“An Amazon?” Caius erupted, hurling the parchment aside. It smacked against the mosaic, a petty echo of his wrath. “You expect me to believe a handful of Achaeans, one Gifted girl, and a godsdamned Amazon destroyed one of my legions?”
Velthur’s jaw tightened. “It would seem so.”
“Impossible! What of Tiryns?”
Velthur glanced at the messenger, who cowered behind him. The man, dark-skinned from long days on horseback, fumbled for the last scroll, unrolling it with unsteady fingers before reading aloud.
“Tiryns is no longer under siege. Its people move freely. Word spreads of a Gifted warrior—female—chosen by the Achaean Twelve. Hundreds flock to the city, either to join therebels or seek protection. The Grey-Eyed Maiden’s barrier has expanded nearly threefold and no longer forms a circle.”
Caius leaned forward, voice taut. “Threefold?! And what do you mean, it no longer forms a circle?”
The messenger’s eyes darted across the parchment until they froze. “It says the barrier has taken the form of a Koine letter?—”
Caius went rigid, his blood icing. He knew the word before it was spoken.
“—the omega.”
Caius’ knuckles whitened on the arm of his chair. Rage, disbelief, and something perilously close to fear twisted inside him. “Where does it say that?”
“Here, Imperator.” The messenger extended the scroll with trembling hands. Caius skimmed it once, his eyes hardening, then tossed it into the brazier. The parchment curled and blackened, flames devouring the words before they could spread further.
He rose, crossed to the wine table, and poured himself a cup with deliberate calm. Turning, he met Velthur’s gaze. “Kill him.”
The messenger recoiled, voice breaking. “What? No—I only delivered the message, I?—”
Steel whispered. Velthur drew his dagger in a single fluid motion and sliced it across the man’s neck. The messenger collapsed, choking on blood, his pleas drowned in a wet gargle.
“Remove the body,” Velthur ordered the guards, wiping his blade with measured care before sliding it back into its sheath. The guards moved at once, dragging the corpse across the gleaming mosaic as though it were refuse.
By the time Caius returned to his chair, only Velthur and the slaves remained. The slaves posed no danger; he’d long since cut out their tongues. They served in silence, and they knew what awaited them should they forget their place.
Velthur, however, watched him with a questioning look.
“I will explain later.” Perhaps it was time his lover knew of the threat that hung over Caius’ head—at least enough to satisfy his curiosity. “But first take your men into the city and see to it that none of the proclamations mention the Gifted girl—or the wordomega.”
Velthur bowed his head. “Yes, Imperator.”
“And summon the Senate. I want an audience first thing tomorrow.”
His meal forgotten, Caius dismissed his guards and headed straight for Laran’s temple further up the hill. Inside, the air was thick with the sweet smoke of incense, curling around the marble columns and gilded statues. He moved past the flickering braziers to find Sagar.
The old man knelt beside the altar, a bronze censer in one hand and a small spoon in the other. He scooped handfuls of frankincense from a clay pot and dropped them onto the glowing coals within the censer, sending thick, golden smoke curling towards the vaulted ceiling. The scent of pine and resin mingled with the incense already burning along the marble.
“The Twelfth Legion is gone,” Caius said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “It’s begun. She’s coming for me.”
“You have known this for months,” Sagar replied, calm as ever. “Now is not the time to panic. You still command thousands—one legion is nothing.”
“Nothing?” Caius barked, stepping closer. “Five thousand men lost, and her exploits are spreading through Achaea, giving those little shits hope. The Achaean Twelve must be rejoicing.”
“Laran will protect you. You have found his Chosen, and in turn, she will become your weapon.”
“I don’t care about Laran!” Caius snapped, knocking the censer aside as hot coals hissed against the marble. “Tell me how one girl can hold such power! How can the Mother Goddess send a warrior again and again after all this time? She is a myth! Hername is barely a whisper across the eastern winds. No temples, no priestesses, no worshippers. How can she still command power?”
Sagar tugged at the sleeves of his deep red robes, a faint crease of annoyance marking his brow. “I do not know.”
Caius pinched the bridge of his nose, panic rising like a tide he could barely hold back. He had to act, to strike before the girl amassed more strength. “We need to review the old scrolls again,” he demanded. “Go over every line. And send spies to the Parthian Lands, search the ruins of her temples—find out everything we can.”
Sagar lifted the censer, shaking loose a fresh wisp of smoke as he resumed his ritual. “Do not forget Laran,” he said quietly. “His Chosen will become your greatest weapon. She will help you crush your enemies long before the Omega can reach Kisra.”
