99 AC / 54 HA (Hadrian's Ascension)
Figulus Octavian Hadrianus
"A missive for your eyes only, Dominus," the palace servant said softly, placing a sealed scroll on my desk.
I gave a curt nod. The servant bowed deeply and took his leave. My desk was already groaning under the weight of trade reports, ledger books, and court documents, but I welcomed the distraction. I had grown entirely tired of this endless, unnecessary reverence.
In the beginning, I had relished it. Watching men bend over backwards to do my bidding was an intoxicating novelty. Then the novelty faded into tedium, and the tedium festered into outright irritation. I had once gone so far as to treat these kneelers as equals, offering them genuine politeness and generosity.
It was a fool's errand. These people know no limits. Offer them a finger, and they claim the hand; some go so far as to lunge for the throat. Father was right, as he oft was. Unearned kindness is a twice-poisoned chalice, rotting both the giver and the taker—a fatal indulgence for a man in my position. I learned this lesson through bitter experience, watching the very servants I had treated with grace attempt to climb into my bed to elevate their standing, or plot in the shadows to assassinate my own.
Over the years, I mastered the art of reading men through their actions. I studied the subtle twitches, the shifting eyes, and the unconscious habits that betrayed the truth beneath their paraded façades. I sharpened this blade of perception to excise enemies and secure allies, simultaneously mastering the craft of masking my own soul.
Pater, as in all things, possessed unparalleled skill in this craft. Yet, I had caught the barest of glimpses—fleeting moments hidden even from my siblings—where he surrendered to profound grief and ancient longing, believing himself secure in his solitude. The sight had shocked me, but I never dared prod him after he sharply rebuked my initial concerns. The Aeternus cared deeply for his people and cherished his children, but even to us, vast tracts of his mind remained shrouded in absolute mystery.
I picked the missive from the table, turning it over in my hands. The wax bore Agrippa's seal. The situation must be dire indeed for him to bypass Grand General Claudius and send word directly to me.
I sliced the parchment open. My eyes scanned the ink, the geopolitical implications instantly locking into place. The information within was concerning. Father needed to see this.
I rose and strode from my solar. My Praetorian Guards fell into step behind me, their heavy armor clinking in perfect, intimidating unison as we navigated the wide corridors toward the Throne Hall. Servants flattened themselves against the marble walls, bowing deeply—a daily ritual I acknowledged with only the barest inclination of my head.
My solar lay only a few hundred paces from the Throne Hall. The sentries standing outside the massive stone doors noted my purposeful gait and immediately threw their weight against the heavy bronze handles.
The doors were a marvel, one of the rare objects my father had crafted with his own hands. Towering twenty feet high and spanning fifteen feet across, the pale stone was etched with glowing runes that circled the massive frame. Carved deep into the center and encrusted with crushed emeralds rested the Imperial Seal: a sword centred a ring, enclosed entirely within a pyramid. It stood as the ultimate symbol of the Imperium, the Aeternus, and the Imperial Cult of the One. Veins of sapphire and shards of obsidian flanked the emeralds, catching the sunlight.
The archway above bore two eternal maxims, carved in sharp, imperious script:
Vox Imperatoris, Vox Dei. The Voice of the Imperator is the Voice of God.
Ubi Aeternus, Ibi Roma. Rome is where Aeternus is.
The heavy stone ground against the marble floor, opening inward to reveal the cavernous expanse of the Imperial Throne Hall. The vast chamber, capable of housing a thousand subjects, stood entirely empty. Massive marble pillars reached for the vaulted ceiling, their surfaces meticulously inscribed with runes, Latin, Aramaic, Norse, Valyrian and the tongues of Essos, chronicling the founding of the Empire and the Great Exodus. It was a flawless monument to the glory of God and His Chosen.
At the far end of the hall, a grand ring of seven stairs elevated a wide dais. Upon this platform sat a massive marble chair, its back seemingly fused into the very stone of the wall behind it.
But it was the wall itself that commanded absolute awe. Colossal emerald crystals violently jutted from the stone in a blazing, jagged crown around the seat. They pulsed with a deep, internal light, glowing in the rhythmic cadence of a beating heart, emitting a low, physical thrum that vibrated in the teeth.
Seated upon this Emerald Throne was the Son, the Aeternus—my pater.
His vibrant green eyes snapped into focus, my entry breaking him from whatever deep reverie held him. He looked down at me from his elevated perch, a wry smile touching his lips.
"Ah, Octavian," he called out, his voice echoing cleanly off the marble. "Have you come to rescue your father from his tedious administration, or does duty beckon you to these halls?"
I reached the base of the dais and offered the customary salute, pressing a fist over my heart. "Pater, a missive has arrived from the Western Front."
The amusement did not vanish from his features, but it was tempered by the sharp, calculating gaze of the Imperator. He beckoned me forward. I climbed the seven grand steps and placed Agrippa's broken seal directly into his waiting hand.