As his final breaths sounded through the sombre gloomy cellar, Emperor Claudius Gothicus murmured his ultimate wish, sacrificing the tiny remaining life which pulsated through his veins to pass down a torch. A torch of hope. A torch of power. A torch with the pleas of millions of people who feared for their lives, who dreaded the fall of the greatest empire in history, who depended on the saviour of mankind … on the saviour of the world.

Behold! In a crimson robe, the man of the hour emerged from the dark basement into the light of the glaring sun and the hopeful praise of his new subjects.

Thousands of cries accompanied his ascension as Aurelian, the Restorer of the World was inaugurated with a dream.

A dream of a never-ending, omni persevering empire.

The dream of Rome was not yet breathed out, its power was not yet depleted for as long as there are worshippers, the creed of Rome and its beliefs will prevail.

All hail Aurelian, King of the World, Salvator Roma and Bearer of the torch of civilisation and advancement.

As he proudly stood on a podium towering above his servants, his subjects, his soldiers, above the people he swore to protect and unite, the golden God’s gaze was drawn eastwards towards the gleaming morning sun which rose from the plains of the pannonian horizon.

Before the beaming sun his concentration focused on the divine being which had led him towards this exact moment as he grimly stared at the jubilant yet sorrowful crowd beneath him which mourned the previous emperor’s death while still paying tribute to the newly crowned ruler.

A whispering behind the man made him turn around as two men clad in red cloaks with giant cristas shuffled aside to allow the view of a great golden throne, a laurel wreath loosely hanging from the seat of power, around which a smooth purple cloak was carefully laid and a lion’s fur softening the metal throne.

Gracefully stepping towards it, Aurelian turned around and calmly sat down on it, the rows of soldiers next to the gleaming throne saluting and crying in unison: “Ave Aurelian! Ave Caesar!”

Basking in his soldiers’ glory and the people’s delight the young Aurelian relished the sight of might before him as he twisted his black beard between his rough fingers, simply enjoying the moment of his ascension to a mortal deity.

A faint smile flickered momentarily across his face as he ruefully remembered the alluring, nigh mesmerising colour of the purple wine which had lusciously sloshed into his emperor and mentor’s cup as the old man was deemed obsolete by the ambitious Aurelian whose dreams of a united, prevailing Rome tremendously overshadowed personal connections, morality and even humanity.

But his people and soldiers loved him.

At least they loved the illusion that the cunning man delivered to them.

As the sun was moving down its trajectory, slowly reaching dusk before it would erupt from the east the next day, the coronation festivities were in full swing as laughter, cheering and loud roars of drunken soldiers echoed into the star-illuminated night sky.

Stench of alcohol and exuberance escaped the small marble palace of Sirmium, Aurelian’s birthplace as well as the place where his new life commenced, as emperor of the greatest empire of the world.

Yet as his precious guests celebrated the new emperor’s ascension, Aurelian grimly looked down on them, as his jaunty expression gravely contradicted his dark thoughts.

Those lazy slothful aristocrats surely know how to be a parasite. Nourishing off my power and feeding themselves like fat maggots whose abilities are beneath those of a common farmer boy like I was one.

The only reason they inhabit their current position is their lineage, their influential dynasty, the social custom of nobility and the consequential advantages.

Once Rome is in my hand and the empire restored, I’ll see to it that those pests get extinguished, crushed beneath my ruthless boot … just like bugs are supposed to.

Why Fortuna? Why does Rome need such men in times of need? Or were they the ones who plunged my beautiful empire into ruin and chaos?

Nevertheless, I’ll have to rid Rome of the festering gashs the aristocracy truly is.

Aurelian who kept a content expression throughout his inner tirade suddenly felt someone approach him from the right, his guards immediately ready to intervene as two broad-shouldered men blocked the emperor’s vision, preventing him to grasp the identity of the arrival who may release him from the torment of the festivities which were originally held in his name but quickly became a networking meeting for the rich and powerful right beneath the noses of the loyal generals who partially joined their corrupt colleagues and partially only eyed them suspiciously, much to the emperor’s pleasure.

An unpleasant odour Aurelian was far too acquainted with filled his nose as the haughty aristocrats moved away at the approach of the intruder who the emperor discerned to be a young boy of senatorial service, meaning a spy or herald.

Dried human blood, a pungent smell which reminded the Soldier Emperor of his roots as a sharp smile was cast on his face as the boy appeared before him, panting and needing a second to regain his stamina and breath.

Aurelian, who had noticed that the marble hall had become quiet, turned his face towards his subordinates and yelled with a voice purposefully more tipsy and drunk than he really was: “Aren’t we celebrating? Why is no one enjoying my feast? Huh?”

Urgent, forced murmuring and stifled laughter filled the room as the subconscious threat and demand in Augustus' voice was palpable even at the far end of the hall where the lower tribunes of the army and local nobles of Sirmium dined.

Returning his attention to the boy who was twitching and scratching his own clothes, a strikingly clear sign for Aurelian which revealed the child’s nervousness - or that he was simply fidgety.

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Signalling the bowing boy to commence, the new ruler gave a feeble hand sign, pointing upwards as if to allow the mortal to speak to him, a god, even though he didn’t feel like one … yet.

Stuttering as he addressed the most powerful man on the planet, the boy conveyed the message his masters had drilled into his small skull.

"Great," a gasp, "great emperor Aurel-elian, on behalf of my master, Senator Marcus Zeno Caecus, governor of Af-Africa, I inform you, Cae-Caesar, that a large Germanic army numbering at least-"

"Speak quieter!" Harshly interjected the man who feared the uncontrolled spread of the crucial information which could terminate his rule prematurely before it even really commenced.

A last glance around assured him that either no one had heard the boy or those who had had been smart enough to hide it. Nodding at the utterly frightened boy, sweat running down his forehead, slightly obscured by his blonde hair, Aurelian instructed him to resume - in silence.

Audibly gulping the slave continued: "Ehm, a large army from Germania has cr-cr-crossed the Apls and set up camp some kilometres north of Lacus Benacus."

Under the inquiring eyes of the intently listening men and high-ranking officers, the boy shrunk to a whisper, causing the men to lean further towards him as he added: "Reports from my master's spies suggest that the army numbers at least 50.000 men"

Eyes widening at the tremendous raging power located in northern Italia, a place where they threatened Rome itself and thus an immediate threat to the Empire.

“May Sol Invictus save us,” whispered Aurelian who needed a moment to cope with the sudden horrible news on the same day of his ascension.

As Augustus slowly raised his shaking hand, the trembling fingers wiggling in the dimly illuminated palace, the guards shot down their spear shafts, a sharp thud resonating inside the marble chamber.

Coughing to clear his voice, the recently hailed Caesar reassured himself of his deed’s righteousness as his expression became firm and resolute.

“My dear guests and friends, I bring you sad news on this cursed and blessed day of life and death … our glorious nation is in imminent danger. Danger great enough to cause our extinction. Danger which approaches our throats as it hunts us, its prey, in the form of a gigantic host of barbarians which have crossed the Alps and are lingering north of Lacus Benacus.”

Disbelief filled the once festive room as the last distant laughter died down after realising their severe predicament.

“Thus I have decided, as Augustus Aurelianus, to face our hereditary enemy and exterminate them once and for all just like we did with our great emperor Claudius as we devastatingly crushed the Goths at Naissus. However do not fear our enemy for they are only humans … while we are Romans!”

Slight support was visible in the faces of the aristocrats and some lesser tribunes and centurions even roared their loyalty and valour into the silent room, filling it with battle readiness. Still, his attempt at lifting the gloomy men and women’s spirits had proven obsolete as no one wanted another bloody war against some barbarians who’d simply return the next century. But he’d try again.

Staring into his subjects’ faces, the middle-aged man raised his voice, a determined undertone mixing with the sober informational value of it, giving it the aesthetic of a speech.

"The fate of our precious empire is on Ruin's Edge. We have to act now! Assemble the army. We'll depart tomorrow at dawn, not a moment before and not a moment later!"

Commotion and turmoil erupted as the festive jubilant hall reacted to their emperor's revelation in various manners, either screaming of terror, clutching their eyes and hiding from the truth, mouth wide open as they were simply stunned. Just like Rome's diversity, the expressions of the gathered guests were a pure mix of fright, joy and anger.

Whip whizzing through the air, the experienced, former veteran Legate of the 7th, Domitius Licius Gothicus roared into Sirmium's palace: "Everyone! Silence!"

Repeating this procedure the harsh and conscientious Legate soon accomplished absolute quiet as the nobles slumped onto their creaking chairs and the loud thuds of metal onto paved ground by the rapidly rising officers subsided, the agitated guests either standing motionlessly or twitching around nervously.

Admiring the authority he emitted, Aurelian let his gaze wander over the crowd of attentive listeners, his eyes having returned to their usual calm and composed, one may even say dead, state.

“As I’ve said, departure will be tomorrow. Go to sleep early. It will be a long fatiguing march to reach Rome before the barbarians,” or before a potential rival. Quintillus will certainly resist my ascension. Well, mistakes happen. I should’ve killed him a long time ago while campaigning in Moesia.

The quiet prevailed and Aurelian resumed: “During the night most of you will be instructed on next day’s course of events. My orderlies will deliver specific written orders for you to supply, arm, equip and train your Legionaries as well as the logistical necessities that need to be done by the imperial clerks and local nobles in preparation of our journey.”

His announcement had brought the expected sullenness with it but still the young man felt a desire to cheer up the men who’d die for him and his holy cause.

“For Rome,” he curtly added. A cry of unknown extent followed as the present Centurions, Tribunes and Legates all reciprocated the scream of defiance against the odds and the foreign invaders, one may even say against Fortuna itself considering the tremendous numerical disadvantage of the civilised folk.

With a last concerned look Aurelian glanced at his subjects, their loyalty questionable and their resolve wavering, before leaving the room to attend to his duties in the royal chambers.

Who knew to what lengths the exceedingly great general could push them before his hold over the soldiers and nobles and thus his reign would cease?

For more than three hours straight, the not-even-a-full-day-reigning emperor signed the documents for his officers and subordinates to carry out as his thoughts raced about how he could either trap or openly beat the enemy army, a seemingly impossible task considering their numerical advantage as well as the fatigue of the soldiers which they would experience after marching for days straight in a hasty manner across the illyrian coast and through the Julian Alps.

In the midst of his incoherent rambling a knock on the dark spruce door sounded through the private room of Augustus, tearing him out of his thoughts as the image of a blazing inferno evaporated from the man’s mind.

“Enter,” he authoritatively said as the door opened without making the slightest of sounds, a personal detail of the palace made by his easily disturbed predecessors who he usually detested due to the horrible predicament they had brought Rome into but nonetheless admired for ruling such a gigantic empire. A task he only learned to respect in this moment while signing and writing hundreds of marching orders, kit and ration distributions and dozens of other matters, all simultaneously.

Entering the dimly lit room which smelled of pleasant honey and lavender was a short frail man with a balding head despite appearing to be at most 25 years old. Bowing down he awaited his master to commence addressing him.

Which Aurelian did after a while, by not even looking at the person he himself had called for: “Good evening Gnaeus, as it seems I am needing your services once again. Now possibly more than ever.”

Respectfully keeping his head low so as to not disturb his excellency with his penetrative gaze, Gnaeus replied: “It indeed is honoured Augustus. But terrible news has spread in the streets of Sirmium.”

A laughter escaped the general as he responded to the inquiring undertone in his subject’s forced praise: “I shouldn’t wonder how a cunning spy such as yourself would not have already heard of the news of the barbarian invasion of Italia.”

Rummaging through the piles of letters and tablets, Aurelian eventually found the precise order formulated on a wax tablet and inhaled deeply before formally commencing: “Lucco Gnaeus, freedman from Moesia Inferior and scout in imperial service, is ordered to march southwards to Dalmatia and the border of Moesia Superior with the task of evaluating the loyalty of the Legates of the 3rd and 12th Legion, Faustus Cincius Marius and Decimus Macrinius Martialis. Furthermore if treason is suspected or persuasion is needed, convince the Legates to join Caesar’s army on its way to Italia as soon as possible. Any obstruction to their advance to Italia is considered treason and will be punished as such.”

Putting the tablet beside him, Aurelian stared his spy into the eyes, only a blurry mass due to the poor light and asked: “Any more questions?”

Sizzling fire accompanying his answer, Gnaeus saluted and replied: “None my emperor.”

“Good. Then burn this and get moving. I need those two Legions under my control. The empire direly needs capable men and at least Decimus is somewhat reliable when it comes to leading armies.”

Thinking for a moment as Gnaeus was already turning around to leave after incinerating the wax, the viscous mass dripping into the raging fire as it sizzled and shrieked, the new emperor added: “If … unfortunate incidents happen and one of the Legates decides to go insane and proclaim himself emperor, thus rendering himself a traitor to the empire and an usurper, you are to execute him gently and discreetly. Understood?”

Gulping at the calm yet intimidating and menacing man, the spy eagerly nodded, saluted and ran through the palace’s corridor, his steps resonating off the walls as angry and mocking yells encouraged or defamed him, as he headed for the stables to immediately carry out his benefactor’s orders and wishes.

Slumping back into his lion-fur covered throne, Aurelian resignedly sighed as the pile before him seemed to have remained the same size since the moment he had started.

Eyeing a little coin on his desk, Aurelian closed his eyes as he furiously concentrated on planning and outlining his plan to restructure and stabilise the crumbling empire.

But just like you and me, Aurelian was but a human and soon Somnus enticed him, cradling him in his warm alluring arms, as the emperor snoozed loudly, prematurely ending his first day as Emperor of the greatest Empire of the world.

Ave Aurelian! Save the world we all admire