Her name struck like lightning across the storm of my mind.It had been too long since I had touched her skin, tasted her breath, and buried myself in her love.Too long since I’d felt her fingers threading through my hair, her whispered promises curling around my soul like smoke.The ache surged like a tide—relentless, savage—tearing open wounds I had long since forced into silence.
Memories of her flooded me, vivid and merciless.Each recollection was a blade, each fleeting moment we’d shared over the years a spark stoking the inferno of longing that consumed me.I had tried to bury it—by gods, I had tried—but love this profound defied suppression.It dragged me toward the edge of madness, dismantling my resolve piece by piece, whispering her name into every breath I drew.
I refolded Dancing Fire’s letter with care, laying it atop the sprawl of maps and manuscripts that charted the path of our grand design.This was no time for hesitation.My brother-in-arms needed me.Though the wheels of destiny turned, grinding ever forward, they would not crush the bond we had forged in blood and fire.
I would go to him.
Dancing Fire—stoic, steadfast—now stood on the precipice of loss, his heart shattered by Marcellious’ and Roman’s departures.I would offer comfort, as only one who had walked beside him through war and ruin could.In a world teetering on the brink of upheaval, such simple acts of loyalty were rare...and sacred.
The air in my study seemed to pulse, alive with anticipation.The time had come.
Marcellious and Roman were in Rome, unaware.They were two sons, born of the same blood, carrying the same legacy, and walking blindly toward each other’s fate.
I stood slowly, my hand trailing across the ancient scrolls and yellowed parchments scattered across my desk.They whispered of secrets long kept, of power waiting to be claimed.I let my fingers rest atop the map of Rome, its veins etched in ink, its heart beating with destiny.
“Rome,” I murmured, the word thick with meaning.
The time had come.
Every piece on the board had shifted.
The twins had stepped into the lion’s den.
And the game was about to begin.
Lazarus, Amara, and their daughter, Theodora, had already begun their journey into Rome, where destiny and danger intertwined with every breath.When news came that Marcellious had time traveled, there was no hesitation.
They followed.
A family forged in sacrifice, bound by love, and tempered by loss, they stepped willingly into the flow of time, traversing centuries, crossing the boundary between worlds, all to protect the most precious asset we had left—Roman.
They went to shield him and ensure that the brothers would become what they were born to be.
Warriors.
Legends.
As I paced the perimeter of my underground sanctum, the weight of destiny settled over me like an old cloak—familiar, heavy, inescapable.Lazarus and Amara had tasted the bittersweetness of reunion only because of Roman’s birth—a child conceived in turmoil, destined to shake the very foundations of empires.
“May the gods watch over them,” I muttered, a rare invocation slipping past my lips.They were more than protectors—they were sentinels of fate, guardians of a legacy too dangerous to fall into the wrong hands.The twins, torn apart by the cruel hand of destiny, would now come full circle.Their bloodline was the key—the spark to ignite the future we had all bled for.
It was in Rome that they would be forged.They would rise among swords, fire, and sand under the Colosseum’s roar.I could see it in my mind—Roman, every movement honed by purpose, every clash of steel drawing him closer to the brother he had never known.And above them, Lazarus—ever watchful, ever vigilant—standing guard, a silent sentinel over their fate.
I strode to my desk, planting my hands upon the cold stone surface as maps and ancient texts rustled beneath my fingertips.The silence throbbed with anticipation.
Our pawns were in place.
The board was set.
And now...the war for the future would begin.
* * *
The full moon cast a silver sheen over the wilds of the New World as I stepped through the veil of time, leaving behind the ancient stones of Anatolia.The night air hit like a blade—crisp, untamed, carrying the scent of pine, river, and distant fire—a savage contrast to the cold opulence of my underground palace.
I found Dancing Fire’s cabin nestled in seclusion, its flickering light a beacon against the darkness.The door yielded to my hand without resistance, and inside, I saw him, hunched over his desk, shoulders trembling with silent torment.
“Forgive the intrusion, my friend,” I said, my voice even despite the knot twisting in my gut.“But we both knew this day would come.”
