NOW I AM RIGHT HERE, AND IT’S TIME CAUSE THIS IS REAL, THIS IS REAL AND IT’S ALL MINE

**Chapter 1: The Fire Beneath the Laurel** They called this place a *villa*, though it stank of rot and dust and old ambitions. The marble was cracked. The columns leaned like drunk soldiers. The fountains had run dry years ago, and the only thing that flowed now was rumor. Cassian moved through the halls with practiced stillness, barefoot, quiet, invisible. Slaves were meant to be air—felt only in absence, noticed only when things went wrong. But Cassian wasn’t just any slave. He had once taught the sons of men who thought themselves gods. Greek philosophy, Latin rhetoric, logic, and poetry. Now he poured wine. And listened. The man he served, **Decimus Aelius Varro**, had been a general once. A name shouted in triumph in the eastern provinces. Now, he was just another aging Roman trying to claw back relevance while the Empire crumbled under the weight of its own arrogance. Cassian handed him a scroll, sealed with green wax. Decimus waved him away. “From Gallienus, I assume. More empty promises. More begging from the purple.” He cracked the seal, eyes scanning quickly. Cassian caught the tightening of his jaw, the slight tremor in his left hand. He said nothing, but he remembered. Everything. Behind Decimus, a bust of **Emperor Valerian** sat chipped and forgotten, its marble eyes staring out as if still surprised he had been captured by Persians like a common slave. How fitting, Cassian thought. Rome sells gods and kings alike. Decimus looked up, as if noticing him for the first time. “You’re a strange one,” he muttered. “How long have you been in this house?” Cassian gave a small bow. “Seven years, dominus.” “Seven years,” Decimus repeated, rubbing his chin. “And never once whipped. Never once caught stealing. Never once defiant. Makes a man wonder.” Cassian kept his face blank. “I was taught that obedience is freedom.” That made the old general laugh—a bitter, cracked sound. “You were taught well. But let me tell you something, Greek. This world doesn’t reward obedience. It devours it. The empire falls not because of rebellion, but because of loyalty to weak men. Remember that.” Cassian bowed again, but something in his chest burned. That old fire. He had buried it deep—beneath years of silence, humiliation, and patience. But it was still there, smoldering, waiting. --- **Later, in the Slave Quarters** The walls were thin. The secrets thinner. Cassian sat on the stone floor, grinding a dull blade against an oilstone. Not for violence—yet. It was for show. An illusion. If the others thought him broken, they would leave him be. A boy named **Junius**, not more than thirteen, lay beside him. His back was scarred fresh, the welts still weeping under his tunic. “Why don’t you run?” Junius asked, voice raw. “You could. You know the guards’ names, their schedules, the gates. I’ve seen you watching.” Cassian didn’t stop sharpening. “Because escape is a story. And I don’t want to be a story. I want to be the ending.” Junius frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.” Cassian smiled. “It will.” --- **At Dusk, in the Library** Decimus had forgotten this room. Most had. But Cassian kept it clean, well-lit. Scrolls lined the walls, full of forgotten wisdom, state secrets, and names—so many names. Messengers from the frontier. Scribes from the capital. A senator’s nephew with a fondness for gambling. A tribune who owed Decimus thirty thousand denarii. Cassian had copied every letter. Catalogued every weakness. It wasn’t escape he was building. It was leverage. And tonight, he would finally test it. --- **That Night, in the Garden** Decimus drank alone, as he often did, staring into the dark cypress trees that marked the edge of the estate. Cassian approached with slow, careful steps. “Dominus,” he said, “I’ve heard something. I think… it may concern you.” Decimus turned. His eyes were red. Not drunk—angry. “Well? Speak, then.” “There is word,” Cassian said slowly, “that Senator Volcatius is planning to petition for your removal from the military council. He claims you have kept funds meant for the legions. That your loyalty is... unclear.” Decimus stiffened. “That bastard…” Cassian bowed low. “I serve you, dominus. I thought you should know.” For a long moment, Decimus said nothing. Then he waved a hand. “You’ve done well, Cassian. Very well. Perhaps… I should find a better use for you than scrubbing floors.” Cassian’s eyes flicked upward. “I live to serve.” But in his mind, he saw the domino fall. He had just betrayed **Volcatius**. Or pretended to. Because in truth, Volcatius had said nothing. Cassian had invented the accusation. And tomorrow, Decimus would act on it. Harshly. Publicly. And then *someone* would notice. --- **End of Chapter 1**B

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