The faint glow of the morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the imperial chamber as Romulus Augustus sat at his desk, poring over the reports brought to him by his advisors. The room was quiet, save for the soft scratching of his pen against parchment as he annotated the latest updates on troop rotations, grain reserves, and the construction of the new state-owned workshop near the Ravenna port. His brow furrowed in concentration as he assessed the numbers; the reforms were already showing progress, but there was so much more to be done.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. Romulus glanced toward the heavy wooden door.
“Enter,” he said, his voice calm but curious.
One of his personal guards stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Caesar, Gaius Severus’s sons are here. They requested an audience with you.”
Romulus straightened in his chair, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Send them in.”
Lucan and Marcus Severus entered, their youthful faces a mixture of excitement and frustration. Marcus, the younger of the two, looked particularly eager to speak.
“Caesar,” Lucan began, bowing slightly as his younger brother mimicked him, though far less gracefully, “we’ve come to ask for something.”
“And what might that be?” Romulus leaned back, folding his hands on the desk, his expression softening as he observed the boys.
“We’re bored!” Marcus exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “The school isn’t working right now because of the expansion, and Andronikos is so busy he doesn’t even notice us anymore!”
Lucan nodded. “Andronikos keeps talking about how he’s going to build ‘the greatest academy of all time.’ He doesn’t stop.”
Romulus chuckled softly, recalling the scene from two days ago when Andronikos burst into the council chamber, animated and almost manic. The Greek had been muttering to himself about calculations and suddenly declared, “I’ve recalculated everything! It’s not just schools we can build—there’s room for an academy as well! A place where the brightest minds can gather and learn!”
Romulus had tried to focus on the matter at hand, but Andronikos’s sheer enthusiasm had been infectious. Even now, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his old mentor’s grand declaration.
“He’s quite the whirlwind when inspiration strikes,” Romulus said, turning his attention back to the boys. “But if you’re bored, I might have something interesting for you to see.”
Both boys perked up immediately, their curiosity shining in their expressions.
“What is it?” Marcus asked, practically bouncing on his feet. “Is it something exciting?”
Romulus smirked, standing and gesturing for them to follow. “Why don’t you come with me and find out?”
The boys exchanged a glance, barely containing their excitement, and quickly fell in step behind the young emperor. Romulus called for one of his guards to assemble a small escort and prepare the imperial carriage. Within minutes, they were leaving the palace, the streets of Ravenna bustling with life outside the windows.
As they rode through the city, Marcus peered out eagerly while Lucan maintained a more composed demeanor, though his eyes betrayed his own excitement.
“Where are we going, Caesar?” Lucan asked, leaning slightly forward.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Romulus replied, his voice taking on a playful tone. “Patience, Lucan.”
Marcus pointed to a merchant's stall they passed, laden with goods from the Eastern Empire. “Look at that! Do you think those are from Constantinople?”
Romulus nodded. “Likely. Ravenna is a gateway for trade from the East. You’ll see more of that at our destination.”
The boys looked at each other, their curiosity only deepening. They traveled in comfortable silence for a while, the city’s noise fading as the carriage approached the ports. The air grew salty, and the faint cries of seagulls mingled with the sounds of hammers and shouts of workers.
When the carriage finally came to a stop, the boys stepped out eagerly. Before them was a flurry of activity: workers hauled lumber, smiths hammered metal, and overseers barked orders. The beginnings of fortified walls were rising, while a line of oxen pulled carts laden with stone and timber. The ground was marked with stakes and chalk outlines, indicating the future layout of the workshops.
“This,” Romulus said, gesturing with an almost theatrical sweep of his hand, “is where the new state-owned military workshop will be built.”
The boys’ eyes widened as they took in the scene. Marcus darted ahead, craning his neck to watch workers unload massive stones. “It’s huge! Is all this going to be a workshop?”
“Not just one,” Romulus replied, stepping closer. His tone was more measured now, but the corners of his mouth twitched with pride. “This will be a whole complex. They’ll make everything here—pikes, shields, armor, even stirrups for the cavalry.”
Lucan’s brow furrowed as he studied the site. “And all of it will help the army?”
Romulus nodded. “That’s the idea. It’s not just about equipment; it’s about making sure Rome can protect itself.”
Marcus pointed to a trench near the river. “What’s that for?”
“Drainage,” Romulus explained, his voice brightening. “A forge creates a lot of heat and waste. The water will help cool the metal and carry away the ash.”
Lucan glanced up at Romulus, his expression curious. “How do you know all this?”
Romulus hesitated, then grinned sheepishly. “Andronikos has been lecturing me about it nonstop. I think he’d build the workshop himself if he could.”
The boys laughed, and for a moment, Romulus let himself bask in the warmth of their company. He felt lighter, less like the emperor of a struggling empire and more like a boy exploring something new.
Romulus chuckled, his formal demeanor slipping for a moment. “You should have seen him two nights ago. He burst into my chambers shouting about calculations and an academy. He didn’t even notice he was still wearing his bathrobe.”
Marcus doubled over laughing, and even Lucan cracked a grin. “He said it’ll be the ‘greatest academy of all time,’” Lucan said, mimicking Andronikos’s dramatic tone.
Romulus’s laughter joined theirs, unrestrained now. “Yes, that’s exactly what he said! He even suggested it might have a dome—‘something to inspire the ages!’”
The boys’ laughter was contagious, and for a moment, Romulus felt like any other boy his age, free of the weight of the empire. But as a group of laborers paused their work to glance at him, Romulus quickly straightened, his expression slipping back into seriousness. He cleared his throat. “Come on, there’s more to see.”
Lucan leaned toward Marcus and whispered, “He’s like us, sometimes.”
Marcus nodded with a grin. “Yeah. Except he’s Caesar.”
Romulus pretended not to hear, though their words warmed him as they walked farther into the construction site. He stopped near a cluster of workers assembling the beginnings of a wooden scaffold and gestured for the boys to follow closely.
“You see this?” he said, pointing to the partially completed frame. “This will eventually hold the walls of the armory. Every part of this place is being built with purpose. It’s not just a workshop—it’s a place to make Rome stronger again.”
The boys nodded solemnly, though Marcus’s stomach chose that moment to let out an audible growl. He clutched it dramatically, looking up at Romulus with wide eyes. “Caesar, I think I’m starving!”
Lucan rolled his eyes. “You had breakfast.”
“That was hours ago!” Marcus shot back, throwing his arms in the air.
Romulus smirked, his serious demeanor slipping into something softer. “It seems our tour will have to wait. Let’s find some food before Marcus wastes away.”
The boys perked up instantly as Romulus called over a guard. “Prepare the carriage. We’re going to the market.”
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As the imperial carriage wound through Ravenna’s bustling streets, the boys craned their necks to peer out at the lively market stalls. Merchants shouted to passersby, advertising everything from fresh fish to exotic spices, while the air buzzed with the mingling scents of roasted meat, ripe fruit, and baked bread.
When they arrived at the edge of the marketplace, Romulus dismissed the carriage, insisting they explore on foot. The guards fanned out in a protective ring, but the young emperor, flanked by Lucan and Marcus, stepped into the crowd with an almost childlike curiosity.
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“Look at all this!” Marcus exclaimed, his eyes darting from a stall piled high with bright oranges to another selling honey-coated pastries.
Romulus smiled faintly, his gaze sweeping over the market. It was alive with color and sound, a reminder of the resilience of the city despite the empire’s struggles. “This is where the people come together,” he said, more to himself than to the boys. “Farmers, merchants, craftsmen—they all bring something to share.”
Lucan was more pragmatic, his eyes narrowing at a fishmonger arranging his wares. “Do you think he’s overcharging?”
Romulus chuckled. “Likely. But the haggling is part of the fun.”
They paused at a baker’s stall where the warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air. Marcus immediately pointed to a tray of flatbreads sprinkled with herbs. “Can we have those?”
Romulus gestured to the baker, who hurriedly wrapped several pieces and handed them over. The boys tore into the bread, their laughter carrying above the market’s din as they tried to outdo each other in the size of their bites.
Romulus took a piece for himself, savoring the simplicity of the moment. For once, he wasn’t the emperor weighed down by responsibilities—just a boy sharing a meal with friends.
They wandered farther into the market, stopping at a fruit seller’s stand where Marcus begged for figs, and Lucan tried his hand at bartering for a basket of grapes. Romulus watched them with amusement, his own guard slipping away as he let himself enjoy their antics.
Eventually, they found a quieter corner near a fountain, where the boys sprawled on the steps with their spoils. Marcus munched on a fig, his face smeared with its sticky sweetness. “This is the best day ever!” he declared between bites.
Lucan rolled his eyes but smiled. “You say that every time you eat.”
Romulus leaned back against the fountain’s edge, his expression thoughtful as he watched the city bustle around them. “Do you know why I wanted to show you the workshop?” he asked suddenly.
The boys looked up, curious.
“It’s because Rome is like this market,” he said, gesturing to the people milling about. “Everyone brings something different—skills, ideas, hard work. If we work together, we can make something strong, something that lasts.”
Lucan nodded, his brow furrowed in thought, but Marcus grinned. “So, you’re saying Rome is like a really big loaf of bread?”
Romulus burst out laughing, the sound startling the guards nearby. “Not quite, Marcus,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “But close enough.”
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the market, Romulus felt a rare sense of contentment. The empire’s challenges loomed large, but for now, he was just a boy with friends, sharing bread and laughter in the heart of his city.
Romulus leaned back against the fountain, watching the boys with a faint smile. The sound of their chatter blended with the bustle of the marketplace, creating a rare moment of peace. But after a while, the conversation tapered off, and silence settled over them. The only sound was the trickling of the fountain and the distant cries of merchants.
It was Lucan who broke the stillness. “I miss my father,” he said quietly, staring at the half-eaten fig in his hand.
Romulus turned to look at him, his expression softening. Marcus lowered the piece of bread he had been enthusiastically biting into, his usual energy dimmed. “Me too,” Marcus mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, Romulus didn’t know what to say. The weight of their words lingered in the air, pressing on him like a heavy cloak. He looked down at his hands, his mind flashing back to Gaius Severus’s confident stride and reassuring presence. “I miss him too,” Romulus finally said, his voice low. “He’s more than your father. He’s one of the few people I know I can trust.”
The boys looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. Romulus glanced at them, and a small, bittersweet smile crossed his face. “You know what I miss most, though?” he asked, his tone lightening slightly.
“What?” Marcus asked, his curiosity returning.
“Our training sessions,” Romulus said with a faint grin. “Your father used to insist I join you both whenever he had the chance. He said an emperor needed to be strong—not just in his mind, but in his body too.”
Marcus perked up immediately. “Training? You mean the sword lessons?”
Lucan straightened, his earlier sadness giving way to interest. “Are you saying we should train now?”
“Why not?” Romulus said, standing and brushing off his tunic. “We’ve eaten enough to fuel us for battle.”
The boys laughed, and even the guards exchanged amused glances as they gathered their things and made their way back to the palace. The walk was filled with chatter about past lessons, Marcus recalling his clumsy swings, and Lucan boasting about the one time he managed to disarm his father—though Romulus suspected Gaius had let it happen.
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Back at the palace, the group made their way to the private training ground. It was a modest space compared to the grand halls of the palace but well-equipped, with wooden practice swords, dummies stuffed with straw, and a rack of training shields. The guards stood at the edges, watching carefully but allowing the boys and Romulus their moment of freedom.
“Who’s going to teach us?” Marcus asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Romulus scanned the guards until his eyes landed on Magnus, standing with his usual stoic expression near the entrance. “Magnus,” Romulus called, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You’re the second best swordsman I know. Care to help us train?”
Magnus stepped forward, bowing slightly with amusement. “As you command, Caesar. But do you wish to train with real swords, or do you prefer practice blades?”
“Practice blades, of course,” Romulus said. “I’d rather not explain to Gaius why his sons came home with bruises—or worse.”
Magnus allowed a rare smile. “Wise, Caesar.”
The boys eagerly grabbed practice swords from the rack, testing their weight as Magnus arranged them in a loose circle. “We’ll start with the basics,” he said, his deep voice commanding respect. “Footwork first. Remember, balance is everything.”
Romulus joined in, holding his practice sword with a mixture of familiarity and caution. He hadn’t trained in ages, the demands of leadership leaving little time for such luxuries. But as Magnus demonstrated a series of steps and swings, the young emperor found himself falling into rhythm, the worries of the empire momentarily forgotten.
The boys, however, were less focused. Marcus swung wildly, grinning as he made exaggerated battle cries. Lucan tried to copy Magnus’s movements with precision but grew frustrated when his strikes didn’t feel as smooth.
“Like this,” Romulus said, stepping beside Lucan and adjusting his grip. “Loosen your shoulders. If you’re too stiff, your strikes will lack power.”
Lucan followed the advice, his next swing landing with a satisfying thud against the straw dummy. He turned to Romulus, his eyes wide with excitement. “I did it!”
“Of course you did,” Romulus said, grinning. “You’re a Severus.”
Marcus, meanwhile, was spinning in circles, his sword waving wildly as he imagined fighting off hordes of barbarians. “Take that! And that!” he shouted, his enthusiasm contagious.
Magnus raised an eyebrow but said nothing, clearly amused. Romulus couldn’t help but laugh. “Marcus, at this rate, you’ll scare the dummies into surrendering.”
The younger boy stopped, panting but grinning ear to ear. “Isn’t that the goal?”
They trained for nearly an hour, their laughter echoing across the courtyard. Romulus found himself slipping deeper into the moment, the heavy mantle of his responsibilities lifted for a short while. He wasn’t Caesar. He was just a boy, sparring and laughing with friends.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Magnus finally called for a halt. “Enough for today. Even soldiers need rest.”
The boys groaned but obeyed, setting their practice swords back on the rack. Romulus followed, his face flushed but his spirits high.
“That was fun,” Marcus said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Can we do it again tomorrow?”
Romulus ruffled his hair, something he’d seen Gaius do countless times. “We’ll see. But for now, I think we’ve earned some rest—and maybe another snack.”
The boys cheered, and as they made their way back inside, Romulus felt a warmth he hadn’t known in months. The empire’s burdens would always be there, but moments like this reminded him why he carried them. For the future, for Rome—and for friends like Lucan and Marcus.
Romulus returned to his chambers in high spirits, his mind still replaying the laughter of Lucan and Marcus during their training session. He pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the familiar quiet of his private quarters welcoming him. The warmth from the afternoon sun poured in through the tall windows, casting long golden streaks across the floor.
On his desk, amidst neatly arranged scrolls and reports, lay a folded parchment. The seal had already been broken, suggesting it had been delivered earlier while he was away. His pulse quickened slightly as he recognized the handwriting on the outside.
“Gaius,” Romulus murmured, moving swiftly to the desk. He picked up the letter, unfolded it carefully, and began to read.
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To His Imperial Majesty, Caesar Romulus Augustus,
We have made port without any incident of note. The men are in good spirits, and our supplies remain plentiful thanks to your foresight in provisioning us.
This land is strange and beautiful—its coasts rugged, its people wary. I have secured guides to lead us inland, and we march for Isauria tomorrow. From there, we will determine the best route to assist our Eastern allies and establish our presence.
Dominus, I must ask a favor of you. Please watch over my boys and Lavinia. Tell them I think of them every day and that they are the strength behind every step I take. Assure them that I will return.
Rome will endure, Caesar. Under your hand, I believe it will flourish again. Do not forget that, even in your loneliest moments.
In service and loyalty,
Gaius Severus
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Romulus’s grip on the letter tightened slightly as he finished reading, his mind lingering on Gaius’s words. He leaned back in his chair, the faint creak of the wood breaking the silence, and let his eyes wander to the window.
The view overlooked the city of Ravenna, its rooftops glinting in the fading sunlight. Beyond the orderly streets and bustling marketplaces lay the horizon, where the sea shimmered faintly in the distance.
Two or three weeks, Romulus thought, estimating how long it had taken for the letter to reach him. By now, Gaius and his men would already be deep inland, perhaps nearing their destination. He imagined the seasoned commander leading the column, his voice steady and authoritative, his presence a source of strength for the men who followed him.
Romulus’s gaze grew distant. Was Gaius riding at the head of the column right now? Giving orders? Or perhaps he was resting under the stars, speaking softly of home to those closest to him.
“I hope you’re safe,” Romulus whispered, almost to himself. His voice carried a note of worry, one that few would ever hear. He let the letter slip from his hands onto the desk and rested his chin on his folded arms, staring out at the sky. The orange and purple hues of dusk reminded him of the uncertain future ahead—a future that, for now, rested on the shoulders of men like Gaius.
The faint echo of laughter from earlier in the day lingered in his mind, mingling with the weight of responsibility that never truly left him. For a moment, he allowed himself to hope that somewhere, far from Ravenna, Gaius Severus was thinking of him too.