Four years had passed since the sack of Adrianople by the Nu horde. As quickly as they came, the little monsters had fled, leaving a wake of death and destruction that tore through the heart of the once mighty Novissime Empire. Though new powers emerged to fill the void of the collapsed empire, there remained a loyal few who would not go quietly.

Paullus Kaeso thought of his uncle, General Maximus, as he walked the pink marble halls of Adrianople's palace. The palace was rebuilt with haste and still in the midst of construction. This portion had been completed and great paintings had been hung on its white stone walls. The works were so large, Paullus could take in nearly every beautiful detail by the time he walked the width of each one.

The first was of a silver armored man with a purple cloak atop a white horse raising his sword high. Behind the rider a red and black haze reminiscent of fire and smoke filled the canvas. The man's face was hidden behind his helmet, but long black locks flowed from underneath. The painting was known as The General's Call. Paullus knew who the man in the silver armor was.

Further down was his favorite painting. It was of Tiberius Septimus on his deathbed. The man, though he likely never existed at all, is credited with founding Adrianople and defending its people against scores of barbarians. Around the image of the old man were crying men, women and children. In the center of the bottom of the frame, engraved in a gold plaque were Tiberius's final words. "Ours is the blood of the Empire." His full declaration, or so the story goes, had been, "Death does not reach us. Our heart, our life is but a part of the Great Novissime. I do not die, as you will not die. Ours is the blood of the Empire!" Maximus had said their line could be traced back to Tiberius Septimus, and though it could not be proven, Paullus swelled with pride at the man's story.

The final painting, at the far end of the hall, was of a legion soldier on a cliff overlooking an endless enemy army. He held a sword in one hand and a giant purple banner, emblazoned with the Novissime wolf, in the other. The soldier's leather armor, Paullus knew, indicated his lower rank in the legion. Paullus understood the painting as a call to all Novissime men to stand against the enemy, no matter the odds. He often imagined himself as that lone soldier.

Since Maximus's death the day before the Battle of Adrianople, Paullus and his mother, Maximus's sister, had been shunned by the ranks of the Legion. During the sack of Adrianople by the Nu, Paullus's mother had been killed and in the years since, Paullus had been forced to fend for himself. He found work with the smiths in the rebuilding city, and the stewards of the palace. He worked for almost a year on the reconstruction, but at age seventeen, Paullus was now old enough to join the Legion.

He reached the end of the hall and pressed open the small, birchwood door.

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"You again. I've told you a hundred times! The Legion's full! Go back to your foreman before I report you." The General's steward, Gaius Nonus, sat at a large ornate desk in the small, otherwise unfurnished room.

"I'm old enough now. I'm able to help. The most able man you'll ever see."

"The what? You're hardly a man at all!"

"I'm seventeen. I know there are soldiers younger. Some fifteen year olds. You got no reason to turn me away." Paullus stood in the doorway, as he had many times before. He thought of that lone soldier on the cliff, and took a single bold step into the room.

Gaius noted the step. He sat back in his chair. The light of a single oil lamp at the edge of his desk cast his large dark shadow on the wall behind him. "Well, well, well. Looks like little Kaeso found a lick of courage. You say you want to join, ok. I've heard you. But your name is poison. You understand why."

Paullus seethed at the mockery in the man's words. Of course I know, you damn fool! "I do," he said calmly. "But the Legion of Aiden has begun their march. You need–"

Gaius raised a hand. "No, don't call them that. You ought to know at least that much. They are The Children of Aiden. We are the true Legion."

Paullus bowed his head. "Sir, I am the most willing and able man you will find. War descends upon us once again. Allow me to fight for our Empire. I know who my uncle was, but ours is the blood of the Empire."

Gaius leaned back and let out a hearty laugh. "Alright! You've got it right! No need for that kind of talk. You won't be a hero, you know? Just another rank and file man of the Legion. General won't care to know you, and given your coward uncle, jumping from the walls like he did, you'd best hope he doesn't." Gaius leaned in. "Look, they aren't marching for us, put all those rumors out of your head. But you are right about war. It's coming and we do need men."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll draw up the papers and send them over shortly. I want you to head home, or wherever orphan rats like you keep your stuff, gather everything that might be useful and report to Black Tower tomorrow."

Paullus nodded and turned to go.

"Wait! That name of yours; everybody knows it. Your face, though, well, it's plain enough. I say you go by something else. Give you a chance to make it without being strung up for old Maximus's crime of cowardice.

Paullus kept his head down..

"Yeah, let's go with Darius Cato. Good?"

"Thank you." Paullus hid his racing heart and only the faintest hint of a smile curled the sides of his mouth. He walked from the room, closing the door behind him, and looked at the lone soldier on the cliff. He let his smile widen and ran his hands through his long black hair. He closed his eyes. I am Darius Cato, blood of the Empire.