April 5th 50 BC Marcus Benedictus 13 Years Old
Our journey commenced on five transport wagons, each bearing 20 individuals. In one particular wagon, a boy with straight blonde hair sat, fear etched into his visage but tempered by a glimmer of determination in his eyes as he grasped a gladius. Its sheath, fashioned from copper and leather to match the sword's hilt, accompanied a blade of inexpensive iron. Next to him lay a worn ensemble of leather armor.
An armored rider, poised atop a steed, heralded their arrival at **Castra Martis**. Lost in contemplation while gazing at the horizon, the boy was startled to recognize how close they had come to their destination. Beside him sat a girl—a curious presence, given that warriors at Castra Martis often sought to exploit those they perceived as vulnerable. Yet, she was clad in full legionary armor, a polished gladius sheathed at her side, seemingly asleep, a trickle of drool escaping her lips.
Upon their arrival, a voice rang out, "Open the gate!" The wagon shifted and jolted forward, traversing a wooden barrier with guard slits before coming to a halt. As a legionary swung open the gate, I quickly discerned that this man was no ordinary soldier. His armor, though emblematic of the legions, was constructed of a hardened material—perhaps leather or some form of copper—rather than the traditional metal. Absent was the iconic red cape worn by his comrades, and he wielded a worn sword whose weight suggested a history of conflict and exhaustion etched upon his countenance.
Upon their arrival, a voice rang out, "Open the gate!" The wagon shifted and jolted forward, traversing a wooden barrier with guard slits before coming to a halt. As a legionary swung open the gate, I quickly discerned that this man was no ordinary soldier. His armor, though emblematic of the legions, was constructed of a hardened material—perhaps leather or some form of copper—rather than the traditional metal. Absent was the iconic red cape worn by his comrades, and he wielded a worn sword whose weight suggested a history of conflict and exhaustion etched upon his countenance.
Upon disembarking, I fell into line with the disheartened peasants who had also just exited the wagons, the oppressive atmosphere thick and palpable. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reverberated through the courtyard, causing all Roman legionaries to kneel in unison. Driven by confusion, I mimicked their actions.
Before the assembled throng stood a man who cleared his throat and directed an intense gaze my way. "I am Lucas, Commander of this Legion, and today you commence your training. In one week's time, you shall be thrust into the crucible of active combat." Having proclaimed this, he pivoted sharply and strode into a scarlet tent emblazoned with the Roman Eagle.
"Alright, head to the tents!" barked another man adorned in ornate steel armor, the plume atop his helmet swaying as he followed Lucas into the red tent. As darkness enveloped the terrain, the assembly of soldiers began to disperse toward the auxiliary tents.
The narrative abruptly shifted to a flashback, revealing a youthful Marcus engaged in conversation within a modest home, seated across from an elderly man. "I never thought I'd have to share this with you, but Marcus, boy, you are not ordinary. Your parents acquired an ancient power—an ability rivaling that of the gods known as Aurelian Arcana. My research revealed that, unlike others, this power is uniquely yours. You have been bestowed with the Pillar of Light and Knowledge—or, in Christian terms, 'Lux.'"
As this memory faded, Marcus found himself lying on the ground, chuckling at the ludicrousness of the old man's assertions. "You're the kid who sat next to me," a voice interjected, drawing his attention to the girl from earlier, now clad in Roman legionary armor, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Uh, yeah," Marcus replied, feeling a mix of intrigue and uneasiness. "Are you hungry? Food should be served soon," she proposed, concern creasing her brow.
"Yeah, I haven't eaten in half a day," Marcus laughed, patting his stomach.
"I'll fetch us something to eat," she declared before rising and heading towards the clustered tents. At that moment, a bag was hastily thrown over Marcus's head, igniting a panic within him as he kicked and struggled against his bindings. Dragged away, the bag was finally lifted to reveal an elegantly appointed chamber adorned with intricate designs. A square meeting table occupied the room, with chalices placed at every seat. at one of the seats was the legion commander from before now in a toga
Come Sit Marcus
Marcu Walked up to the chair and sat down still suspicious
"Marcus Benedictus, you have achieved mastery in advanced reading, writing, and mathematics. Your comprehension of Greek and Roman doctrines, and even Phoenician trade methods, is commendable. You've studied the legendary strategies of Alexander the Great and the financial systems of the Egyptians."
"For the past two years, I have sought to assemble a coalition to dismantle the Roman Empire. I want you to serve as my Second-in-Command."
Marcus returned the commander's gaze directly, replying with a firm "No."
Lucas, taken aback, watched as Marcus rose from his seat, preparing to depart. Before he could take his leave, Lucas implored him, "I can offer you pleasure, wealth, glory—anything you desire."
Marcus hesitated but then turned back, "Fine, but can we meet tomorrow? I'm rather tired."
Before departing, Lucas pulled forth a leather pouch brimming with aureus. "Take it," he urged, prompting Marcus to reach for the offered wealth.
Taking the bag of money, Marcus strode away, only to be halted as another bag was thrust over his head, transporting him back to the place where he had previously sat. As the disorientation faded, he saw Anaya running toward him, breathless. Clasped in her hands were two wooden plates: one held bread, sausage, and vegetables, while the other contained a mix of carrots and celery accompanied by a soup garnished with green herbs.
As Roman soldiers assigned numbers to the gathered crowd, a particularly stern soldier clad in armor approached Marcus and Anaya. "Come with me," he ordered, eyeing them with an expression that brooked no argument.
"Where are we going?" Anaya asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
The soldier shot her an annoyed glance. "I won't ask again," he said, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.