The old mirror was spotless—free of watermarks, scratches, rust, or dust. Ampelius stared at his reflection, taking in his freshly cut black hair and piercing green eyes. The image felt hauntingly familiar, stirring a faint yet piercing ache in his chest, a memory that danced just beyond reach. His heart began to pound as fragmented memories flickered through his mind: a flash of a worn photograph, a child’s laughter, then a crowd’s faceless stares. Each image was fleeting, but each carried its own weight, a half-buried reminder of something he could never fully reclaim.
The sensation gnawed at him, escalating into a white-hot tension. Suddenly, he clenched his fist and struck the mirror, shattering it with a surge of raw fury. Blood from his knuckles dripped into the sink, staining the shards of broken glass. The pain was sharp, grounding, and pulling him momentarily back from the tempest within.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm his racing heart. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, the quiet whispers of old voices still echoing in his mind. You’re better than this, one of them seemed to say. Don’t let them get to you. Slowly, he turned on the cold water and let it flow over his hands, watching the blood swirl away, vanishing into nothingness.
Once the water ran clear, he turned off the faucet and looked back at the broken mirror. His reflection, now fragmented, stared back at him in pieces. He managed a hollow smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, the apology aimed more at his fractured self than the shattered glass.
Grabbing a paper towel, he dried his hands and face, letting his gaze wander. A poster on the bathroom stall caught his eye. It depicted a Roman soldier in an ancient gray uniform and galea helmet, with the words: “Terrorism does not discriminate; trust in the empire to serve you!”
Ampelius smiled faintly, shaking his head in disapproval. The boldness of the propaganda was almost laughable—a stark reminder of the Empire's iron grip on every aspect of life, even in the most mundane of places.
"Terrorism?" Ampelius muttered under his breath. "Those people are freedom fighters; you're an occupying force! No one wants the Roman Empire meddling in their affairs, especially here. Gotta love the propaganda."
His words were laced with bitterness, a quiet rebellion in a world where speaking out loud could mean risking everything. He glanced around, ensuring he was still alone, the silence amplifying the weight of his words lingering in the empty bathroom.
After tossing the used paper towel, he took one last look at the shattered mirror. His reflection stared back, fragmented and distorted, yet oddly familiar, as if mocking him with an image he couldn’t quite piece together.
Stepping into the bustling restaurant, the smell of greasy food hit him like a wall, making his stomach growl. He glanced at the menu, briefly tempted by the thought of a warm meal, but he decided against it, his mind still preoccupied with the confrontation in the restroom. As he headed for the door, two Roman soldiers walked in. Their presence instantly silenced the room, the lively chatter turning into a tense, uneasy hush.
Conversations stopped, and work came to a halt as they entered. All eyes turned toward them, each person staring as if they were outsiders who didn't belong. The tension in the room thickened, and everybody froze in their tasks.
The soldiers, with their golden eagle insignias on their right shoulders and military police patches on the other, stood out starkly. Their presence was imposing, their authority unmistakable, heightened by the assault rifles slung across their chests and the sidearms at their hips. The cold, metallic clink of their boots on the tile floor echoed in the now-silent room, amplifying the sense of dread that hung in the air.
Ampelius felt a pang of resentment sharpen into anger, though he tried to swallow it down. He’d grown up in these streets, back when his neighbors openly laughed and shared drinks in public spaces, unburdened by the uniforms patrolling their city. The stories his grandfather told him about Vetera’s resistance against Roman occupation almost seemed distant now, but they remained a core part of him, fueling his quiet defiance. The Empire's grip on Vetera had grown tighter over the recent years, and with it, the people’s fear and distrust. He couldn't help but recall his childhood—the distant memories of a simpler time and the stories his grandfather told him about when Vetera was free before the Empire's reach extended into every corner of their lives.
In his mind’s eye, he could still see the streets filled with laughter, music, and defiant voices. Yet, now the only sounds were whispers and the click of boots. A big difference between then and now which only deepened his bitterness.
They glared menacingly at everyone, their eyes scanning the room with a predatory intensity. Ampelius could feel the collective unease, the air heavy with unspoken questions and fears. Every breath seemed to catch in the throats of those around him, the tension almost tangible. He couldn't shake the impression that these soldiers were either hunting for someone specific or itching for a confrontation. Their rigid postures and sharp gazes radiated a readiness for violence, as if they were wolves among sheep, waiting for the slightest provocation to pounce.
Someone eating in a booth caught their attention. In broken English, the soldiers demanded his name. The man looked up defiantly and refused to answer. His silence was a challenge—a refusal to submit to their authority. They moved closer, their voices rising as they repeated the question, their tone growing sharper and more insistent. The tension in the room thickened with each passing second, each heartbeat echoing louder in the oppressive silence.
This time, the individual responded by hurling his sandwich at the nearest soldier and bolting from the booth. The sudden action startled everyone, the room erupting in gasps and murmurs. Ampelius watched as the man sprinted toward the rear exit, his movements frantic with fear. Ampelius’ fists clenched instinctively, his knuckles aching as he gritted his teeth. He wanted to look away but couldn’t tear his eyes from the brutal display unfolding before him. But just as the man reached the door, a third soldier entered, blocking his escape. The man skidded to a halt, trapped with nowhere to run. His eyes darted around, searching for any possible way out, but the reality of his predicament quickly sank in.
He suddenly turned toward the kitchen, shoving an employee aside as he sprinted. The soldier he had thrown the sandwich at anticipated the move and executed a perfect tackle, bringing the fleeing man down hard. They both hit the floor in a chaotic tangle of limbs, struggling for dominance. The man's breaths came in ragged gasps, his desperate attempts to break free growing weaker with each passing second.
More soldiers quickly piled on, their heavy boots thudding against the tiles and echoing through the room. They pinned him down, each move calculated as they tried to apprehend him.
Ampelius stepped back, a tightness building in his chest as helplessness settled over him like a weight. His fingers itched to intervene, to pull them off, but he knew better. One wrong move, and he’d end up right there on the floor beside the man, a helpless victim of the Empire’s wrath. The soldiers began beating and kicking the man relentlessly, their faces showing no mercy.
Each blow landed with a sickening thud—the sounds of fists connecting with flesh and the man's muffled cries filled the room, echoing off the walls in a brutal display of power and control. Each strike seemed to crush the man's spirit, reducing him to little more than a helpless victim of the Empire's wrath.
After a minute, the man finally ceased struggling and went limp. The soldiers cuffed his hands and feet, then carried him away, leaving a puddle of blood for the employees to clean up. As they passed, Ampelius got a clear view of the man's face—swollen and bloodied beyond recognition. A wave of nausea twisted in Ampelius’ stomach, the acidic bite of anger and horror churning as he looked away.
Note to self: don't piss off the soldiers, Ampelius thought, the dark humor barely masking the unease that churned in his gut.
The employees immediately fetched a mop and bucket, moving with practiced efficiency as they cleaned the floor before resuming their duties. With a wet floor sign in place, it was business as usual. Their faces remained expressionless, as if such scenes were just another part of their day. One employee grabbed a remote, turned on the TV, and flipped through the channels until settling on the news, seeking distraction in the familiar broadcast drone.
Ampelius walked toward the door, but a breaking news announcement on the TV caught his attention. He stepped aside to avoid blocking the exit and watched the screen. The headline reported that a military installation overseas had been devastated. Despite the grim subject, it made his face smile; the thought of the Empire's might being challenged, even from afar, felt like a small victory.
However, when the video clip showed numerous fires raging on the base, the chaos and destruction reflected in the flames gave him pause. He decided to leave.
As he opened the door and stepped outside, the footage shifted to an erupting volcano spewing a glowing green ash cloud into the sky—an unsettling reminder of his volatile world.
The sounds of traffic and distant chatter greeted him as the warm sunlight cast long shadows on the bustling streets of Vetera. Ampelius noted how the sunlight seemed almost ironic, bathing the Empire’s city in warmth while oppression lurked in every corner. It was a sunny afternoon, the bright blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. The familiar buildings looked unchanged, but to him, each street held a sense of loss—a place filled with the shadows of a city he once knew.
The air was alive with the hum of traffic, the chatter of pedestrians, and the distant melody of a street musician—notes weaving through the noise like a soothing counterpoint to the city's relentless energy. The scent of street food wafted through the streets, blending with the faint aroma of blooming flowers from nearby planters, creating a sensory tapestry that captured the city's essence. Yet, as he walked, the Empire’s symbols were inescapable. Every flag and banner hung as a silent reminder that Vetera no longer belonged to the people but to the iron fist of Rome. The city’s energy felt trapped, straining under the weight of imperial control.
As he reached the sidewalk, his gaze drifted instinctively to Mount Nerva's distant, snow-covered peak to the southeast. The sight brought a wave of nostalgia, stirring memories of childhood hikes and his grandfather’s stories. Back then, the mountain symbolized freedom and adventure. Now, it loomed like a silent witness to the Empire’s encroachment on his life. The serenity he once felt on those trails was worlds away from the Empire’s shadow that now stretched over every corner of Vetera. The sight brought a sense of tranquility and nostalgia—a reminder of simpler times when the world seemed less complicated and more serene. Memories of childhood hikes and his grandfather's stories about the mountain flooded his mind, each tale woven with the magic of youthful wonder.
He paused to admire its beauty, recalling an educational hike from his youth. The memory was sharp as if no time had passed at all. The thrill of the climb, the camaraderie, and the awe-inspiring view from the summit rushed back to him, filling him with a warm, nostalgic glow.
He took a deep breath, recalling the cool mountain air, the scent of pine, and the sense of accomplishment, which were vivid in his memory, each detail as clear as the day he experienced it. He could almost feel the breeze against his skin, the rough texture of the rocks under his hands as he climbed, and the quiet joy of reaching the top with friends who felt like family.
Stolen story; please report.
The city's noise faded away for a moment, replaced by the echo of his footsteps on the mountain trail and the rustling wind through the trees. The memories were so vivid that he could almost feel the cool mountain breeze and hear the distant calls of birds overhead. He remembered the tour guide explaining that the mountain was named in honor of Roman Emperor Nerva, discovered by explorer Ireneus Falco centuries ago.
The guide's voice echoed in his mind, recounting how the mountain symbolized Roman endurance and the natural forces that shaped the land. Mount Nerva, a proud centerpiece of Vetera, was also one of the region's most dangerous volcanoes due to its potential for future eruptions. The dormant giant loomed as a constant reminder of the city's precarious existence, its calm exterior hiding the potential for sudden, catastrophic change.
The city of Vetera teemed with millions of residents going about their daily lives. To Ampelius, the crowd was more than a bustling mass; it was his past and present, filled with faces that reflected the hardships the Empire had imposed. The streets buzzed with activity as vehicles crawled bumper to bumper, inching through each block toward their destinations. Pedestrians passed by, hurrying as if the Empire’s symbols weren’t glaring down at them from every corner, demanding respect, obedience, and quiet submission. Street vendors called out their wares, their voices rising above the din as they competed to be heard.
The smell of freshly cooked food mingled with the scent of exhaust fumes, creating a sensory overload that was as much a part of Vetera as its towering buildings and ancient monuments. Above it all, the distant rumble of trains and the occasional blare of sirens added to the city's symphony of sound—a reminder of the ceaseless motion that defined life in Vetera.
The official SPQR flag of the Roman Empire adorned every street corner and federal building, a symbol Ampelius loathed. It was no longer a proud emblem of resilience but a constant reminder of the Empire’s control over every aspect of his life and the lives of everyone in the city. Its vivid colors and regal emblem were a constant reminder of imperial authority. Each flag was a bold declaration, a symbol of power that demanded respect and obedience. Banners hung from lampposts, fluttering in the gentle breeze, proclaiming the empire's presence and dominance over the city. Their messages were clear: Rome's reach was absolute, its grip unyielding.
The grand architecture of government buildings stood tall, their facades reflecting the power and order of Roman rule. Imposing columns and ornate carvings spoke of a legacy that stretched back centuries—a visual testament to the Empire's enduring strength.
In the midst of this bustling metropolis, the omnipresent symbols of the Empire stood in stark contrast to the vibrant, chaotic energy of the city's inhabitants. The flags and banners were not just decorations but declarations—bold statements of authority that overshadowed the lively streets below. They made it unmistakably clear who held power in Vetera, a constant reminder that every aspect of life remained under the Empire's watchful eye, no matter how energetic or diverse the city’s populace.
Ampelius lived in an apartment complex with his cousin Emmett, situated in a poverty-stricken area of the city. He took in the graffiti, seeing each mark as a quiet protest, a voice for the neighborhood’s struggles. Signs of hardship were everywhere. Graffiti covered the walls of almost every building—a colorful yet somber testament to the area's struggles, each tag telling a story of resistance or despair. Homeless people had set up tents wherever they could find shelter—under bridges, in alleyways, or in any place that offered protection from the elements.
The makeshift encampments were a clear sign of the city's unseen underbelly, a world far removed from the glittering facades of the Empire's monuments. Individuals held cardboard signs at every intersection and building entrance, pleading for money, food, or anything to help them survive. Their eyes, hollow with desperation, reflected the harsh reality of life on the margins—a sharp contrast to the wealth and power concentrated elsewhere in Vetera.
Despite being unemployed and without an income source, Ampelius was not homeless. He was grateful to Emmett for the shelter but often felt like the weight of the Empire’s influence followed him even here. Emmett allowed him to stay on the condition that he actively searched for work. This arrangement gave Ampelius a sense of stability, though he often wondered why Emmett chose to live in such a dire part of the city.
Emmett's mysterious occupation was a topic rarely discussed between them, adding to the enigma of his cousin's life. Ampelius couldn't help but speculate, his thoughts drifting to possibilities that ranged from mundane to dangerous. The secrecy around Emmett's work only deepened the mystery, making Ampelius wonder what kind of life his cousin truly led outside their shared apartment.
The apartment itself was modest and worn, reflecting the economic realities of the neighborhood. The walls were scuffed, the furniture threadbare, and the once-bright paint had faded. Yet, it was a sanctuary compared to the harshness outside. Ampelius was grateful for the roof over his head, even if the view from his window reminded him daily of the city's struggles.
Each day, as he walked through the streets in search of employment, Ampelius was confronted with the harsh realities of poverty and resilience, which shaped his understanding of the world around him. The faces he passed were etched with determination, their expressions telling stories of survival in a city that seemed to offer little hope. These daily encounters deepened his awareness of the challenges so many faced, reinforcing his desire to find a way out of his own predicament.
As he approached the main door to the apartment building, an old woman stood nearby holding a cardboard sign. He assumed she was another homeless person, given her dirty, ragged clothing and greasy white hair. She noticed him and raised the sign as if the message were meant specifically for him. He glanced at it and read, "The reality you know is not your own." A chill ran down his spine as he reread the cryptic words. Bewildered, he took a few steps inside the building, then stopped and looked back. To his surprise, the woman was gone, and the door shut behind him with a soft click as if sealing him into a different world.
He shook his head, wondering if he had just imagined her; he couldn’t be certain. The encounter left him unsettled, the strange message lingering in his thoughts. Ampelius continued toward the stairwell, knowing his apartment was on the fourth floor of the five-story building. Just before the staircase, he noticed the elevator to his right, an out-of-order sign prominently displayed. He glanced at the sign with a sigh before turning back to the stairs. Taking one last look at the entrance, he searched for any sign of the old woman. Seeing no trace of her, he began his ascent, his mind still replaying the odd encounter.
Upon reaching the fourth floor, he entered a hallway lined with apartments on both sides. Apartment 404 was just a few doors to his left. As he reached into his pocket to grab his key, he noticed a young woman in her mid-twenties exiting her apartment with a dog. They’d crossed paths a few times before, her friendly demeanor always standing out in contrast to the tension-filled city. He glanced at her as she locked the door, his attention drawn to her wavy brunette hair flowing over her shoulders. The way the light caught her hair made it appear almost golden, adding to her striking presence. She turned to face him and flashed a bright smile, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that momentarily eased the tension in his mind.
“Hey, how are you, Ampelius? I heard you had another interview. How did it go?” she asked, her tone warm and genuinely curious.
“Hi, I’m as good as I can be, I suppose. The interview went smoothly, but I don’t think I’m what they’re looking for, unfortunately,” he replied, his voice tinged with resignation.
“Oh, well, there are plenty of opportunities in this city; you’ll find one sooner or later. What exactly was it you interviewed for?”
“I applied to a carpet-making company,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips at the mundanity of it. “Anyway, how are you doing today?”
“I’m great, actually! I’m enjoying the beautiful weather we’re having, so I figured I’d take advantage and go for a run with my dog, Ciro.”
Ampelius nodded, noticing her attire—blue track shorts, a white tank top, and red running shoes—a runner's outfit.
“Well, it is most certainly a beautiful day for a run! Don’t let me stop you. Have fun!” he said, his tone lightening as he returned her smile.
As she jogged away with her dog, he couldn’t help but feel a slight lift in his mood. In a place like Vetera, even small exchanges like this seemed to mean something. She nodded at him and slowly jogged down the hallway with her dog toward the stairwell. He watched until she disappeared down the stairs, the sound of her footsteps fading into the distance. He stood there for a few more seconds, trying to recall her name. Clelia? Maybe Claudia? The names danced on the edge of his memory, just out of reach. I don’t know; I’ll ask her later, he whispered to himself, deciding it wasn’t worth dwelling on for now.
He recalled a conversation they’d had before, where she mentioned that she worked at the local hospital as a dispatcher. Her dog, Ciro, was a former drug dog for the police until his handler was killed in the line of duty. The handler had been her boyfriend, and the police department decided to retire Ciro to her in honor of his service. The memory of her quiet pride when she spoke about Ciro's past stood out to him, a testament to their bond. Ampelius had sensed the weight of loss behind her words, a pain she carried with grace.
Ampelius unlocked the door to his apartment and quietly entered. To his surprise, Emmett and Bella were kissing on the couch. He cleared his throat, startling them with his ninja-like entrance. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as they jumped apart, their faces flushed with embarrassment.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just minding my own business. And don’t mind the hidden camera on the wall, either,” Ampelius said with a grin, his tone teasing as he gestured toward the imaginary camera.
“Yeah, go to hell,” Bella shot back, her voice laced with playful irritation as she rolled her eyes.
“I’m already there,” Ampelius replied, his grin fading slightly as he delivered the line with a hint of dry humor.
Bella was a tall blonde with a gentle, apple-shaped figure. In her late twenties, she frequently visited her boyfriend, Emmett, at his apartment. Ampelius liked to tease her, saying she spent more time there than at her own place. Despite his teasing, Bella always responded with a smile, knowing it was all good fun. Her easygoing nature made her a welcome presence in the apartment, bringing a lightness to the often-tense atmosphere. She stood up and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Ampelius noticed that Emmett had gotten a new haircut. His light blonde hair was now so short it was almost shaved, giving him a more rugged, no-nonsense look. Emmett was tall and athletic, often going for runs and swimming—at least, that's what he claimed. His physique suggested he stayed active, though Ampelius occasionally wondered if Emmett's fitness regimen was as rigorous as he let on.
Ampelius walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge for a snack. He settled on an apple and sat on the couch beside Emmett.
"So, what's up with the weird clothing you two are wearing and the suitcase? Are you going somewhere?" Ampelius asked, chewing on the apple, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“Yeah, we are going on a weekend trip to Capsai,” Emmett replied casually.
“Capsai? That city is garbage. Why not go into the mountains or something? What’s so interesting about that city?”
“Well, her boss has organized a special event to celebrate some achievements for the company. I was invited to attend, and this is what they wanted us to wear.”
“Why not the wilderness, though? You can play with the bears and get mauled,” Ampelius said with a smirk, relishing his usual sarcastic banter.
“You never cease to amaze me with your dumb humor. Besides, if I did get mauled by a bear, you would be homeless unless you could find an income. Anyway, I stocked up on food for you; everything is yours this weekend,” Emmett retorted, rolling his eyes but smiling slightly.
“Thanks. And my interview went well, thanks for asking,” Ampelius shot back, a hint of mock annoyance in his voice.
“Oh, did it? When do you start?”
“I said it went well; I didn’t say I got the job,” Ampelius responded, his tone dropping slightly as the humor faded from his voice.
Bella walked out of the bathroom, looking refreshed and relieved. She entered the bedroom, grabbed her purse, and headed toward the door.
“I’m going to run some errands really quick. Meet you at my place?” Bella said to Emmett, her tone light and casual.
“Only if you pick up some of that fancy wine I keep hearing about,” he replied with a teasing smile.
“That import stuff from Rome itself. You really want to drink their wine?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s good, and I don’t care where it’s from.”
She grabbed her keys from the kitchen bowl and smiled at Ampelius as she left. Her smile lingered for a moment, a silent goodbye. He glanced back at Emmett, and they exchanged a look.
“So, what are your plans for this weekend?” Emmett asked, glancing at Ampelius.
“I don’t know yet. I might spend the weekend thinking of you two kissing, then running to the toilet to puke. He grinned, and they both chuckled, but as the laughter faded, Ampelius felt a flicker of uncertainty. Emmett always seemed so sure of himself, while Ampelius often struggled to picture his own future beyond the next job application.
They both chuckled and sat in silence for a moment, but as Emmett glanced away, Ampelius felt a familiar pang of doubt. He wondered, not for the first time, what Emmett did when he wasn’t around. The cryptic job, the sudden and month-long trips, and there was more to Emmett’s life than he let on. Emmett grinned, breaking the silence. “Well, make sure to clean up after yourself. I don’t want the place smelling like a rotting corpse when we return,” Emmett said, grinning as he delivered the jab.
Ampelius forced a grin, but his thoughts drifted. Emmett was his anchor in Vetera, the one steady presence in his life. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were heading in different directions, Emmett with his hidden life and Ampelius…well, just trying to survive.
“Yeah, no promises,” Ampelius replied, leaning back on the couch with a mock-serious expression.
Emmett stood up and tossed Ampelius a plastic bag with fresh clothes, including a hoodie, before walking to his bedroom. Ampelius let out a long yawn, debating whether to take a nap. The day's weight seemed to press down on him, urging him to rest. He decided to change out of his suit and into the fresh clothes Emmett had given him. He cast the suit aside, feeling a sense of relief as he slipped into the comfortable hoodie and sweatpants, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the stiffness of his formal attire.
Shifting his position on the couch until he was lying down, Ampelius stared at the ceiling and reflected on the day. His mind wandered over the events, replaying each moment in vivid detail: the interview, the strange encounter with the old woman, and the brief but pleasant chat with Bella and Emmett. The interview left a lingering sense of uncertainty while the encounter with the old woman gnawed at him with its unsettling mystery. The conversation with Bella and Emmett, though light-hearted, brought a small measure of comfort amidst the day’s strangeness.
The longer he lay there, the more desirable the idea of a nap became. His eyelids grew heavy, and before long, he closed his eyes and drifted into a light sleep, his breathing slowing as the day's tension melted away. He was lulled by the quiet of the apartment, the distant hum of the city outside providing a gentle, soothing backdrop to his rest.
He was awakened when Emmett opened the bedroom door, now wearing fresh clothes. Emmett had changed into a casual outfit—a plain t-shirt and jeans—looking ready for a relaxed weekend. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed his keys from the bowl. The clinking of the keys and the soft footsteps brought Ampelius back to reality. He rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up, still groggy from his brief rest, the remnants of sleep clinging to him as he tried to shake off the drowsiness.
“I’ll see you in a few days. Don’t get too lonely in here,” Emmett said with a grin as he opened the door and left the apartment.
Ampelius let out a soft grunt in acknowledgment and drifted back to sleep. The quiet of the apartment quickly enveloped him again, pulling him back into the embrace of slumber. About four hours later, the home phone on the nightstand next to him began to ring. The sudden noise jolted him awake, but he was too groggy and slow to get up and answer. By the time he reached the phone, the ringing had stopped. Still drowsy, he considered staying awake but decided against it. The lingering drowsiness was too strong to resist. With a sigh, he lay back on the couch and quickly fell back asleep, the silence lulling him into a deep slumber.