why things are the way they are does not mean I have to find contentment in the status quo." Arpineia grumbled. "This whole situation is very dangerous to the democracy of the Urbe. Even without an army, nobody can veto motions presented by Aemilius Papus. Civic vigilance is essential."

Lidia put an arm around Arpineia and rested her head on her shoulder.

"Arpineia, you were hoping I would be the one standing up for that? That has to be the sweetest thing I've ever heard." She chuckled. "I am serious, you thought I would be the one? I am only braving the way, raising my fists to protect the bright, intelligent, perceptive citizens that can actually preserve the Republic. People like you, one of the most influential and learned woman in Rome. You make the Urbe something worth defending. Me? I'm just a beast of burden carrying us there."

"You expect too much of us, Aeneid." Arpineia gently freed herself from Lidia's attentions. "Things have a certain inertia, mentalities are entrenched. I have championed change my entire life. Things are supposed to progress, to become better; yet, they don't."

"I believe with my whole being that we can make the world better, bit by immeasurable bit." Aeneid put her hands against her chest. "Accept hospitality and what people are willing to share and then repay it with unconditional warmth; I do not let my limited and biased perception stop me from believing that we can do good. I might not live to see it, but if I keep inspiring good, things will have to become good. Inertia can work in our favor too, Arpineia; it only works if we keep pushing."

"Maybe you can do that; I lack that optimism, Lidia. I do not think I can live that way."

"There is nothing special about me, my dear Vestalis." Lidia smiled with an unusual purity - without even a hint of cockiness or sheepishness. "What I do - what I can do - is something anyone can reach for. Innate talent, wealth or bloodline, extensive training, they all give you unique strengths and flaws but they do not make you more than any other human being. You have the will to change the world and the drive to put your life on the line for what you believe. You got this."

The Vestalis lips trembled, her eyes misted. Lidia kissed her cheek.

"Keep my Republic safe, will you?"

 

[StrigaRosa]

Considius smiled as he leaned over the broom's handle, content with making this corner of the Nest orderly; a pile of bandages and blond hair in the trash, a fancy leather satchel with blunt scorched implements and oiled blades laid on top. His corner. He was still uneasy at the sound of pipes, but was slowly easing to the Underworld estates. With time he could get used to living like this. That would be nice.

Metallic ringing and subdued complaint came from a corridor nearby. Reacting to the abnormality, Marcus reached out for a knife and pocketed it. Leaning over the threshold, he wondered if the lemurs would come inside the Nest if the Tribune of Shades was the one summoning them. Pushing that to the back of his mind, he advanced to confront the intruder and found himself facing Diodorus.

The Hellenistic pirate had his elaborate cloak folded twice underneath his arms, clutching it against whatever bulky things he carried. Diodorus smiled nervously at Considius, the older man raising an amused eyebrow.

"Fancy finding you here, barber! The young lawyer rode south with such haste after his pale mistress marched north that I assumed the Nest was already empty."

"It is. However, there are so few of us around the Urbe; those that remain must be vigilant." Considius crossed his arms. Diodorus fumbled with his cloak, freshly cut flowers and leaves falling as he tried to cover up something made of bronze and copper. "Who knows whom could exploit their absence."

"Good, good, happy to know that." Diodorus nodded as the barber continued talking. "Now, if you excuse me, I have collected some of the rare ingredients that Crows grow here. Underworld flora has amazing and unique proprieties. Salvé!"

"Including that?" Considius pointed with his chin towards a fancy glass bottle poking from beneath the cloak, halting the pirate as he tried to retreat.

"Curse it, I guess evils are now out of the box." He revealed it as plum wine. "It would be wasted, all alone, without anyone to drink it."

Marcus stepped aside, looking inside his room. He pointed towards stacked clay cups.

"I'm not telling her if you don't."

They quickly found themselves laughing around a stone table in the garden; their jokes were only interrupted by wine singing as it was poured.

"This has been a fortunate encounter." Diodorus admitted. "I was wondering when I would meet you again; I was looking forward to know you better, Marcus."

"Oh?" The barber wondered, putting his cup down. "Among all of the Crows, singling me out? I do not know if I should be concerned or flattered."

"Is it odd? You seem to be the most in tune with what the people of Rome want its Republic to become."

"I'm just a barber." Considius shrugged. "I try to be an attentive and good citizen, take care of my corner of the world and do what I can for those that end up at my door; I am often impulsive and keep overreaching in my efforts. There you go, now you know Marcus Considius."

"I believe he is all that, but he is much more, is he not? He is also the Umbrae Tribunus."

Considius pondered about the accuracy of that.

"It is just a title, it is not who I am."

This horrified Diodorus. He emptied his cup.

"If you honestly think that, then I should be even more afraid than I already was."

"You fear me so much and yet we can enjoy drinking together." Considius refilled Diodorus' drink.

"The way I see it, the brave face their fears, the lucky can avoid them; the wise try to understand what they fear so they no longer have to risk being brave or lucky."

"That is very logical. So is fearing what I am; I share your concerns." Considius admitted."I do not fully understand what my future holds."

"Are you feeling lucky or brave?" A smiling Diodorus inquired.

"Let's try doing things your way; I would rather be wise."

"There we go." Diodorus topped both cups. "Where shall we start?"

Considius scratched his chin.

"I'm confused with all this non-sense with the names; how come that when I met Lidia I immediately knew she was Aeneid, the Triumphant of Aeneas? It seems to be the same with every other Triumphant, I never had to introduce myself as the Tribune of Shades either. What is going on?"

Diodorus blinded Considius with a mysterious smile.

"Remarkable thing to ask. Those are names they bound into themselves from the soul of mankind, the world and the higher spheres; that is why they are immediately known to anyone that gazes upon their Triumphant expression - they own them as much as their current wielders."

"I continue to not understand. Bind them? How? And where they come from?"

"Traditional Triumphant metaphysics states that mortals have three Fates, three names: the one they take alongside their first breath, the one they wear through life and is enshrined in the mouths of others, the one that slips silent as their lungs empty for the last time. However, there is a fourth name, the secret name, to many cultures the sole true name - for it scoffs at the spatial and temporal limits of mortal life and its sequential experience of reality. There are more words for this fourth name than there are stars; the Etruscans and your people call this sole transcendent, eternal aspect of the self "Spark"."

"But what that has to do with the goofy names?"

"The Triumph can shine in the heart - or spark - of those that accept the ultimate truth: nothing that is eternal really exists; the only true existence belongs to the atoms, and even their conformation and nature is mutable. Once you internalize that, you stop thinking about how existence defines you: you instead open yourself to what can be made real and you can express that through the act of existing. The spark, non-existent but as real as you are, opens you to other realities of possibilities, the collective subconscious and even the platonic realms. Of course, there is a toll required to manifest such wonders upon the ephemeral existence: you must tear down the walls between your Ego and them, accept it as part of you and allow it to be expressed through you. The fragile names of mortals make excellent and obvious sacrifices; that is why everyone knows the names dragged back into Existence - they rip and bleed through reality, resonating within the spark of every witness. Such display leaves no space for doubt or subtlety: anyone knows that they are gazing upon something that transcends the chains of mortality: Aeneid, Umbrae Tribunus, Hermes Trismegistus, etc."

Considius' eyebrow raised, his head aching; to him reality was all about meat and hair - even his Triumph was about justice in balancing life and death. Diodorus brought too many metaphysical concepts to the table.

"If every mortal has three names, that means all of us already had to sacrifice ourselves for power."

Diodorus confirmed with a nod.

"Three names a Triumphant can give, three seals can be bound to a spark. The spectrum is diverse: in one extreme we have Aeneid and Tabula Rasa, humble in abilities but safe in their identity and relationship with the self; on the other end we have Quirinus Niger Fulminator, someone or something that sacrificed so much that they barely act human, a prisoner of the myths and legends chained to their spark."

"Wait." Considius reached the logical conclusion. "But there is the spark itself; there is a fourth name you can give."

Diodorus seemed extremely uneasy at the suggestion.

"There is no such thing as a Four Names Triumphant. It is impossible: if a human sacrifices their eternal, transcendental core in exchange of something, what is there left of them? It is not like they give up humanity, it is like they never were - not human, not them, not anything." The pirate kept quiet about the speculation that many of the supposed Three Names were actually mere shadows, cast across time by the burning spark of a Four Names. Considius did not need to lose sleep over that terrifying hypothesis.

Considius seemed to have other worries. He emptied his cup. He refilled. He emptied it again.

"Is that why you were so afraid? You think I already gave away too many names?"

"It is part of the reason; it is reversible but dangerous, a balance that needs to be maintained or the results can be catastrophic. This fragility is part of the reason why I want to learn more about each of the Crows. I want to know the man you are before you vanish into yourself, Marcus Considius."

"That is fair; it is also fair that you tell me how many Triumphant names you hold."

"I will not lie; there is a trick to it." Diodorus reveals. "I put a myth inside a myth, all tying together in a major legend: so I have one, two and three names. I am the Magus, the one that must wield the mantle of Hermes Trismegistus, which being Thrice Great enshrines the powers and responsibilities of three distinct but united entities. This conjugation is only flimsily tied to my spark, denying me a normal Triumph; only three things I can bind to myself: something I learned without being taught, something that I got through trickery and which would break if taken by force, something offered without being requested."

Diodorus seems embarrassed. Plum wine loosened his shame.

"I was outmaneuvered and tricked by a nascent Triumphant; I did not plan for them to emerge and include me in their Triumph, severely depleting my power. Which is pretty bad, because my duties and potential remain the same."

"So that is why a rogue like you still hangs with an idealist like Lidia." Considius was amused.

"Can be. Or everything I told you was wrong or a lie and I'm here for the long con."

A risk we have to take."

"Do you?" Diodorus riposted. "I know why I am here, but you don't have to. Why are you not going after something else with your Triumph? Why are you content with assisting that ugly foreigner? I thought Romans valued freedom more than most."

What did Considius want? He pondered as his fingers circled around the cup, cradling it as the most precious thing in the world. His goals were ambitious in their simplicity; there was really one thing he could want for.

"I need to see my family once again." He squeezed both hands around the cup as tears rolled down his cheeks. "I want to know that they are safe."

Diodorus grabbed his hands, taking the cup away from the barber; he approached as he caressed his wrists.

"Hey. Why don't we talk about that? I'm here for you."

"There is so little I can do. I do not know where they are." He swallowed, crying and sobbing as he thought about the worst case scenario. "I know they are not among the shades, nor has death touched those around hem; the plebeian Underworld would known otherwise."

"At least that." The pirate reassured Considius.

"What could I do, even if I knew where they are?" The barber pointed out, forcing laughter as he cleared the tears. "Rush in like a fool? I got them in too much trouble already. Not even to mention what can happen to others; who am I to say that my pain selfishly justifies putting even more people in danger? That is not the lesson I want to teach my children, that is not how I love them. We have made so many sacrifices as a couple, all to make the world in which we live a bit better, all out of civic responsibility to our Roman and Campanian communities. If I want to remain true to that love I should stay here, working the streets and preparing for when an opportunity allows me to act."

"There are different ways to help those we love. By cultivating friends and caring for others, for example." Diodorus tapped Considius' arm and got up.

"Indeed. Besides, they can probably do better on their own than with me. I know what I can do to help here; my Triumph barely works beyond the sacred limits of Rome, I cannot do anything that my wife could not manage on her own . Specially if they are in the country, somewhere far from urban opportunities."

"I travel all around the major trade centers and I have a lot of friends on Eastern shores. I will be looking for your family."

"I am grateful, Diodorus."

"It does not come out without strings attached." The Greek smiled. "Unconditional hospitality is more of Lidia's thing; I need the Triumphant to Umbrae Tribunus to first do something for me."

 

[StrigaRosa]

There seemed to be no end to the secrets of the Nest.

Diodorus somehow knew how to find the secret chamber, its curved walls and doomed roof reminding Considius of a hypogheum; he could not figure out which way they came in, founding only side alcoves either hidden by shadows or illuminated by lit braziers. The barber coughed, his head dizzy by excessive alcohol consumption and smoke filling the room. His red eyes wandered, looking at the wooden animal masks that Diodorus had hanged alongside the room: a boar, a white and red horse, a lynx and some sort of waterfowl.

The barber covered his mouth, ready to throw up.

The Magus was bare-chested, his fingers mixing some green-blue glittering dust into paint. He drew a line from brow to breast; he replicated a similar shape on Considius, undressing him as needed. Diodorus finished with a lambda upon their chests.

"What." Considius mumbled, but his tongue betrayed him, muscles bloated and lazy. Diodorus was holding his head, slowly and calmly giving him instructions that he could barely understand.

"Easy there… It is dangerous so never… There, call your spark… stop holding back… let it manifest…"

"How disappointing."

That last voice did not belong to the pirate. Diodorus could hear it inside of his head, bronzed as a horn, emulated female and speaking in a forgotten Greek dialect. The words were crisp, emotionless and barely understandable.

"Is the young female the only one with any sense? You have no idea what you are about to do, you are going to brave the most dangerous transmutative endeavor a mortal can aspire; a liar and cheater your only company. It will be a mercy if you just forget yourself. I fear a much worse road lies ahead of you, foolish Tribune."

His head hurt; Considius closed his eyes. He opened them to find Diodorus staring at him, expectant.

"Are you ready?" He asked, worry tarnishing his tanned face.

Considius stared intently. The last Greek that had been this close sent him into the Underworld; every atom in his body screamed that there was something terrifying and transcendent in this experience - he needed no otherworldly oracles to tell him what his lizard and human brain kept pleading. Diodorus was a rogue - but one that had been on their side. The barber knew that if they were going to have a working relationship, he had to start to get used confusion, trickery and non-sensible requests.

Marcus nodded as confirmation.

"You are not, but that is part of the process." Diodorus blew a handful of feathers and gold dust at Considius' face, causing him to choke.

Breathing became harder and harder, Considius trying to reach into his mouth but finding his movements increasingly constrained. Even as he kept choking he found everything muffled, as if he was drowning in water; no, it was not water, it was too viscous and slow moving. Something warm filled his mouth and lungs - easing him and causing him to curl in a ball.

Sound was muffled, as if it had to penetrate something rigid and diffuse across a fluid blanket. He reached out, finding resistance. He tapped with both hands, pushing stronger each time, dreading and longing for an opening. An ominous crack, a beam of light. There was only one way out, so Considius kept pushing. He found himself surrounded by amniotic fluid and bone dust, broken egg shells lying in that messy pool. Raising naked from the mess, the Triumphant studied his surroundings.

was a weird place: the bronzed sky and wine-red sea had been replaced by a beautiful mesh of impossible green and blue tones, the horizon misleading, the lack of curvature promising an endless sprawl of islands. Closer to him were fields of grapevines and grain, broken by apple and olive trees. Too much saturation, too much brightness; specially disquieting considering the meek light the invisible Sun provided.

A man approached, extending his hand and turning the grip into a hug. Considius blinked, his spark and mind short-circuited. He could feel Diodorus inside the man, overwhelmed by a stranger's visage - and yet, a stranger that felt familiar; so familiar in fact that the Triumphant *believed* in his very soul that he looked just like himself - even if nothing could be farthest from the truth.

"Brother!" The voice echoed strangely, but still Diodorus. "Our sister is gone, kidnapped in the most vile act of mortal villainy and divine pettiness."

What nonsense was this? He could feel something within relax, calming him, dissuading him from questioning the scene. Was this what a spark felt like? Flowing from the platonic realms, flooding cells and wrapping atoms? Apprehensive, he agreed to give up the reins of the narrative.

"Let's get her."

The waves parted away, debris turning into wood and wool fleecing itself into sails and ropes; a ship was there and not, peacock eyes blessing it and a hunting owl at the prowl. It was too ethereal, immaterial, unable to bear the physicality of the world.

And yet, Diodorus and Considius climbed on board with no issue.

Mists covered everything, separating the barber and pirate. Whiteness was all he could see, before finding himself in complete darkness. The blowing of horns, screaming of men and angry grunts of beasts spoiled the next vista: a vast vineyard rampaged by something massive, a being hunted down my a myriad of heroic figures. Considius had the same perception looking at them that he had when staring at a Triumphant: the immediate awareness of an otherworldly Triumph and a disturbing sense of familiarity and intimacy. There was something else; it seems he was bringing to this place - or time, or event - whatever baggage burdened his heart. He could recognize many of the Crows in the blurred hunting heroes, the corner of his eyes catching an archer that looked a bit too much like Lidia and a trapper with the intense stare of Sergius.

The only one that really felt real was his twin, a shining Diodorus, running and throwing him a spear.

"Left!"

Considius grabbed the weapon and turned with a spin, almost stumbling as he faced the beast they all hunted. It was an enormous boar, bigger than any animal he had ever seen - but prodigious size was far from its weirdest feature. The pig seemed to be made of scrolls folded within each other, folding itself back and forth closer instead of running or charging. It was on top of the barber one second, back down at the field, tusk-scrolls red; Considius looked down and saw his leg shredded with a thousand painful paper cuts.

"Be careful!" Diodorus shouted, waving to get the boar to chase after him. "Do not think about it or you will make it worse. Do not mind the apparent distance: focus on the boar, bare your spear and poke at it. Just a token effort will work. Do it!"

Considius narrowed his eyes, until the boar was just a blur. As it seemed to refold itself closer to him, the barber dodged sideways, rotating his wrist and aligning the top of the spear towards the animal's flank. The head of the boar refolded to look back at him; somehow, in the inky eyes of the boar Considius found recognition - he could swear to be staring down at Pleuratus the Germanic. Cursing between his teeth, he could feel my hands slipping along the shaft, gripping the end of the spear with all his strength and putting weight against it.

Paper folded itself along the blade, trying to blunt the strike. In vain, as the barber used the spear as he had used rusty scissors against the human Pleuratus' neck. The boar trashed between vineyards, blood and crushed grapes mixing with ink blots.

"No, no, no." Diodorus rushed to Considius' side. "I said poke. This was not how it was supposed to go."

The hunting heroes stopped hunting and stopped being heroics. They approached the fallen boar, circling around the Triumphant duo; it quickly devolved into a brawl, each hunter wrestling each other as they laid claim to the kill and the trophies.

Considius grabbed the weapon and turned with a spin, almost stumbling as he faced the beast they all hunted. It was an enormous boar, bigger than any animal he had ever seen - but prodigious size was far from its weirdest feature. The pig seemed to be made of scrolls folded within each other, folding itself back and forth closer instead of running or charging. It was on top of the barber one second, back down at the field, tusk-scrolls red; Considius looked down and saw his leg shredded with a thousand painful paper cuts.

"Be careful!" Diodorus shouted, waving to get the boar to chase after him. "Do not think about it or you will make it worse. Do not mind the apparent distance: focus on the boar, bare your spear and poke at it. Just a token effort will work. Do it!"

Considius narrowed his eyes, until the boar was just a blur. As it seemed to refold itself closer to him, the barber dodged sideways, rotating his wrist and aligning the top of the spear towards the animal's flank. The head of the boar refolded to look back at him; somehow, in the inky eyes of the boar Considius found recognition - he could swear to be staring down at Pleuratus the Germanic. Cursing between his teeth, he could feel my hands slipping along the shaft, gripping the end of the spear with all his strength and putting weight against it.

Paper folded itself along the blade, trying to blunt the strike. In vain, as the barber used the spear as he had used rusty scissors against the human Pleuratus' neck. The boar trashed between vineyards, blood and crushed grapes mixing with ink blots.

"No, no, no." Diodorus rushed to Considius' side. "I said poke. This was not how it was supposed to go."

The hunting heroes stopped hunting and stopped being heroics. They approached the fallen boar, circling around the Triumphant duo; it quickly devolved into a brawl, each hunter wrestling each other as they laid claim to the kill and the trophies.

 

[StrigaRosa]

Marcus Considius fell for what felt an eternity, sudden and violently hitting some solid plane. He could feel what he had assumed to be his spark resonating in occasional flickers. He immediately knew that something was not right; the scene coalescing around him did not seem to form naturally, blurry and covered in ever-mist. He could made out moving shadows, vaguely-human lumps. They cheered something - or someone - behind him.

He looked back to see the mists open enough to reveal an Asiatic giant, a distorted shambling version of Lidia; twice his size, long savage hair, wild eyes and greasy green skin. She wore a ridiculous garb of nets, seashells and pelts and her golden mess was marred by a crown of seaweed and dead butterflies.

The crowd cheered, human voices muddled with pained howls and twisted words. They all looked the part of barbarian stereotypes, slowly coalescing into something that resonated too real: the colored and diverse uniforms of the people of Illyria. He was back on the Seaborn Republic and the shameful actions of Rome. A day he would never allow himself to forget.

His distraction cost him a veritable trashing; the sea-king Lidia grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the ground, a cliff forming before him. The barber turned his head around as the horizon stole shape from the mists: there it was, the two fleets against the familiar outline of that cursed island and its impenetrable woods. He was punched one more time, refusing to fight back.

The kingly simulacrum put their hands around Considius neck, lifting him effortlessly. As he could feel moist fingers wrapping and tighten around his neck, the barber wondered: what would mean to die in there? Could he even die here? The metallic voice had mentioned something about transformation. Death as a means of transformation? Then, letting himself die would be giving up control over his change and growth.

Unacceptable terms.

The painful memories and lessons of Illyria were part of him now, part of what drove his pursuit of community; fuel for his sense of civic solidarity. He kicked the wrestling hulk into the stomach, raised his upper limbs and struck its hands with the inside of his arms. The creature did not exactly react to impulses and attacks the same way a human would, but it still offered an opening. Considius punched upwards, his palm striking the nose. There was a disturbing crack as its face started to break into shards of green clay, becoming a wave of bright dust that enveloped the barber.

The scene seemed to change much more organically now; the whiteness did not give away to darkness. Someone held his hand.

"Hello there, regretful barber." He was back in dark tunnels of the subconscious, the noble teen that had greeted him to the Underworld for the first time, back at his side. "Fancy finding you in my corner of the Underworld."

She had a sad conflicted smile; that was all Considius could think about.

"What is the problem?"

"You are learning." She tried to put him at ease with a chuckle. It backfired. "We don't have much time. I want to help you, Marcus Considius; no, I have to help you - for we shared food and I offered you my hospitality. But the mantle you are wearing now makes me see you as a slayer of my kin, as much of a distant cousin that might have been. This is very distressing to my person; I might be very possessive of what is mine but I do not have petty or rancorous drop of ambrosia in me."

There was the flutter of the wings, slitter of snakes and cries of birds. The youth held the barber closer; Considius got a peak of the goddesses that held him in clientela, wandering around the tunnels. Perhaps they would be less conflicted about helping him.

"No!" The teenager whispered. "Today those are not your patrons. They are avenging nymphs hunting down a murderer. You are not the Tribune of Shades now, do you understand? There are no shortcuts, you have to follow the mantle that currently have invested to the end. Only then you can return; hopefully transformed for the better, but you should feel lucky if you just come out intact from the ordeal."

"Only then I can be myself."

"For whatever that is worth." The teen frowned. "Or means. I will take you to the next station; do not test your luck, do you hear? Play the Triumph safe."

Considius nodded as the young woman pushed him towards the tunnel's walls.

e was back in the sea, waddling alongside a serene shore, the teenager replaced with thick foam. It lifted him up, becoming a white horse with breeze hooves and empty eyes. The scene looked serene and inviting, green grassland giving way to two hills capped by ancient looking sanctuaries. Twin women of emerald eyes and olive skin waved at him, desiring his attentions and caressing his foamy mount. They grabbed Considius, whispering for him to stay, to forget the war and struggles that governed his life and this fiction. He found himself kissing one as the other nimbly worked around undressing him; his first instinct was to recoil, but his strange steed whinnied in a complaint.

Right. Wear the mantle; become the mantle. The mantle wants what the mantle wants.

He heard familiar laughter; his brother approached, riding a red steed. Not brother, Diodorus, wearing an expression of "better you than me" in his clouded face. The other Triumphant liberated the barber from one of the eager women, lifting her to his saddle and greeting with a reluctant kiss.

"Brother!" Considius repeated the same words in his head. "How fares our sister? Did you find her?"

"Far from our reach she is, hopefully happy; at least unharmed. She is besieged by all sides, but who knows how long that will last? One year, five, seven, ten or a lifetime? Let us entrust the Heavens and be merry; let us find happiness of our own. It is what she would have wanted."

"But what can be more important than reuniting our family?"

"Making sure there is a family to reunite with!" Diodorus held the ephemeral woman against him. "Not everyone can afford to take their time like you, brother; day by day I waste into death. Who will remember me when I am held by the corn-bearing earth?"

Considius was going to say something, but his mouth echoed only an alert shared by the women and beasts. Horses and brides-to-be disappeared into nothingness, leaving only Diodorus, Considius and an enormous clay-like lynx. The cat pounced between the Triumphants, leaving a trail of lightning bolts behind. Avoiding the electrically trail separated the barber and the pirate, leaving Diodorus to face the lynx alone. Considius shouted, looking in despair for something to throw.

Diodorus raised his right hand, signaling to Considius that he had this.

The lynx jumped on the Greek, sharp teeth tearing his neck apart as his hind legs clawed his stomach. The lightning bolts caught with the cat, obliterating it into red ash as Diodorus fell to the ground.

"So this is what unbridled endurance, speed and strength feels like. No wonder Lidia is so comfortable staying in that Triumph."

Lidia… he had seen her, right? Considius blinked, fatigued and hurting.

"You tricked me."

"I told you, barber. It is the price power demands of me." Diodorus pointed out. "That is what you can expect, that is what I bring to the team."

"That was dangerous." Considius swallowed. "And you did not tell me anything."

Diodorus had the decency to look ashamed.

"There were miscalculations; I assumed you knew more and it was nothing you had not done before. Besides, it would defeat the point of the con! I would be asking you what I wanted." He waved his hands, nervous. "It does not matter, we did well, we made it out whole and safe! Everything is fine."

Everything was not fine. The bitterness of betrayal was too much.

"I would have done anything for your help. I do not understand why you had to be like this."

"It was part of the deal, part of what we need to find your family." Diodorus lowered his voice. "This was a Triumph and mantle that I did not choose casually. This bond is important; it can help us find each other, it can help us find them. Sharing this lifeline also gives me the connection to the Rome That Never Was that I lack. It makes me one of the Crows."

"Sure Diodorus, I'm sure that improves things." Considius riposted bitterly, pausing to ponder about the event. "That was a Triumph. That is what is like to experience it."

"Yes?" Diodorus raised an eyebrow.

"All those familiar faces and places… why?"

"Triumphs are bond to one's spark; the influence goes both way. As much as the Triumph changes you, it itself is marred and corrupted by what you are. We can only observe them through our experiences, never in their wild, pure and platonic forms; just that is enough to change it forever. There is no such thing as a wild or untouched Triumph."

"This bond we now share. It is real." Considius narrowed his eyes. "Now I know why you were so afraid of me. You were there, were you not? That is why it kept slipping in. You were in Illyria."

"You should rest, barber." Diodorus covered his eyes by lowering his cap. "You alone stand as protector of the Urbe; you need to stay strong."

"By what name did you went? What was your role in the Seaborn Republic?"

Diodorus turned around, making his way outside. Silent.

"Who were you, Magus?"

The Magus stopped at door.

"It does not matter. We are now kin, of sorts. Farewell, brother. I hope to bear happier news the next time we meet."

 

[StrigaRosa]

White millstones grinding against each other, Promethia's teeth complained as she soared through the sky.

"Can you please find me something? Anything?" She focused her thoughts, a demand clear. "I'm freezing to death here."

"You, cold?" An amused bronzed laughter joined her mind.

"I cannot concentrate on comforting flame whens I am also flinging myself away from Terra's deadly pull."

"Such complaining is unbecoming of such talented young woman." The simulated voice admonished her. "Don't be a brat. Consider this just another trial."

"Come on, these patrols are dull and a waste of my time. The time of us both, I might say."

A moment of silence. You do not need sibylline prophecy to recognize an argument as pointless as this.

"Hundred feet or so from the II milestone of the Via Appia." The metallic voice bounced on her head. "A devious obstruction of the road; an action betraying the most villainous intent."

Rolling eyes were a dangerous proposition when flying seventy feet up in the air; Davinia resigned herself to a low groan.

"What? I thought this is what you wanted."

"Spare me that prose. Specially when it is just the two of us; you are not going to stupefy anyone by slipping back to nonsense. Bloated Favonius, for such a wise being you blunder and blabber like Lidia."

"Speaking of the Trojan woman…"

"Don't even make me think about it." Davinia mentally blocked any future inquiries.

"It is curious how you keep dancing around a topic you claim not wanting to accost."

Arpineia was suddenly very interested in repeating the lyrics for the Carmina Flammarum over and over, darting towards her destiny as a chanting thunderbolt.

Six men and women dragged big logs and stumps across the tightly squeezed stones of the road. They blinked incredulous as a thin veneer of white smoke rose from the barricade, the only warning before it turned into ash. The wind gathered ashen remains into a gray and white arrow pointing towards a figure downwind.

Back turned, eyes up, hands resting on hips.

"It is her! Promethia!"

"She is just like me!"

"Of course, it had to be her. Who would else would have bothered?"

Davinia arranged her scarf as she turned.

"Good. I assume I do not need to tell you what to do now?"

The would-be bandits ran away; Davinia narrowed her eyes. Even if they scampered like spooked hares, they seemed to steer their course as if they were congregating towards the same direction. She would be wise to follow them in a less conspicuously manner, find out what drove them to such extremes.

Promethia closed Arpineia's eyes. She visualized the warm footprints, the lingering heat of the vanishing bodies.

"Vestalis." The awkward Greek pronunciation of the title distracted her. The metallic ring of Sybil's voice clarified she would not be ignored. "There is something urgent that needs your attention."

"How urgent it is?" Davinia questioned, frustrated. "I should really talk to those six once they are calm enough to speak but still too spooked for deceit."

"It can slide into a matter of life and death. And you will not like it one bit."

*​

Promethia flew towards a modest lumber exploitation, a complex nested against pristine woods; it was its own world, isolated from winding trade roads and unwelcomed eyes by a modest hill and the surroundings wilds. The captive she carried told her its name: the villa rustica Valerianum, so named in honour of the owners of the propriety. Davinia frowned as they landed near the residential corner of the complex, releasing the man; he stumbled over the cobblestone and laid among the dust. The Triumphant crossed her arms, igneous stare directed towards the large oaken double doors. They swung open, a tiny bald man foreman rushing to meet the two unexpected guests.

"There you are, Semolus." The taskmaster of the Valerianum made a motion to grab and lift the man; Promethia barely moved her head, her eyes as judgmental as Juno's peacocks. The man froze in place, eventually moving a couple of steps back and assuming a rigid posture.

"We would speak to the owner." Arpineia.

The foreman unchained a meek comment, further words arresting when Promethia raised her chin higher. Arpineia assisted the fallen man and locked elbows with him, rushing through the oxen's barn and stables, settling on the visitor's atrium. Flustered but still obligated to hospitality, the staff of the Valerianum scrapped some bread and dried fruits to serve the new arrivals. They interpreted Promethia's curt demands and austere stance by summoning a richly-dressed but tacky middle-aged man.

"Valerius Lutata, I presume." Promethia assumed, reading the man as a plebeian intermediary to the noble, multi-armed power-house that was the gens Valeria. She did not look at would-be-Lutata for confirmations, turning towards the captive she had dragged here. They nodded at each other, confirming such assumptions and whatever other topics they may have had previously discussed. "I brought your Semolus back."

The man looked at the Triumphant and the man, confusion taking over his face as he repeated the gesture. Why had he been called here? To receive an escaped slave? Certainly someone else could handle that nasty business.

"I see. I'm sure we can put him back to work immediately. I thank you for recovering our man, Promethia. I'm sure you have other celestial matters to attend, just as I have more important tasks that demand my attention."

Davinia put herself between Lutata and Semolus.

"Was this man enslaved to you?"

"Yes, as I mentioned. What is the issue?"

Promethia lifted Semolus' tunic, revealing cuts and bruises, testimonies of abuses old and new.

"Is this how you treat a human being that happens to be extremely indebted to you?"

The middle-aged manager face reddened.

"I swear by Sancus Fidius, I am not aware of any mistreatment going on the Valerianum"

"Mistreatment?" Arpineia left the word twirl around her tongue, jumping across her mouth as it twisted her face with disgust. "So if I go around the Valerianum I will not find other abused people? Or do you just abuse your slaves, and think that somehow lessens your crimes? Pretty convenient, I would say; keep them isolated from other communities and urban centers, limiting their mobility. And if they leave to demand their civic and human rights - which they have to, - you declare them as escapees defaulting on their debts, forcing them to run from magistrates instead of towards them."

Valerius Lutata was spared the indignity of further lies by Semolus' interjection.

"I told the Triumphant everything. How you prey on the urban poor, promising them a good life in exchange for a few years of indentured servitude in a peaceful pastoral environment, all according to the demands of Law and ever respectful of their Libertas. I bear the marks of that respect all over my body - as do so many others."

"You can't prove this! Nobody will listen to such words raised against an august agent of gens Valeria!"

"Oh, Semolus can." Promethia eyes narrowed. "And I will see to it that Justice is done. And it will not stop here; I still cannot prove what Semolus has told me: that you resell their contracts, violating the spirit of this shameful institution, and have been smuggling slaves to the provinces and beyond."

"I'm not a slaver!"

"Perhaps not." Davinia conceded, following the spirit and the letter of the law - even if that meant going against her personal judgment. "But you are a sadist, and you will at least pay for that. These are human beings, entrusted under care. You had to get them back ot their feet; you treated them worse than one would a dog or a cart instead. They are not thinking tools."

"I do not have to stay here and listen to this. Semolus, you still have debts to pay; go back to work if you know what is good for you. Salvé, Triumphant." Valerius Lutata turned around, jumping in reflexive pain as he stepped on the surrounding stones. He looked down to find them glowing red, such intense heated halos embracing them; even staring made his eyes strain and head pang.

"You would not dare!"

"Oh, I am daring. You are coming with me." Promethia extended her arm. "I am not taking any chances here; you will not hide behind the reputation of your patrons or turtle up with a small army of bodyguards and gladiators. I'm delivering you to the magistrates myself. "

Ignoring the woman, Lutata jumped between the stones. The smell of burnt wood and crispy leather filled the atrium, the futility of efforts escalating into charred hair. Promethia crossed her arms as Semolus laughed at the undignified dance.

"You are in charge of your own fate; the fate you are allowed to choose is in which state I drop you at the Forum."

*​

Arpineia entered her private cell, dragging herself towards the water-basin; she dunked her head into the cold liquid three times before feeling satisfied. She let that water drip down her face while she tucked her hair. She stopped at "restrained"; "proper" would waste energy she did not have. She got herself half-dressed - a generous way of conveying she trailed a stola over her Promethian uniform. She blinked at the empty air, at the unlit corners of her room and at her empty walls. Those last ones were looking particularly supportive.

She just stood there, hair dripping wet, eyes vacant, arms dropped, brow locked in a wrestling match against plaster and bricks. One of her junior collegians entered her cell, nervously holding a pair of scrolls.

"The request for a permanent building dedicated to pre-marital schooling has been once again rejected, Vestalis Arpineia. I need this to be sealed and approved by a reverend First Class; then I can move with a recourse. I'm sure the Senate will be convinced this time." The young girl kept talking, stopping when she noticed Arpineia's refusal to move a muscle in acknowledgment of her words. She tip-toed towards Arpineia's desk, stretched the scrolls carefully over a pile of other yellowing documents and backed away towards the entrance. "It is not that urgent, it can wait. I apologize for disturbing you."

Arpineia stood against the wall for an absurd amount of time, listening as the Second Class Vestalis ran down the corridor.

"It must have been very stressful to you." The Sybil remarked with the bluntness reserved for automatons and bad lawyers.

The Vestalis groaned. She turned her head, finally acknowledging the growing pile of work laying on her desk.

"Rest, handle all that." The metallic voice suggested.

It was tempting. A knot formed in her stomach; everything she could accomplish sitting at that desk seemed futile, distant and ultimately of no consequence. She made a difference today; or at least she had chosen to believe that. It was up to the judicial system now.

"This can wait. I need to follow up on that mess at the Via Appia." Arpineia reached for her scarf, wrapping it around her neck. She touched the needle hidden within.

 

[StrigaRosa]

The trail was cold but Davinia burned with determination. She started with the ambush site, soaring across the sky and looking for where trees might have been recently cut. Planting a topographic flagstaff on every possible cutting site, she started looking for hideouts and nearby communities; she eliminated them one by one on the basis of elevation, primary and secondary sources of income and distance in Roman feet.

High in contemplative heavens, the loom of the former teen detective wove a tapestry of possible locations and the most viable routes between them. Davinia's deductions had struck an early hurdle: the most practical and opportunists candidates where also the ones that would suffer the most from banditry; with their fields ripped apart by the roads, the lifeblood of the communities that formed Rome's mouth was the southern Italian trade - if their village was not deemed safe, merchants would avoid stopping there. Immediate gratification would bring ruin to the entire community.

Davinia dared to form a more concrete hypothesis: if the bandits were from distant rural communities - or even an urban center deeper inland - they would have to walk long distances to reach Via Appia; that would take hours and returning and be even worse: they would have to drag the loot on their own, without the help of trails or oxen. Some sort of temporary hideout or drop point was essential. Such investment of time and effort would not make sense in a prosperous place without dramatic social inequalities; finding the best spots and keeping them hidden from wanderers and sheepherders requires an intimate relationship with the wilderness - and scouting and following marks required excellent tracking skills.

"You have the maps from the Temple that I left with you at hand, Sybil?" Promethia visualized on her head.

"I do, and made some additions of my own." The mechanical oracle confirmed.

"Good, I need you to follow my position and point me towards villages lacking in arable land that complement their cattle with intensive hunting."

Once again she took flight, eyes searching for anything interesting; she was seized by a lethargic mood, passively correcting her direction as Sybil suggested. She was stirred away from roads and rivers, deep into unruly hills where forests stole moisture from Aquilo's meager aerial offerings and shared them with the parched earth.

Three figures caught her attention, running across the clearings, jumping and waving at her. It did not look like a trap, so she descended to meet them. It seemed to be three children, pointing and laughing as she approached.

"Are you sure that's her?" The boy among them stopped running, out of breath.

"It has to be her! She looks just like me!" The girl on the lead kept her arm up, pointed at the approaching flaming Triumphant.

"Alba is right, she looks just like her." The other girl agreed.

Promethia performed an impressive landing, drawing awe, shouting and clapping from the children. She rose with a warm breeze making her hair and scarf dance as she struck a pose.

"So, I seem to have caught you kids skipping work." She teased with a smile.

"You did not caught us, we caught you!" The boy protested between heavy breaths.

"And you are wrong, we are hard at work." The two girls were very proud of that fact.

"Is that so?" Promethia leaned. "Why don't you show me what important task your parents gave you?"

Davinia followed the kids, earning a commentary from otherwise quiet Sybil.

"What are you doing, wasting time with these cubs?"

"Gaining favor with the locals. And don't complain; they are children but they are the children of herders and hunters - natural explorers with the curiosity to find any secret."

The three kids brought Promethia to a small hole in the ground: a former well, half-covered by a big slab and completely dry. Working together, they pushed a rope, recovering a long basket made of interwoven willow twigs. They uncovered the cork top, revealing a veritable stash of aromatic herbs, carefully picked arrow-head mushrooms, a mix of colorful berries protected by clever shells made from folding long leaves and grass.

"We have been foraging the entire day and got thaaaaat much." The smallest girl explained to a very impressed Davinia.

"Have your parents sent you on your own? Are they not afraid of wild animals?"

"Nah, that is not a problem. Game has been hard to come by; they would actually welcome more beasts."

"And we are the best around!" The oxen turned the mill of ideas; things were starting to fall in place.

"Are there more wells around here, where you might keep food hidden in shade?" The Triumphant asked.

"No, they have been either covered or collapsed on their own."

"Did your village dig them?"

"No, they are from the haunted town." The boy let it slip, hovering his mouth with both hands in shame. The girls started hitting him for the infraction.

Haunted town?"

The girl that seemed to see herself staring back from Promethia's position swung back and forth, embarrassed and guilty. She did not resist long.

"Aqua Soterra, they called it. It is the only place our parents tell us to avoid. It was a happy village built upon a powerful underground spirit. But they insulted the mighty spirit, causing I to leave. The waters disappeared suddenly, the emptiness they left sinking the houses and farms. Only ghosts still live there."

Caves, tunnels and a ill-fortuned place that people would rather avoid. Davinia was confident that she had found her hideout; the children kept talking, the younger girl screeching louder than the others.

"It is not only ghosts, on the barrow there is a sheepherder!"

"Stop lying!" The boy tried to bully her into silence.

"She never lies, you are the liar! You are always the liar! If she says the Gray Sheepherder is real, it is real."

"Wait, Gray Sheepherder?" Sybil told Promethia. She ignored the oracle; as if she was not already going to investigate that lead.

"Take me to the old tumulus where you have seen that sheepherder."

*​

"I was right, you are a liar." The boy announced with pride, head peeking from beneath a bush. The two other girls piled on him, delivering punishment. "There is no shepherd, gray or otherwise."

"There is a herder and a herd implies a herder." They defended themselves, pointing at the animals grazing between the ruins.

"No, he is right." The smallest agreed. "They are not sheep, they are goats."

Davinia raised both hands to her eyes, narrowing the field of view.

"Yes, those are definitely goats." She patted both girls before advancing. "I guess Gray Goatherder does not have quite the same jounce. Stay back, I will take a closer look."

She made her way to the top as quiet as she could, at the very least trying to keep the animals calm. Such a high minded opinion she had of herself; the goats did pay attention to anything else as long as there were thorns and dried bushes to be consumed. Promethia stopped beneath the biggest tree - an old being, the only real shadow that was not cast by sad rocks.

She bowed to look at the grass: squashed, warm; something big had been sitting there not long ago - and it had not been a goat. The woman looked up, the wind moving something hanging from the branches. She tapped into her Triumph, lifting herself up and grabbing what she found to be a straw hat. It was well-made and quite large; she inspected it carefully, following the twisting pattern with her fingers. Davinia frowned, picking up something stuck between two curving straws; a golden hair. Not dyed, sun-scorched or bleached - a healthy pale sunbeam. Now that was something rare.

Something stirred inside the ruins, a claw and bearded tentacles lazily stretching towards the Sun.

"It is them."

Orcus circled around the tree, impossibly fast for such mess of limbs and tentacles; Promethia gasped and reflexively wreathed herself on fire. Davinia's heart raced and she was almost seized by panic; she could feel her edifices of reason crumbling one by one - soon she would have to attack or flee.

"Calm down, Vestalis. You hold too much power to have the luxury of acting lax."

"That is the monster that attacked me in the tombs of Alba Longa." Nervous sweat stained the woman's uniform. "I cannot believe it is real. If that is true, then everything that happened there was real. Is Egeria real? Did she held me on her arms? Did I really stole the flame? I… have to do something, anything; I'm losing control."

Sparks and an irregular and distressing blue flame of impossible geometries drew a maze between her and Orcus, finally drawing panicked reaction from the goats. This shook Promethia enough that she convinced herself that survival required calm restraint. Making that a reality would be the challenge.

"You know the monster that dragged you into this had red hair and no tentacles." Sybil pointed out. She was as nervous as a mechanical being could be; she was only now realizing how much mental abuse Davinia had been keeping in check. Stress and trauma were finally rearing their inevitable head. "Let them show you. Open your mind like you did to me."

"What in Dis are you going on about?" Davinia released a mental squeal as Orcus kept moving around; they were too dangerous to stay unrestrained. She started sending jets of hot air and burning dried patches of grass, performing her classical battlefield pacification maneuver in an attempt to herd Orcus away from her and the children. Too bad that heat alone was not enough to faze the creature. She forced escalation through a jet of flame.

Immediate regret. Orcus rushed at her, forcing her to take flight and unleash two crossed arc of flame. Tentacles reached to grab the Triumphant and she had to dodge a claw. There was no more space for doubt; it had become a fight.

"They can only communicate by sending images into your mind." Sybil warned. "Let it happen."

"No, I think they can communicate only by fighting. I don't feel anything."

"Do not bother pretending insolence and scorn; I know you are barely keeping yourself together." The Sybil distracted Arpineia, forcing her to dive violently to the ground to avoid a vicious slash. "You were frustrated and careless and hurt them. They are not used to that. They are such as afraid as you. Do not let your spark run amok or the Triumph you hold will consume you. You both started on the wrong foot; don't let that define your relationship. What you do with your mistakes is what matters, not doing them."

Promethia stopped being afraid; anger was all she was. Angry at Sybil, angry at the gray titan, angry at the Senate, angry at Lidia. She pulled herself up, lowered her head and shook her shoulders up and down. She raised her fists and punched emptiness, using the flurry of movements to whip and swing a flamestorm at Orcus. The creature was forced into a defensive stance, their confusion growing more apparent at each blow. Sybil was astonished, finally understanding the situation.

"Promethia, they are unable to recognize you! And they cannot show you anything either. It is amazing; your chthonic awakening and their disturbed nature seem to interfere with each other in an unseen, unexpected way. Please, Vestalis, stop this non-sense. Remember who you are, a spirit of rational inquiring."

Davinia relented - just a bit, not enough to dispel ambiguity about her intention. Orcus saw a breach and embraced it, detaching its jaw and preparing to devour Promethia. The earth rumbled. Sybil would hold her breath if she could; the dead would tear Davinia apart.

A rock struck Davinia on her shoulder, a branch fell into Orcus' maw. The three kids were rushing in, throwing anything they had at them. They joined the brawl. Promethia gave them a protective half-glance; to her surprise she found it reflected on Orcus' black pools.

"It cannot be helped." She said, shaking her head while hugging the charging boy. "Kids do come in all sizes."

Orcus juggled the screeching girls between their arms.

"Sometimes millennia are not enough time to grow up." Sybil commented. "Davinia, do I have to get a heart just so you can make it stop?"

 

[StrigaRosa]

Davinia rested atop Orcus, hugging their large form as the kids worked on a meal. The boy was biting his tongue, deeply concentrated in making a crown of flowers to adorn the Grey Sheepherder's hat; the girls had recovered their delicious stash from the well and were sharing hospitality with the two strange guests. Davinia kept caressing Orcus, their response swinging between tolerance and annoyance.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever met." Promethia turned their head slightly, looking deep into those impossibly black eyes. She felt again the skin, how heat follow beneath and bellow it, the malleable but still impossibly strong layers that isolated Orcus from the world.

Orcus tapped on her arm with a beard-tentacle, as if asking for her to stay her hands. She acceded. Orcus followed up with gentle taps upwards, reaching her cheek to share a quiet moment of understanding and forgiveness.

"I have so many things that I want to ask you." Davinia lamented. "You must have seen and lived through so much."

"This might be enough for now." Sybil stepped in, bronzed annoyance. "Let's get moving."

"Feeling a bit jealous there, oracle?"

"You came here for a reason, remember?"

No merciful darkness for those burning bright. Davinia explained a very summary version of her investigation to Orcus, skipping ahead when they started to lose interest.

"Do you know any caves and tunnels beyond those you use? Specially those you have seen people around."

Orcus heeded those words carefully, sprinting down a hill with haste. The four mortals followed at their own pace, finding themselves on the outskirts of the ghost town. Promethia immediately recognized the bricks of a fallen wall and the markings of foundation; something big had been here, some sort of warehouse or farm. Orcus moved what seemed to be a scaffold of dried leaves and twigs, revealing a hole leading deep underground; Promethia produced a flame.

"A cold cave." She determined. "And I can see that the now-gone subterranean waters used to flow outside, captured between nature and building as they coursed according to their nature. This must have been an ingenious place when inhabited."

Davinia bent over, noticing evidence that something big and heavy had been dragged across the floor and scattered pieces of broken ceramic. A few stains of olive oil - recent ones, very hard to scrub from stone. This was the bandits' hideout.

She looked up and found the kids staring back at her, terrified. They tried to run away, screaming as Orcus cornered and shepherded them back to the Celestial Triumphant.

Flustered and tired, Promethia flew up, fluttering over them.

"You know who has been robbing merchants along the road." Davinia accused. "I have been patient, but that can change if you lie to me."

"It was our kin!" The boy once again spilled their secrets.

"We will not tell you where we are from." The biggest girl smugly declared. "And then you can't find them."

Orcus heeded those words carefully, sprinting down a hill with haste. The four mortals followed at their own pace, finding themselves on the outskirts of the ghost town. Promethia immediately recognized the bricks of a fallen wall and the markings of foundation; something big had been here, some sort of warehouse or farm. Orcus moved what seemed to be a scaffold of dried leaves and twigs, revealing a hole leading deep underground; Promethia produced a flame.

"A cold cave." She determined. "And I can see that the now-gone subterranean waters used to flow outside, captured between nature and building as they coursed according to their nature. This must have been an ingenious place when inhabited."

Davinia bent over, noticing evidence that something big and heavy had been dragged across the floor and scattered pieces of broken ceramic. A few stains of olive oil - recent ones, very hard to scrub from stone. This was the bandits' hideout.

She looked up and found the kids staring back at her, terrified. They tried to run away, screaming as Orcus cornered and shepherded them back to the Celestial Triumphant.

Flustered and tired, Promethia flew up, fluttering over them.

"You know who has been robbing merchants along the road." Davinia accused. "I have been patient, but that can change if you lie to me."

"It was our kin!" The boy once again spilled their secrets.

"We will not tell you where we are from." The biggest girl smugly declared. "And then you can't find them."

"They have to be from Mola Cavona." The Sybil informed Davinia.

"You are from Mola Cavona." Promethia announced. Their fear turned into terror.

"Please don't hurt my mom." The youngest girl pleaded.

Davinia put two fingers between her nose and brow, closing her eyes in intense reflection. She had found the identity of these bandits, but it would be hard to prove it before the eyes of the law. The crime had been prevented and intent was always hard to argue - specially without having character previously established before the Forum. Of course, she could push through based on influence and connections alone; the very idea filled her with disgust. She held this Triumph, a prestigious position and was backed by the wealth of Italia; to yield privilege to bring even more ruin to a community already on the brink of collapse was predatory and inhuman, the very definition of betraying humanity and civism.

Well, did not Lidia try to guilt her into remaining in the shadows, pulling strings with her position and learning? Then she could do that to create prosperity from wrongs. Punishing these people would only drive Mola Cavona towards the same fate that had befallen neighboring Aqua Soterra; punishing some bandits would still force those despairing to turn into banditry, their ingenuity turned against their fellow men instead of improving the common lot.

She pushed the three children closer together and embraced them.

"Go back home, it will be dark soon. Do not worry your parents; in fact, tell them they have nothing to worry about."

Once again alone, Orcus stared at Davinia, as if expecting her to share her thoughts.

"Things are as things are." She smiled, the titan unable to confide on her their worries. "And I am who I am; someone that is unable to let things be as they are."

It was amazing how much a single week had transformed the Valerianum. Plants adorned the entrance to the residential area, the animal pens had been cleaned up, utensils of maltreatment absent, the latrines emptied and all other signs of squalor hidden from view.

Token efforts that only mattered because the propriety's former overseer, Valerius Lutata, had found himself the target of a very serious legal process and a Vestalis was visiting the place at the invitation of Publius Valerius Poplicola. Not an unattractive or incapable young patrician man, he had to suffer the indignity of being frequently set aside in favor of more prestigious and military capable relatives - all because of a bad fall that left him limp and timid. The moment Davinia set eyes on him she knew the man had received this modicum of authority to be the scapegoat instead of the "proper" Valerii Poplicolae. Paterfamiliases are all the same.

Salvé, master Valerius!" She melted into courtesy, showing empathy and commiserating alongside the man: neither of them enjoyed this situation and there was so much they would rather be doing. Even if Promethia had been the architect behind this encounter. "I am so sorry to learn about the disaster that has befallen your family. I am sure we can sort this mess and avoid a scandal - or worse yet, legal entanglements."

She locked arms with him, offering support physically and with a charming smile. Valerius Poplicola dared to believe that this was not turning as bad as he expected; he was finally getting some respect as a peer - and from one of the most important persons in Rome!

"I hope that we can convince you we are doing our best to be good citizens and become part of the solution." The man started, as he guided Arpineia around the Valerianum. "We were not aware of how Valerius Lutata mismanaged this propriety, nor how he treated folks under his care."

"That is a good sentiment, but it is not enough." Some gentleness lingered in her expression; charm had been executed and buried. It was time for accountability. "Honeyed words are not enough, not when - even if unaware - your family profited from the exploitation of human beings. These are the sparks that lead to Conflict of Orders, these are stones crushing Concordia."

"I agree, Vestalis Arpineia." The man swallowed, waving at the fresh face that the exploration wore. "I would like to show you all the changes that we are making to the Valerianum, all to prevent similar incidents."

"Please, do not jest, master Valerius. To suggest this is even remotely enough is doubting seriousness of the accusations levied against your client."

"I would never even dare to imply that! I just want to make sure this does not escape the attention of your reverend person." Nice save.

"Extortion and trade of those enslaved to you are horrendous crimes. Just being associated with people accused of such abuses can be enough to stain the reputation of any patrician. At the very least, it can compromise elections for magistracies for years."

"That is why our gens is doing everything they can do for the victims, so that there is not any doubt about our dedication to Rule of Law and Liberty."

"Is that so?" Davinia's eyes shone as her mouth smugly demanded more.

"Yes, we contacted all that suffered abuses at the hand of our nefarious client and compensated them." Arpineia demanded more commitment with a judgmental stare. "Enough money for them to repay their debts, returning their freedom. Of course, that is the minimum we could do."

"Yes, the minimum; it is a good start. These people have been working here for too long, if just let loose on Rome they might find themselves in servitude once again."

"That is why we are accepting as workers anyone willing to stay."

"Considering what many experienced here, it may be difficult to keep the site productive. And it would not look good if they were working alongside slaves." She held the poor scion of Valerius Corvus closer. "Luckily for you, I found out that the people of nearby Mola Cavona are in need of honest patronage; they are clever and hard-working. You will more pleased with their collaboration."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, now I understand why rumors you are inspired by Egeria." The cornered patrician was trying to remain stoic; his eyes begged for mercy. When would this woman be satisfied? How costly would the support of the priestesses of Vesta be?

"It do not understand why your grandfather does not hold you in better regard." It would be a poor Vestalis that would reveal the content of the wills they safeguarded; the implication of the unique insights inherent to their sacred duties was often enough and neatly avoided legal hurdles. "Perhaps that will change. After all, he will see how you addressed a very unfair and distasteful situation with such dignity."

"Here is hoping to that. Can I count with your support?"

"You can count with more than that. I will make sure that visitors of the Forum and the announcements at the Temple of Saturn learn of the moral strength of gens Valeria and its very fertile branches." She narrowed her eyes, going in for the throat. "Now that I say that aloud, I realize that is not enough. I know just how to put your name on the mouth of most Latins."

"Please, Vestalis Arpineia, that would be marvelous."

"Then let it be so." They stopped in front of the slave residences. "If you will only have free workers, you will not need those. My College will renovate them into a popular school; plebeians from nearby communities will come and witness every single day how your family really treats their servants, returning home with constant tales about the respectful and just treatment they give their workers."

He barely avoided cursing the Vestalis; Greeks had nothing on Italians bearing gifts.

*​

The Second Class Vestalis could not believe in the miracle she was witnessing. For the third day in a row no backlog laid dead atop the desk of her head of department.

And more surprising of them all, there it was Vestalis Arpineia, sitting in front of said desk, books spread open as she worked in something that had not been presented to her by another. She stood there, quiet, taking in all about the - there was no other way to describe it - performance. She was singing beautifully, fingers moving up and down across passages, gestures enraptured by the rhythm of her voice. Her calligraphy was tight and yet free-form; stylus and pens danced instead of scratching, cried instead of painting. And her eyes, oh, her eyes - heart skipped a beat when she looked at her eyes. Baggy, twitchy, exhausted and wandering; sparking with intense intelligence and overflowing with hard-earned knowledge.

Now that was what a First Class Vestalis should look like. This was the Arpineia that had been the talk years ago, the one that made her change Colleges.

Davinia stopped, feeling herself observed. She turned and shared the most radiant smile.

"Oh good, you're here! Come, I need you to do me a favor." The junior approached, entranced. "You served Third Class at the Rusticarum et Naturae Collegium, correct? After all, you wrote a thesis on the breeding of hybrid equines as a viable alternative to oxen as work animals."

She blinked. Arpineia refused to ever address her by her family name, to the point that she suspected it to be unworthy of the attention of her superior. And yet, she apparently knew her career in great detail.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Vestalis Arpineia inquired, a concerned eyebrow raising. "I still keep up with what people are doing there; I too started at the Department of Agriculture and Natural Resources: it was one of the few that accepted equestrians."

She did?

"I apologize, Vestalis Arpineia. My mind wandered off. Yes, I did. What can I do for you."

"Don't saddle it, keep those ideas coming and your mind kicking." Her superior seemed pleased; she deposited three sealed letters on her hand. "See if you can contact some of your former colleges. I would do it myself but I have no idea where she is now; ask them to deliver these recommendations to Viviana."

"Recommendations?" This was highly unorthodox; specially between heads of different Collegia. "If you pardon my boldness, would that be appropriate?"

"Talent and protocol do not always go together." Davinia shrugged. "We both know how it is there; there are never enough of us. Viviana needs Vestalis with bright eyes, willing to perform field work and dirtying their hands. I say that if we are to fix that we have to look for students where we have not looked before."

"But is it our place to step forward with a proposal?"

Davinia closed her mouth and closed her eyes. Inside of her, stolen fire burned.

"During my first years as priestess, many argued about me taking the vows; the gods would be offended because I was not a patrician girl. Many still believe it is not my place to be a First Class Vestalis. Even more whisper that I am no Closer to Egeria than they are." Davinia confided. "I don't know and I don't want to know what my places is supposed to be. I will welcome the fallout of this and protect you and the rest of my people, but I will never apologize."

 

[StrigaRosa]

Broom in one hand, greasy rag over the the shoulder; Marcus was set in closing the shop before dawn. Not that an early night would offer him rest - other than what he could get from silencing the spectral voices, constantly demanding his attention.

Hair and bloody bandages were out, boards and locks were in. Lemurs rallied to him, having spent the day scavenging the woes and curses of the Urbane masses. Bronze and lead became his armor of revenge, ghostly mass his gateway to the secrets of the emptied streets.

He was Marcus Considius; he was the Tribune of Shades.

And this seemed to be a quiet night. Or at least, he hoped it better be one, considering what nonsense worried the Roman ghosts.

The barber kept thinking it must be a mistake, even as the specters kept reaching over to the curse tablet.

"Megaro the innkeeper waters his wine with tepid ichor, overcharges outsiders and stole my favorite cloak. Soften his bones and harden his liver, let him roll over with bowel pain and be served to the bugs that stuff his bedding."

Considius stood there, quiet, awaiting for further comment from the lemurs.

"It is all a bit too much; are you guys sure about this?"

A nudge, then a pull. Ghostly certainty.

"Alright, alright. If this is what you want, I'm a pontifex to my people."

It better be a damn good cloak.

The innkeeper, decent or not, was familiar to the dead. They never wandered from their goals, skipping over rooftops and sliding alongside the Tiber. The inn was far from impressive. White chalk covered an aged facade, three floors whose tiny windows promised little light and cramped quarters. At least the stables looked decent - and it was within walking distance of most of Rome; it had all the signs of being popular, despite its dilapidated status.

Spectral tendrils lifted Marcus up, allowing the Umbrae Tribunus to inspect the guest rooms. Everyone was asleep, a few of the rooms overcrowded - entire families or groups of wage workers piled on the floor. A division was neat and safe, belongings catalogued and stored. Narrowing his eyes, the barber found what seemed to be a fine dark green cloak laid over a cask.

There was no doubt that the entire operation had a veneer of sleaziness; the marks of shady dealings were everywhere. Yet, how responsible was the responsible party and could he hold them accountable? As cathartic as that would be, it is not like he could shove someone into a open sewer for poor and unethical business practices.

Thinking about the sewer convinced him to look down instead of up. Marcus jumped to street level, sending lemurs into every nook and crook. The inn was separated from the public system, containing its own cooling caves, storage units and sewage pit. Following alongside it, he could feel the stale air trying to escape. Forcing his entrance, Considius compelled the specters to provide an eerie light.

Atmosphere deader than the Underworld, the place was chilled but far from sterile. Mold grew on the walls and dust piled among the amphorae, drops dripping from the ceiling into a waterhole at the corner - all too close to the sewage for health.

The lemurs grew more upset; if this was the water used to soften the wine, no wonder. It was a crime on its own.

Marcus noticed the feeble tapping against the wall.

A draft led him towards a plaster-disguised panel. The smell of urine, sweat and worse stroke Considius' senses. Rustling and meek whimpering followed, as something had noticed his presence.

"Is someone there?" Marcus warned before entering.

"Please…" A weak answer was uttered by an emaciated youth. His clothes had once been fine and well-tailored, they were now soiled and torn. "Let me out."

Lemurs did not wait for permission, deathly sharpness severing the young man's bindings.

"What happened here?"

"I came with a friend to Rome, both of us traveling on behalf of the Bull. The innkeeper learned of our relation to the aristocracy of the Tarentine countryside." Coughing. "He decided to hold us for ransom."

He again stopped to cough, Considius wondering about the Bull. Another civic club or a conspiracy like those Second Founders creeps? No matter, these people need help and they needed it now.

"Where is your friend now?" Marcus asked, looking around and finding only empty bindings.

"He died a few days ago." The youth mumbled, too far gone for mourning. "The stink became too much and people started complaining: the innkeeper waited for the night and took him away… I have been laying here, afraid of what he will do once he comes back..."

Indeed. If their crimes came to light, the once hostage could be a liability - another loose end to tie the noose.

There was no time to waste.

"Go to one of the magistrates houses or the first patrician house you can find; stay there. I will get the innkeeper for you."

Considius lost himself to ghostly substance, finding the way outside. A quick check of the stables revealed the emptiness left by a big cart, as well as the heavy marks that lead it outside of the city. The lemurs did not hesitate, propelling him alongside the trail and beyond the sacred limits of the Urbe. Considius could feel his Triumph diminishing - and yet, what remained was more focused and purposeful than the usual spiritual turmoil.

It was pretty easy to find fresh tracks at first light - or it may have been the faint ghost of a dead noble, accusatory finger guiding Considius. Megaro the innkeeper was up to his chest on mud and excrement, digging in the refuge, a cart of dung at his side - a bruised arm poking out of it.

Hostage, the dead and the guilty were delivered at the Forum; the issue was quickly expelled from Considius' mind - it was a plebeian caught on murderous neglect and acting on ill-intent against two aristocrats. He was confident Justice would be expedient, given the august status of the victims.

Returning to the corner of revenge and putting the curse back where he had found it, Marcus was allowed a smile. Things escalated so quickly that he completely forgot about the silly cloak and whoever it had been stolen from.

He frowned as he found another curse, under a recently lit lamp, the script as clumsy as the first one.

"Nevermind, O Manes - for it turns out I had sent my beautiful cloak to launder and forgot about it. Spare your heavy hand from the innkeeper's Fortune."

Marcus re-read it aloud, disbelieving the carelessness and impiety. It all started to sound eerie familiar.

"No. Way." He dismissed the lemurs, curses clanging as they hit the floor; it scared a stray cat that was licking the lantern oil. Considius dipped a finger on it, taking a sniff. Someone had mixed fish and olive oil, no wonder it burned strangely and had such an abominable stench. There were not merchants that sold that ill-smelling mixture within the limits of Rome - even the people of the Aventine would not stand for that. There were a few vendors and tavern keepers right next to the Cloaca Maxima; nobody complained about those.

One of the disgusting establishments was already open - or did not even bother closing for the night. Among the drunks, misers and miserable, a curly haired head poked from a fine red cloak.

Eyes narrowed into slits, Considius grabbed the man by the neck and pinned him against the dirty table, spilling cheap beer everywhere.

"Your disrespect is boundless." The barber snarled. "It can only be outdone by your cowardice."

The man struggled to breath and speak, groaning against the hold. Considius released some of the pressure.

"I'm not hiding." The man coughed, the barber grunted.

"Telling lies, Gaius?" Considius smirked, laying another heavy hand upon the man's shoulder. "That would be a new low."

"Okay, I'm laying down, keeping quiet." The cloaked man admitted. "But I'm not hiding from you, brother."

 

[StrigaRosa]

The two Considii sat on the living quarters of the barbershop, avoiding each other's stares and languishing in awkward quietude - or at least Gaius did; Marcus had put hands behind his back, fingers rubbing each other as he paced back and forth around the room.

"If you keep at that you gonna dig up a hole all the way down to Dis Pater." Gaius jested; Marcus sneered.

"I am not in the mood for your jokes. That was definitely something that I did not miss." The barber waved around. "Last time I saw you, you were leaving Rome with all my saving, a bunch of loans and a partnership binding us to the Bassii. Today I find you hiding in a hole, amid alcohol and piss, more worried about some rags than how your family has been doing."

"Some rags? This cloak is full of secret pockets and treasures." Gaius shuffled and pulled out a beautiful flower-like brooch of divine blue. "This little wonder is made from the woven tears of Corsican Sirens. And there are many more like this."

An irated barbed struck his irresponsible sibling's hand, the delicate piece of jewelry landing underneath a cupboard.

"I don't want to hear about dumb trinkets, do you think they can fix anything?"

"It is money, good coin." Gaius waved his hands as apology. "It is a start."

"We are way past the point of solving our issues by throwing silver at it." Marcus' voice cracked; his brother looked down in embarrassment.

"I knew something was off. So I take they are not back on the farm…"

The eldest Considii turned around. Gaius covered his face with both hands.

"They are suffering the fate you were so cowardly trying to avoid."

"Be reasonable, brother." Gaius defended himself. "What good will my enslavement do? Will it set them free? Will it return them to you?"

He had a point, but the barber was not going to admit it.

"It is about holding yourself accountable for your actions."

"I am trying to hold myself as better than that!" Gaius put his right hand over his heart. "I heard about the rebuilding efforts up North and the commissions being offered. I can pay back the family for believing on me all these years - and if I can do some good while at it, even better."

"Oh, such nobility on your part, Gaius, so big of you. You are really going to change people's life, flip everyone's life upside down! That always works out great; your business must be going great for you to be here."

"What we were buying was quite different from what they been selling at the Urbe."

Concern seizing over fury, Considius face softened.

"How come?" He poured some water, salted it with a softening mix and shared it with his sibling.

"Imperialism was sold to us as everyone getting laid, when it actually is everyone getting fucked over." Gaius growled. "These publicani will ruin all of us, what they are doing is just wrong. I have seen it on the provincies; I saw it on my way back Rome."

"Calm down." The older Considius suggested, his brother nodding and drinking from the cup. "Then tell me everything."

A tale of ambition and greed, woven by layers of intermediaries and enabled by the disowning of all responsibility.

"Lucius is still there, working between and across the islands. Buying cheap and selling high, always undercutting everyone involved." A deep sigh. "We got there filled with loaned pockets and unimaginative ideas, thinking we were so much clever and deserved to scam everyone; the moment you leave the Greek and Punic towns you can only see the brown and gold of vast fields of the grain, ready to be plucked."

"That is not weird, is it?" Marcus questioned, his heart ever that of a city boy. "I think every village up and down Italia is a bit like that. Dis, it is much worse with the in-laws in Campania, with the assignment of public land and what not."

"So I thought, and it all went fine for the first weeks. Up to the point when I wondered why I never saw any of the locals, why I was always dealing with intermediaries that were just as stranger to these isles as I was. We needed to get some shipping contracts from Corsica, so I volunteered - a nice excuse to do some exploration; it was the same there. That was when I realized that any locals had been pushed away, literally into the dangerous forests and hills of the interior or figuratively into debt and servitude."

Marcus grimaced.

"How things turned out so bad?"

"It became this bad, Marcus? It has been this way for a few generations, even before the Senate and People gained stewardship of the archipelago. Everyone that works those fields is enslaved, one way or other; their work belongs to foreign publicani or a local aristocracy that sold their own compatriots for a share of the profits. Make no mistake, there are some wild fortunes, this arrangement is impressive at creating wealth but is even more effective at entrusting it into as few hands in possible."

"If it is how things are done, it is not that how things are done. The point of the provincial system is, afterall, to preserve local autonomy and culture while integrating them slowly as a sister republic. It might be nasty now, but it should improve. We should not be rushing and forcing our way in; at least this cautious approach reveals the Senate has learned a thing or two from Iliria."

"That sounds all too familiar to what Lucius Bassus parroted, every time I voiced my concerns. "It is just how things are done here, Gaius. Do not cause trouble Gaius; we just need to make enough to pay the debts, get land of our own and maybe finance an election or two. Keep your head down and work the clients, Gaius.""

"I'm sorry I interrupted." Marcus was feeling increasingly embarrassed. "Please continue, brother."

"I do not believe we are making it better. I believe it is only going to get worse, and the exploitation will only breed misery; who knows what will happen when the same abuse spreads here?"

Gaius' expression was of such a sincere horror that Marcus was stupefied.

"How can that be? We are the senior partner."

"We are flooding the Italian market with cheap bread, Marcus. Sure, not so cheap to be readily available to anyone and just expensive enough to make the whole thing very profitable for publicani, but still cheap enough to undercut farmers."

"Driving more and more Italian families into debt." The inevitable conclusion was made abundantly clear to the barber.

"Or having to rent or sell family into servitude, or give up their lands, or move to the cities and hope they can join a guild or get by as independent craftsmen. The best hope for many people will be to move out of subsistence farming and into luxury crops; even that would tip towards the privileged and wealthy. Do you have an idea how ruinous it can be to plant a new vineyard or olive grove, process the harvest, ship it and still survive the first troublesome years of the initiative? I do, I looked into it. No way your typical plebeian family can afford it."

"That would push more and more folk to the cities." Marcus cursed under his breath. "And it will be at its worst in Rome; it would be troublesome during the best of times, but they will only find squalor and misery after the refugees of Telamon gentrified the poor neighborhoods of the Urbe."

"Forcing more people to gamble on loans and dedicate themselves to the one thing that makes money: joining the ranks of the publicani exploiting provincials through tax collection and grain transport on alleged behalf of the Senate and People. Those that make it will invest further and further in the system; those that don't can join the broken on the fields."

"This is going to make slaves of us all."

"That is what I kept telling Lucius." "Slower, faster, one way or the other, that is the way things will end."

The older Considius did not know what to say to that. He knew his younger brother was given to fatalism and exaggeration, but all he had seen on the last months supported these grim portents. He could not change the administration, he would not even know where to get started - not as Marcus Considius, at least.

And what happened to limiting himself to make things better on his corner of the Aventine?

Scratch that, he still had to steer the destinies of his family.

"We have debts to pay and mouths to feed. Do you think a military commission is going to keep our family afloat?"

"It worked for you." Gaius pointed out.

"Yes, but I had to endure a lot of things that I disagreed with." The barber made sure his younger brother remembered that. "Do you plan to desert the moment the situation becomes complicated?"

"I have to try. I know it will not be easy, but seems something I can put my hands on and help; the mess in Sardinia and Corsica is too entangled, I cannot even leave a dent on it. Let me do this, Marcus." Gaius stretched his arms, offering his wrists. "Or do you think it is the best for the family to sell me in a vain attempt to repay our loans?"

As paterfamilias, that was his right - no, it was expected from him. To make all the decisions, to have the call of life and death, all needed for the survival and prosperity of the clan. Nonsense; it might appear to be so among the illustrious gens of the patricians and other aristocratic fools but the common people needed all hands on deck. This became all too poignant when the old Considii father died, leaving to him a legacy, oaths and no instructions. The idea of the all-knowing, ever-prepared and unhealthy-confident patriarch became a ridiculous and toxic fantasy. Who but privileged fools, too in love with their own minds and intolerant of any dissonant voices, could find that stone faced patriarch something to strive for? Who else would accept that as good?

In this house everyone's opinion had weight; wisdom was born for that collective. Even the littlest voice deserved to be heard and respected, and no mistake was beyond an apology.

Marcus wished Camilla was here; even if his brain told him that she would not be of any help, he needed to hear her. Be with her. Bounce awful ideas back and forth with her. The two Considii boys could not get out of this hole one their own.

"I am sorry, brother. I failed you." The barber conceded, opening the door. "I do not know what is best for you or this family. Your idea, its merits and flaws aside, is yours; I only have a bad feeling, not enough to deny you your rights and freedoms. All I ask is that you do not sneak away while I'm out."

"Where are you going?" Gaius asked as his brother stepped outside the shop.

"To perform my auguries. Maybe closer to the gods I will find wisdom lacking in common sense."