The next morning, Rome was tranquil, so calm that it seemed as if the massive light and illusionary flower-like shadows from the day before had been nothing but a dream.
People across the city whispered that it was divine joy, brought about by the Emperor herself digging a new canal—Rome blessed by the gods. To those who practiced magic, however, it was clear the empire had tapped into ancient methods to preserve lingering fragments of divine mystery.
But inside the Roman imperial palace, in Nero's private chambers, Novia sat at a desk, furiously scribbling.
"Mellusine, open the window for me, let in some light."
At his request, the silver-haired girl who'd been nestled in his arms jumped down and obediently unlocked the tightly shut window.
The room, draped in red, had been silent—funeral-like in its stillness. But as Mellusine slowly opened the window, the light unveiled a breathtaking sight: a dreamlike blue sky that stretched endlessly, a scene so beautiful it demanded awe.
"Novia, what are you writing?"
Mellusine asked with curiosity.
Ever since Novia had brought Nero back to the palace the night before, he hadn't begun anything remotely like what he'd claimed—following the prophecy of Revelation. Instead, he'd stayed up all night writing something strange. Something he said involved "only one God."
Mellusine didn't quite understand. She found it odd—after all, how could there be just one god? Still, she kept her doubts to herself, not wanting to burden Novia. But deep down, she wanted to understand. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to help.
She just wanted to share in his burdens.
"This is what I plan to do next," Novia replied. "Looking at it now... I'll probably have to trouble you again. I'm sorry for all the hardship I've caused, and all the hardship I'm still going to cause."
At that, Mellusine frowned. Shaking her head, she stared at the man she loved and declared:
"Don't say that! I like helping you! I want you to rely on me more! More than anything, I want to protect you. Sharing your struggles—that makes me happy. I chose this!"
The silver-haired girl clenched her fists as she spoke with passionate conviction, so earnest it made Novia blink—and then smile.
"You're too easy to fool, Mellusine."
What Novia had been writing was, in fact, the grand plan he had conceived before Nero's transformation. In addition to investing in Byzantium, he wanted to transform the Roman Empire's system—top-down—into a European-style feudal order.
And he, the "Messenger of God on Earth," would be the one to drive it forward. Such a rare top-down reform in ancient times would inevitably clash with the interests of Rome's noble class. But Novia was prepared to wield the "violence" of Roman and Church authority to make it happen.
His model was the reform enacted by Charles Martel—Charlemagne's grandfather—who altered the old practice of unconditional land grants into a system of conditional enfeoffment. The idea was that vassals owed loyalty to their liege, and in turn, the liege was obligated to protect them—intertwining rights with duties. This principle, underpinned by Church belief, would be driven into the collective consciousness.
Why did he write it down? Partly because he wasn't sure what the future held. And if he couldn't see it through himself, he wanted someone else to carry it out.
As for Nero's transformation, Novia had asked Locusta the night before. He learned that Nero knew the item he'd given her was non-toxic—that she had chosen to ingest it despite knowing that. Which meant that, in her mind, Novia had been giving her poison from the very beginning, even though he had never said or done anything of the sort.
And then Novia understood: it had been Agrippina's doing—sowing poison and doubt into Nero's heart, long before this moment. As a result, he had already ordered Lucius to have Agrippina locked away in the Temple of Quirinus on the Quirinal Hill. He would deal with her later.
"I'm only fooled by you," Mellusine pouted, puffing up her cheeks like a sulking child. "Now hurry up and hold me again!"
Time passed slowly. As dusk approached, Novia finally finished his writing. He turned toward the still-sleeping Nero and sighed. Then he rose, gently set Mellusine aside, and let his shoulders relax slightly.
"There's something I need to take care of. Mellusine, stay here for a bit."
"No, I want to go with you. I want to help."
"Be good."
Novia reached out and gently placed his right hand on her head. Mellusine closed her eyes as if to savor the warmth, the texture of his fingers, the life in his touch.
"Fine then... you—" Mellusine paused.
The soft yellow glow of the sunset lit her face in profile. There was a hint of sadness in her expression. She hesitated for a breath, then whispered:
"If you're not here... I'll be lonely."
"Don't worry," he said. "I promised you, didn't I?"
With that, Novia departed—heading for the Temple of Quirinus on the Quirinal Hill.
Before setting the prophecy in motion, there was one more thing he had to do: kill someone.
Standing before the heavy doors of the ancient temple, Novia took a deep breath to calm himself.
Once these doors opened, there would be no turning back. He could have looked the other way. But he had chosen to come.
"You've come? So, so—how is she? That child, isn't she just the most adorable little doll?"
As the doors creaked open, the once-empty temple revealed Agrippina, standing before the statue of Quirinus, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. She turned to face Novia, her expression unhinged.
"Nero... my sweet Nero... I love you so much. Come, bring her to me! She must be dying to kill me! Let her come!"
What she had inherited from her own mother was a curse—a love that was obsessive and twisted. Agrippina called this desperate plea "love."
But in truth, it was a rose with thorns.
Those who receive such thorned affection from a mother are fated, in the end, to kill with thorns of their own.
"Agrippina. It won't be Nero who kills you. She won't kill her mother. Children don't kill their mothers."
Expressionless, Novia shoved the madwoman to the floor and lightly traced his fingers along the blade of his longsword.
The scene reminded him—uncannily—of the day he killed the Empress Messalina.
"Let her do it! Let Nero kill me! Who the hell do you think you are?! You're just some outsider! What do you have to do with her? I'm her mother! You're nothing—nothing to her!"
Agrippina's screams echoed through the empty temple, madness and fury spilling from every syllable.
"No. The one who will kill you—the only one who can—is me. If she's going to bear hatred, let her hate me. Not you. Not herself."
With calm finality, Novia plunged his sword into Agrippina's chest. A single strike. Death.
He pulled the blood-soaked blade free and used magic to clean it.
Then, standing before the blood-spattered statue of Romulus Quirinus in the temple, he said:
"I'm grateful for your help. But to you, who sees all things as belonging to Rome—I've just killed your beloved child before your eyes. For that, Romulus Quirinus, I owe you an apology."