I dreamed of Antonia. We were swimming in some dark lake in the middle of some forest. But my sleep was once again disturbed by loud knocking. I crawled out of the giant bed and walked towards the door. It was Otho.

“Is it dinner time already?” I asked while stretching and yawning at the same time.

“No. I wanted some company. Come, I have something to show you!” He walked away before I could respond. I closed the door behind me and followed him. It annoyed me that he had interrupted such a pleasant dream. We walked towards the end of the hallway which led to a narrow, almost hidden staircase.

“Watch your step, it’s very dark,” Otho whispered as if he was telling me a secret of sorts. His melodramatic tone made me smile. Back in the days of Academy I always enjoyed Otho’s company, but now even more so. He was changed. More serene, more thoughtful and less talkative. But when I thought about it, I felt like that was the true Otho. The vane, rather cocky version of his former self was merely an act. A coping mechanism for being an extension of his father’s pride.

We climbed the stairs and found ourselves in front of a black door with carved eagles at its sides.

“Look at this, such simple tastes,” said Otho. “Yes! We understand! You like your eagles!” he laughed. He opened the door and we found ourselves on a small terrace, only big enough to fit two people. Beneath us was the city, illuminated by torches. It was windy.

“How do you know of this place?”

“While you all lingered in your rooms, I went exploring! Beautiful view, isn’t it?” he took a deep breath.

“It is…”

“Were you afraid during the flight?”

“No… Well, a little. It was uncomfortable, the wind, the cold… I’d love to try it again one day, during summer.”

“I feel guilty,” Otho said.

“About what? Lord Cronos?” I asked, a bit confused by his sudden confession.

“Yes… I should’ve known the priest had ill intentions.”

“Come on now! We’re strangers in strange lands. He had us all fooled. And the pieces on the board are moving faster than anyone had anticipated. Lord Cronos is dead, yes, but Calista is alive. We must think of her.”

“That as well…”

“You’ve been quite gloomy lately. Are you sure this is about Lord Cronos?”

“In all honesty, I don’t know anymore. When we set sail for Porosia I was so excited! I felt like my life mattered, that I’d made the right decision, for me, for the Cohort, for the republic! But now I see that we’re puppets. Puppets thrown into the randomness of existence. I might as well have stayed with my family and respected my father’s decisions.”

“Enough of this slave-talk!” I barked at him, annoyed and angry. It startled him.

“What we are doing matters, even if you feel like it doesn’t! You’re afraid, afraid of your new gained liberty and responsibility. That is all. Of course you are uncomfortable. We all are, in our own way. But what we do matters! Our lives matter! And so do our deeds. How dare you speak that way?! Go to Calista and tell her how her longing for freedom doesn’t matter, because nothing matters!"

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Otho then said, while looking away:

“You don’t know what it feels like to be abandoned by your family.”

“Each of us carries different burdens. Some are heavier than others, yes. Look at what Tiberius went through on that hellish island. Not to mention Julia, gods! Or let’s look at our friend Marius. His mother cares only for outer appearances and her damned wine. You think he doesn’t struggle with fear and feelings of not being worthy? Why do you think he feels so good holding that blade in his hands?! Because it gives him security, it gives him value. Your burden, Otho, isn’t that heavy. You’re just prone to feeling self-pity for yourself. You father has flaws, your mother as well. Their parents had their flaws and their parents had theirs. It’s up to you to break this cycle... This ridiculous wasting of time that spans through generations. Your duty to yourself is to live a well-spent life. And the Cohort isn’t some happy magical place that will keep darkness of personal traumas at bay. You won't find the cure for your sorrow outside yourself. It’s you who defines meaning to your life! Nothing and nobody else.”

He kept staring far into the distance and just when I was starting to feel I went too hard on him, he turned around. He looked me straight into my eyes. He was his old self again.

“It’s true, everything you say. These moods of mine… You have to realize that having my father for a parent was a colossal mental struggle. I was never beaten as a child… But he had other ways of torture. He knew how to torment my mind. Such a cruel man. In Abydos, when that pig of a chancellor started bragging about Lord Cronos... Let me tell you, he very much reminded of my father! I almost fainted. I was out of breath and my vision was getting blurry. I managed to fight it off though. But sometimes I do have a spell, and I faint.”

“Gods… How long have you been having these… Spells?”

“Since childhood. They don’t happen that often, once, twice a year.”

We stood there in silence for some time, observing the city bellow. Then Otho again turned to me and said:

“I apologize. It was ill of me for dwelling in self-pity.”

I waved my hand, smiled and then jokingly hit his shoulder.

“How come you always know what to say? Sometimes it feels like you’re fearless, that nothing can or does touch you.”

“Oh, I posses a large amount of fear, trust me. And there’s plenty I’d like to forget as well. Your fear, Otho, manifests itself in self-pity, my fear manifests in rage, my temper, my lack of patience.”

“But I’ve never seen you angry. I know you have temper. The way you used to scold Marius and Julius on occasion, back at Academy, gods, that was chilling. But besides that, Antonius… You seem fine to me."

“My rage is not so brutish as it is calculated. I’m more of a… Schemer. Sometimes it feels like I scheme everyone, even myself. I’m convincing to people, that much I do know. But in essence… It feels like I’m acting the part, while true Antonius is in hiding. Somewhere where it’s safe, but also quite lonely.”

Again we went quiet, until Otho asked:

“How come you feel this way? Your family seems so affectionate.”

I wanted to tell him about the beatings my mother received from my father. The frustration of him having two families. How unworthy that made me feel. How he constantly hijacked us for his vane goals, treating us as his personal dolls, not persons. How reading was an escape and an attempt to figure out what life was and what it all meant. But I was spent. I could talk no more.

“I’ll tell you one day, Otho, I promise. But right now I can’t. I’m exhausted.”

He stood there and observed me for some time, than stepped forward and gave me a long hug. This act of tenderness startled me, made me uncomfortable even, but nonetheless I returned the hug. From then on we had a deeper understanding for each other.