The Siege of the Forum

The night air was thick with ash, a dull orange haze that clung to the stone arches of the Basilica Aemilia. A low rumble rolled through the Forum, shaking the marble columns as the earth trembled beneath them. Heat licked the walls; flames curled up like hungry serpents, throwing shadows that leapt and shivered across the cracked floor.

Marcus crouched behind a toppled bronze column, his hand still slick with sweat and soot. He could hear his own breath, short and ragged, over the crackling fire.

“Almost there,” Selene whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar. She clutched the edge of a broken marble slab, the piece of mosaic she had hidden there pulsing a faint copper glow. Small sparks danced on its surface, flickering as if the ash itself fed them.

Quintus moved ahead, his massive frame a blur of muscle. He shoved a fallen pillar aside, sending a shower of dust into the air. His eyes, normally hard as flint, reflected the fire’s orange glow.

“Carus!” Marcus shouted, the word tearing out of him like a blade. “You think you can burn the truth?”

The senator stepped from the smoke, his toga singed at the hem. His face was a mask of fury, eyes narrowed, a glint of steel at his side. He raised his sword, the blade catching a flash of flame.

“You’re too late, Valerius,” Carus snarled. “The contract will be gone with the sunrise. Rome will have a new heir, and you’ll be nothing but ash.”

A tremor shivered the floor, sending a cascade of loose stones tumbling. Marcus felt the ground tilt, his boots slipping on the slick marble. He lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the mosaic fragment. The copper tiles flared brighter, a surge of heat spilling from the stone like a second sun.

“Cover your eyes!” Selene cried, pulling a cloth from her belt and shoving it over her face. She thrust it toward Carus, the fabric catching a whiff of burning oil.

The Imperial Seal, a round gold emblem etched into the floor beneath the altar, swelled with the heat. Its surface melted, the metal turning molten, a blinding white flash that exploded outward. For a heartbeat, the blaze seemed to freeze, then the whole basilica was awash in a searing light that ripped through the smoke.

Carus staggered, his sword clattering to the ground. He coughed, eyes watering, his hand flying to his face.

“Marcus—” Quintus roared, swinging his massive forearm and slamming the broken column onto the senator’s chest. The impact sent Carus sprawling, his armor cracking with a sharp, metallic sigh.

Marcus seized the moment. He dove toward the altar, his fingers closing around the rolled parchment that lay at the base of the seal. The paper crackled, the ink dark against the fire‑blackened vellum. He pulled it free just as the heat surged again, the molten seal spitting out a spray of bright orange that blinded the attackers.

“Take it!” Selene shouted, thrusting the parchment toward Marcus. He snatched it, tucking it into the inner fold of his cloak.

A sudden shudder ran through the basilica; the ceiling cracked, a slab of stone falling with a thunderous crash. Dust and ember exploded in a cloud that swirled around them.

“Run!” Quintus bellowed, his voice raw and urgent. He hauled Selene up onto his shoulder, the mosaic fragment still humming against his chest, its glow now a steady, fierce red.

Marcus sprinted toward the hidden passage he had marked earlier, his boots pounding on the uneven floor. The tremor intensified, stone grinding under his feet, yet he felt no fear—only the rush of adrenaline and the knowledge that the truth was in his hands.

Carus scrambled to his feet, his eyes searching through the haze, but the blinding flash of the seal had left him disoriented. He raised his arms, shouting curses, his voice swallowed by the roar of the collapsing vault.

The group burst through a narrow archway into the gloom of the Subura tunnels. The air was cooler, the ash settling like gray snow on their skin. Selene, still clutching the glowing mosaic shard, let out a breath that trembled with relief.

“Done,” Quintus grunted, setting his massive foot on the threshold, the weight of the mission now a solid, heavy stone in his palm.

Marcus slipped the parchment from his cloak, unrolled it on a damp stone slab, and read the forged contract in the flickering torchlight. The ink was scrawled in Carus’s hand, the seal of the emperor twisted into a counterfeit.

He looked up, eyes meeting Selene’s. In her gaze burned the same fierce light that had ignited the mosaic—a promise that the truth would survive, even as the basilica burned behind them.