(As recounted by Aurelio)
The old man did not speak for a long time after that. He sat in his chair, staring into the cold hearth, his hands folded in his lap. The Scholar waited, his quill poised, his eyes fixed on the weathered face of the storyteller. The afternoon light had shifted, casting long shadows across the floor.
"Rome," Aurelio said finally, the word falling from his lips like a stone dropped into deep water. "The Eternal City. I had dreamed of it as a boy. I had imagined the Colosseum, the Forum, the temples of the old gods. I had imagined walking its streets, feeling the weight of history pressing down on me."
He looked up.
"I did not imagine it would be a graveyard."
— Memory —
The gates of Rome loomed before them like the jaws of a beast.
They were massive, built of stone and iron, scarred by centuries of siege and war. But they were not closed. They stood open, gaping, as if inviting the world to enter and witness the horror within.
"This is a trap," Gerald said, his hand on his axe.
"Of course it is a trap," Aurelio replied. "But we have no choice. We have to go in."
"We could go around. Find another entrance."
"There is no other entrance. Nero wants us to come through these gates. He wants us to see what he has done. He wants us to be afraid."
"Then let us not be afraid," Cecilia said. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were hard. "Let us show him that fear is a weapon we have learned to wield."
They rode through the gates into the city.
The streets were empty. The buildings were dark. The only sound was the wind, whistling through the narrow alleys, carrying with it the smell of smoke and something else. Something sweet. Something wrong.
"Where is everyone?" Elara whispered.
"Gone," Liam said. "Dead. Or hiding."
"Or waiting," Gerald added.
They rode through the streets, their horses' hooves echoing on the cobblestones. The silence was oppressive, a weight that pressed down on them from all sides.
And then they saw the bodies.
They hung from the lampposts, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. They lay in the gutters, their eyes open, their mouths gaping. They were everywhere, hundreds of them, thousands perhaps, arranged with a terrible precision.
"The Colosseum," Aurelio said, his voice hollow. "That is where he wants us."
The Colosseum loomed before them like a monument to madness.
Its arches were dark, its stones stained with centuries of blood. But there was light inside; a flickering, orange glow that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.
"Wait here," Aurelio said, dismounting. "I will go alone."
"You will not," Cecilia said. "We are in this together."
"Together," Gerald agreed.
"Together," Liam said.
"Together," Elara whispered.
Aurelio looked at them, these people who had followed him through hell and back. He wanted to argue. He wanted to protect them. But he knew that he could not. They had earned the right to stand beside him.
"Together," he said.
They walked into the Colosseum.
The interior was a nightmare. The arena floor was covered in bodies, arranged in a spiral pattern that led to a central platform. On that platform stood a figure in white robes, his arms spread wide, his face tilted toward the sky.
Godbrand.
But he was not alone. Beside him stood another figure, taller, broader, his face hidden behind a golden mask. He wore armor of blackened steel, and in his hand, he held a sword that seemed to drink the light.
"Welcome," Godbrand said, his voice echoing in the vast space. "I have been expecting you."
"Where is Nero?" Aurelio demanded.
"Nero is elsewhere. He is preparing for the final ceremony. The cleansing. The birth of the new world."
"You are mad."
"Perhaps. But madness is a gift. It allows me to see the truth that others cannot."
He gestured to the masked figure. "This is Vegis. He is the leader of the northern Vikings. He has come to join us."
Gerald's face went pale. "Vegis? The Butcher of the Fjords?"
"Ah, you have heard of him. Good. Then you know what he is capable of."
Gerald stepped forward, his axe in his hand. "Vegis! You betrayed your own people! You sold them to the Cabal for gold and promises!"
The masked figure laughed; a cold, grating sound. "I did not betray them. I liberated them. They were weak, divided, ruled by a boy who thought wisdom could conquer the world. I showed them the truth. I showed them that strength is the only law."
"You are a fool."
"Perhaps. But I am a fool with an army. And you are a man with nothing but a dead woman's journal."
Gerald's face twisted with rage. He charged, his axe raised, his voice a roar.
Vegis met him head-on. Their weapons clashed with a sound like thunder.
The battle was brutal, savage, and short. Vegis was stronger, faster, more experienced. He drove Gerald back with a series of blows that would have shattered a lesser man. But Gerald did not fall. He absorbed the punishment, his eyes burning with a cold, fierce light.
"You think strength is everything," Gerald said, blocking a blow that would have taken his head off. "But strength without purpose is nothing. Strength without love is nothing. Strength without wisdom is nothing."
"Wisdom?" Vegis laughed. "Wisdom is the excuse of the weak."
"Then let me show you what wisdom can do."
Gerald changed his stance. He stopped trying to overpower Vegis. He started to outthink him.
Vegis's blows became wilder, more desperate. He was used to crushing his opponents, not outlasting them. He was used to fear, not resolve.
Gerald saw his opening. He ducked under a wild swing and drove his axe into Vegis's side.
The Viking chief staggered, his hand going to the wound. Blood poured through his fingers.
"You... you have lost," he gasped.
"I have not lost," Gerald said. "I have won. Because I did not fight for myself. I fought for them. For my people. For the future."
Vegis fell to his knees. His golden mask clattered to the ground, revealing a face that was young, handsome, and utterly broken.
"You are a fool," he said. "You will die. We will all die."
"Perhaps. But we will die free."
Gerald raised his axe and brought it down.
Godbrand watched the execution without flinching. When it was over, he clapped slowly.
"Impressive," he said. "Truly impressive. But it changes nothing. Nero is already marching. The Shade is already waking. The world is already ending."
"Then we will stop it," Aurelio said. "We will find Nero. We will destroy the Shade. We will save what is left of this world."
"And how will you do that?"
Aurelio stepped forward, his sword in his hand. "We will do it together."
He lunged. Godbrand sidestepped, drawing a knife from his robes.
"Together," Godbrand said, his voice mocking. "How touching. But you cannot kill me, grove-keeper. I am not a man. I am an idea. And ideas cannot be killed."
"Then I will kill the man who carries the idea."
Their blades met. The fight was short, brutal, and one-sided. Godbrand was fast, but he was not a warrior. He was a preacher, a manipulator, a creature of words and faith. He could not match Aurelio's skill.
The knife clattered to the ground. Godbrand fell to his knees, his hands raised in supplication.
"Please," he said. "Mercy."
"You have shown no mercy."
"Then show me that you are different."
Aurelio hesitated. His sword hovered over Godbrand's throat.
"He is right," Liam said. "Killing him will not stop the idea. It will only make him a martyr."
"Then what do we do?"
"We let him live. We let him rot. We show the world that he is nothing but a broken man, clinging to a broken dream."
Aurelio lowered his sword.
"Get out," he said. "Leave this city. Leave this land. If I ever see you again, I will kill you."
Godbrand rose slowly, his face twisted with hatred. "You will regret this," he said. "You will regret letting me live."
"Perhaps. But I will not regret being better than you."
Godbrand fled, disappearing into the shadows of the Colosseum.
— Present —
The old man leaned back in his chair. His eyes were wet, but his voice was steady.
"We let him go," he said. "We let him live. And for years, I wondered if that was a mistake. If I had killed him, would the world have been a better place? Would fewer people have died?"
He looked at the Scholar.
"I will never know. But I know that mercy is not weakness. It is a choice. And every day, we choose who we want to be."