Velthur must have ordered them away to please him, and Caius made a note to reward him for such attention.
Assessing his temple, he narrowed his eyes at the unfinished pillars stretching towards the sky. It was meant to be the crown of Kisra. Thousands were expected to flock to it and make offerings.
But it wasn’t ready.
A cluster of figures approached—the architect and his assistants, pale beneath their careful smiles. They bowed, murmured rehearsed greetings, and began guiding him through the site. Caius moved in silence, noting the statues with faint approval: numerous likenesses of himself carved into niches and columns, depicted both as the stern conqueror and the benevolent father of the people.
At the front of the pediment, the main sculpture gleamed white with fresh-cut marble. There he stood at the centre among the Rasennan gods, even elevated above them. At his side, Laran, god of war, placed a laurel wreath upon his brow in an eternal gesture of divine coronation.
It was deification. The message carved into stone was clear—Caius himself was to be worshipped.
Stone would give shape to faith. Faith would bring magic. And with enough prayers and offerings, he could become what an Achaean oracle had once whispered to him in the dead of night: a god forged by sheer force of will.
And when that day came… then,finally, he would meet her again.
“When will it be finished?” Caius cut in.
The man faltered mid-sentence, his hands still gesturing above the parchment where he’d been outlining the new arch technique—the keystone, the stabilising angles, how it would all lock together without mortar. His mouth opened, then closed. His gaze flicked to the construction supervisor: thick-muscled, broad-shouldered, with a leather scroll case slung under one arm. The man shifted on his feet and seemed to shrink under Caius’ glare.
A tense pause followed before Perperna, his faithful senator entrusted with the project, cleared his throat. “There’s… been an uprising at one of the Achaean quarries,” he said, avoiding Caius’ eye. “The slaves overpowered the guards. A few supervisors are dead. The Fifth Legion sent reinforcements, but?—”
“But what?” His voice was cold.
If the Fifth had been dispatched, why was he hearing about it? Since the massacre, they had remained stationed in Megara, quelling every uprising across Achaea—except for Tiryns, under siege by the Twelfth.
Yet despite their presence, rumours of the Megarian rebels arriving in Tiryns had spread, festering further unrest.
Velthur, still at his side, leaned in. “Perhaps this can wait until we return to the palace?—”
Caius silenced him with a flick of his fingers and turned fully to Perperna.
“Spit it out,” he ordered.
The wind shifted, sending a gust of dust skittering across the half-finished marble floor. Far above, a scaffold creaked under the weight of workers who had gone still, chisels paused mid-stroke.
Perperna dabbed his brow with a linen cloth, paling under Caius’ scrutiny. “We expect delays in the marble shipments. The road to Salona is no longer secure, and there’s a risk of further disruption. The rebels have moved into the hills. They’re hiding—organising, perhaps.”
A ripple of uneasy murmurs spread through the gathered officials and craftsmen. Caius ground his teeth. This waspreciselywhat he’d tried to avoid. Temples devoured coin, labour, and time. Every delay meant more of each slipping through his grasp.
The Senate would start whispering.
Worse—the people would notice.
He had entrusted Perperna with full oversight, just as he had with other major constructions in Rasenna. But the man lacked the steel for such a project—it demanded vision, yes, but also a ruthlessness Perperna clearly did not possess.
Sanquinius stepped forward, his senatorial white tebenna sweeping the dusty ground. He raised a placating hand towards the murmuring officials and overseers.
“Uprisings are not uncommon,” he said smoothly. “The Achaeans have always been difficult.” Turning towards Caius with the ease of a seasoned orator, he added, “This will be handled, of course… but it may take some time.”
Caius slammed his hand against a wooden support beam, the sound splitting the air like thunder. Overhead, the scaffolding shuddered, and several workers flinched.
Silence dropped like a blade.
Caius’ voice seethed with barely contained fury. “I have waited decades for this.Decades.I will not let a pack of worthless slaves stand in my way. Not again.”
A ripple of confusion stirred among the gathered officials.
“Decades, Imperator?” Sanquinius asked.
