Amalia was a young woman with wavy black hair, her figure slim and agile, caught in the midst of her teenage growth spurt. At just fourteen years old, she carried responsibilities far beyond her years. As the daughter of two Navicularii—shipbuilders who played a vital role in the maritime trade of the Republic—Amalia had stepped into the shoes of a caretaker. With her mother heavily pregnant and her father consumed by his work building vessels, Amalia managed the household tasks, cooking, cleaning, and tending to her older brother, Belisarius.
Her life had been simple but full of warmth. The streets of Mariana, where she had spent her childhood, were a second home. She knew every alley, every turn of the forum, like the back of her hand. Walking through the market streets, she greeted familiar faces and soaked in the lively bustle. But that day's errand was different.
Her mother was in labor. The cries of pain that echoed through their small home drove Amalia into action. While Belisarius ran to fetch the neighborhood obstetrix, Amalia rushed toward the herbalist. Her mother needed pain-relieving herbs, and every moment counted.
She darted through the crowded streets, her heart pounding in rhythm with her hurried steps. The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light across the bustling marketplace. Vendors shouted their wares, children played in the streets, and the aroma of baked bread mingled with the sharp scent of the sea breeze.
But in her rush, Amalia failed to notice the shadowy figures watching her.
Titus, a retired Triarius who had once served in the Third Legion during the Alpine Wars against the Dwarves, now lurked among the forum's crowd. A man hardened by battle and ambition, he had traded the discipline of the legions for the lawlessness of Pluto's Curse, a notorious gang that thrived on extortion, slave trading, and manipulation.
Though slavery was legal in the Empire, the enslavement of Roman citizens was restricted to those who fell into debt. Pluto's Curse exploited this loophole mercilessly, preying on the vulnerable and engineering situations to their advantage. Titus had grown skilled at spotting opportunities, and Amalia's hurried, unguarded presence was one such chance.
A street urchin ran to him, panting, and whispered.
- Old man, she left her house alone. She's heading to the forum.
Titus smirked, tossing the boy a bronze coin.
- Good lad. Now scram.
Turning to his companions, he motioned for them to follow.
- You two, with me. Time to catch ourselves a little bird.
The plan was simple: capture Amalia and use her as leverage against her father. The shipbuilding trade was lucrative, and a hold over her father could secure Titus wealth and influence within the gang. He didn't care for her beauty or innocence—only her worth as a bargaining chip.
As they stalked her through the forum, Titus's anticipation grew. He imagined the power he would gain, the rivals he would crush. But in his arrogance, he failed to notice a shadow trailing them.
A young boy, no older than ten, emerged from the crowd. His movements were swift, deliberate, and unnoticed. He slipped behind one of Titus's thugs, plucking a knife from the man's belt with a dexterity that spoke of practice.
Before anyone could react, the boy plunged the blade into the back of the thug's knee. The man howled in pain, collapsing to the ground.
- Catch him!
Titus roared, his voice booming across the forum. One of the remaining thugs broke into a sprint after the boy, leaving Titus alone with Amalia.
Gripping her arm tightly, Titus seethed with anger.
- You think you're clever, don't you?
he spat, though his words were directed more at the unseen force behind the attack than at the terrified girl.
Amalia struggled against his grip, tears streaming down her face.
- Let me go!
she pleaded, her voice trembling.
Titus's patience snapped. He raised his hand and struck her across the face. The slap echoed, silencing the chaos around them.
Amalia crumpled to the ground, her hands clutching her stinging cheek. Shock and disbelief clouded her mind. Never in her sheltered life had she encountered such cruelty. Her world had always been one of kindness, of family love. Now, that world was crumbling, replaced by a cold, unforgiving reality.
Before Titus could grab her again, a presence halted him.
The boy had returned.
He stepped out of the shadows, his small frame illuminated by the pale moonlight. In his hand, the knife gleamed—its blade drenched in blood. The air around him seemed to ripple with an unnatural energy.
Titus froze. His instincts, honed from years on the battlefield, screamed at him to be wary. The boy's eyes, glowing faintly in the dark, locked onto his, and a chilling grin spread across his face.
The blood on the knife shimmered, moving as if alive. Titus's breath hitched as he watched the crimson liquid crawl off the blade and pool at the boy's feet, only to slither back onto the weapon like a living thing.
- What in Pluto's name…
Titus whispered, his voice trembling.
He knew now what he faced. This was no ordinary child. It was a Daimon, a creature of legend and fear. Only a being of otherworldly power could wield such control over blood, such an aura of menace.
Titus's grip tightened on his Spatha as he drew it from its scabbard. Fear coursed through him, but so did determination. He was a veteran, a Roman soldier. He would not flee like a coward.
The boy tilted his head, his grin widening. He raised the knife, and the blood shimmered again, forming sharp tendrils that hovered in the air like serpents.
Amalia, still trembling on the ground, saw her chance. While Titus's focus was on the boy, she scrambled to her feet and ran, her legs carrying her as fast as they could.
Her lips moved in silent prayer.
- Oh, blessed Trivia, goddess of the crossroads, if this is your Daimon, please let him bring justice to the wicked. Protect me and my family.
Titus and the boy squared off, the tension thick in the air. The forum, once bustling, now seemed eerily silent. Shadows danced under the flickering torchlight, and the faint sound of Amalia's retreating footsteps faded into the night.
The battle was about to begin.