I. Scaeva
Sextus was checking his gear when he heard the footsteps. He didn't need to look.
"So, you're leaving," said Scaeva, leaning against the tent frame.
"Looks like it," Sextus replied without stopping.
"I went to the valetudinarium. Told them you're wounded, not fit for special missions. That you're still limping, still bleeding at night."
Sextus looked up at him for the first time.
"And what did they say?"
Scaeva shrugged.
"That if you're standing, you're useful. That tough men don't get rest."
"You believe that?"
Scaeva looked at him for a moment, then sighed.
"I believe you did a damn good job. Better than most veterans. That's why they noticed you."
He paused for a second, then stepped closer.
"I don't know if you'll be back. But if you are, there'll be a vitis waiting for you. You've earned it."
Sextus swallowed hard. He wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He just nodded.
Scaeva placed a firm, brief hand on his shoulder. Then he left without another word.
II. Titus
Titus sat on a rock, legs apart, brow furrowed. He was chewing something—maybe dried meat—and didn't stand when Sextus approached.
"Come to give me a speech about how grateful I should be?" he asked with a half-smile.
"I came to tell you we leave at dusk."
Titus raised an eyebrow.
"So it's true. You picked me?"
"Yes."
"Why?" he replied, almost amused. "Because I'm the best legionary in the XIII?"
Sextus looked at him seriously.
"No. Because it's a suicide mission."
Titus stopped chewing. For a moment, they stared at each other in silence.
"Well," Titus finally said, swallowing. "At least I was chosen by someone with a sense of humor."
"I don't have one," Sextus answered.
"Perfect," Titus grinned. "Neither do I."
They walked away from the camp together. The moon hadn't yet risen, but the shadows were already stretching long.