"Then you had best hope, for your sake, that you bring good fortune," Alexios said at last, his tone grave and measured.
"For tomorrow, you will lead us in the siege."
Rainer blinked, disbelief dawning.
His eyes widened, alarmed—and then he lurched forward against the ropes, muscles straining.
"Le–lead a what now!?" He sputtered.
The Prefect released an imperceptible sigh, as though weighed down by command.
"Rebels—mostly Thracian skirmishers, have seized a nearby garrison fort. We have assaulted it twice: once this morning, again at noon. Both times, we were repelled. Tomorrow at dawn, we attack a third time. The fort will fall before nightfall, by all means necessary."
His tone darkened at the end, grit sheathing fatigue.
Rainer stared, mouth half-open, but no words came. His face twisted in a silent protest before sagging into a defeated frown.
Well, that took an interesting twist.
It wasn't the worst situation—truthfully, it was far better than being executed outright. Combat, after all, was familiar ground. He had waged wars across eons, from divine heavens to infernal hells. And yet, knowing how to fight was not the same as possessing the body to do it.
This vessel—once a slave, had no memory of battle, no muscle shaped by struggle, no rhythm to guide its strikes.
If he had three days—gods, even one—he could whip himself into shape. But dawn already stalked the horizon.
Alexios studied him with the quiet precision of a man accustomed to breaking soldiers and measuring spirits.
"Is there a problem?"
Rainer met his gaze, jaw clenched.
"No."
The Prefect nodded curtly. "Good. For there can be no objections. A patrician envoy passes through here tomorrow at noon, and I will not have him witness this campaign unresolved. I will therefore count upon your…fortune."
He rose then, gruff but statuesque in the torchlight, and surveyed his men.
"That is my judgment."
No one dared breathe defiance.
Alexios's gaze returned to Rainer.
"Also, If you're first upon those walls tomorrow, and by the battle's end, the fort stands beneath our banner…" His hand fell from the gladius at his side. "I shall grant your freedom—should you still draw breath."
With that, he turned away. But at the tent's threshold, he paused and looked back, his tone easing.
"Someone will brief you tonight. Until then, you will sleep beyond the palisade. My men are uneasy with your presence—and I see no reason to tempt fate."
With that, he vanished into the tent, the flaps whispering shut behind him.
Rainer exhaled sharply, sagging against the cross. A gloomy resignation shadowed his face.
'Great. From corpse to siege engine in half a day.'
He glanced toward Commius and caught the man's dark stare fixed on Alexios's tent.
Then—grrgle!
His stomach gave a loud, traitorous growl. Commius's head snapped toward him, frowning in disgust. He spat onto the dirt, then barked his orders.
"Return to your tents! Milites on watch—positions!"
The commands faded into echoes as Rainer's vision blurred. The world dimmed. His head fell forward, and darkness claimed him once more.
–✺–
When next his eyes opened, it was not to torchlight or angry shouts—but to the calm, eternal sprawl of the stars.
Rainer lay upon the cold earth, head propped on a rock polished by the night wind. The air was brisk and mixed, carrying the scent of pine and smoldering campfire.
He raised a hand lazily, brushing his short, wild hair back. His eyes scrutinized the coarse fabric of his tunic and the dirt-stained trousers that clung to his legs, and he sighed softly.
He was barefoot, starved, but alive.
He turned his head toward the camp. Beyond the palisade, torches burned like candles in the distance. Roman sentries stood rigid beneath them, their silhouettes sharp and silent against the wavering firelight. Their eyes glowed faintly under their helmets—watching him.
Rainer sensed something and turned, staring into the dark where distant patrol-torches bobbed like slow stars.
He lay back with a sigh and turned his palms upward to the sky, inspecting them as if measuring a future.
'With these hands—' He flexed them slowly, a small, hungry smile forming. 'I will make Rome into an empire like none other.'
*Crunch! Crunch!*
Footfalls drew near. But he did not lower his hands.
"I had my suspicions they would send you, Kotys," He said, peering up at the lean, athletic figure in lorica hamata, spear and oval shield held easily.
Kotys stood over him, eyes heavy with watchfulness.
"I have been sent to make sure you do not run away," He said dryly.
Rainer sat up, smile bright as he patted the earth.
"That's fine. Come, sit. I'm not going anywhere. There are patrols beyond the palisade anyway."
Kotys started at the invitation—the armor at his chest trembling a fraction—then, with a reluctant exhale, lowered himself beside Rainer.
Rainer's smile widened.
"That's the spirit! There's much I wish to know about this Rome of yours."
Kotys glanced at the two gate-guards, then settled. He kept spear and shield within reach, crossed his legs and listened.
"What do you wish to know? Or rather—what don't you know? The gods see everything, right?" Kotys asked.
Rainer hummed, considering. "—No."
Kotys's brow rose.
"The gods are not all-knowing?"
Rainer rubbed his nose, then met him head-on. "Look, Kotys. You helped me back there—I'm grateful. So I'll tell you: I am not a god."
Kotys's face contorted with disgust.
"You're a daemon, then!?"
Rainer rolled his eyes. "Ugh. What is it with you lot and demons? I'm a Qegon."
"Kegon?" Kotys tried, then corrected himself. "Egon?"
"Qe-gon," Rainer enunciated with thin patience. "Qegon."
"—Ergon."
Kotys gave up and frowned into the dark.
Rainer laughed softly, throwing up his hands.
"Forget it. All you need is this—I'm a cosmic soul, not from here. The gods you worship don't see me; they do not know me. For now, I am no different from you. I live, bleed and die"
Kotys held him with a long, skeptical stare, trying to parse the shape of the claim.
Finally, he looked away.
"You will die tomorrow—whatever you are," Kotys said simply.
Rainer's mouth tilted. Then he shrugged, half amused, half fatal.
"Possibly. But that's not for you to worry about. Tell me everything you can about this world. Start with Rome."
Kotys settled into a slow, soldier's narration after taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
"You wish to know Rome. You already know Mars—at least the name. We will begin there. Rome is a city of temples and law, of legions and patronage. It is proud, it has order—if you seek power here, you learn its rules or you break them and die."
Rainer listened raptly. Although nothing said was new to him. He knew every Roman civilization held a uniqueness.
It was that which made this Roman world different he sought to know.
Luckily, Kotys didn't seem done.