Main tent.
A lady stared up into nothingness with hard, emotionless eyes. Her stately curves a source of envy beneath the toga; the picture of the Roman womanhood, perfectly etched upon a terracotta oil lamp on the table.
The lone yellow flame cast a wan, but enduring light that brightened the center of the wide functional tent.
Beside the lamp lay stacks of parchments and papyrus scrolls, and below, a hard and gritty hand held a reed pen, scrawling upon a parchment with swift, sharp strokes.
The faint sounds of friction reverberated like a fading eulogy in the dim silence, growing slower and heavier until the hand seized, trembling.
The reed pen fell, and the hand rose to caress the battle-worn face of a soldier.
The lamp weakly cast its light upon grey eyes, sunken and weary.
It was the Camp Prefect, Alexios Arenius Kyriakos, Commander of an elite Cohors Equitata Milliara comprising of 800 auxiliary infantry and 240 auxiliary cavalry.
His hand shifted to pinch the bridge of his nose, and he sighed heavily.
"Why did you have to die, Centurio Vibius?" He silently muttered.
"Lord Praefect!"
The tent guard yelled from beyond the goat skin flap, and Alexios jolted.
"Optio Commius of the Atrebates seeks audience!"
Alexios glanced up at the tent's opening, sighting the familiar glint of Commius' helmet.
He drew a begrudging deep breath and sighed again, then he leaned back slightly on his chair, comporting himself.
Soon, his face became stoic and unreadable.
"Let him in!" He ordered.
–––
*Crunch!* *Crunch!*
Kotys paced down the sandal-tested path between neatly spaced rows of doused but steaming campfires and white tents. The strong smell of tanned leather hung yet in the air, even after the smell of smoke and horse dung had receded under the enduring night's draft.
He walked, eyes distant and lowered, seemingly deep in thought with his lips slightly pursed.
A memory flashed before Kotys, of him sparing the stranger in human skin; and then his lips curved up slightly in a wry smile as a faint, self-depreciating laugh rumbled up his chest.
"I am daft!" He muttered, shaking his head with a cynical smile.
'What do I intend to gain from him that I would go to such lengths?!'
He took a deep breath and calmed himself.
'I have already made myself out to be his ally. Father won't like it but there's no going back. I will be his—friend for now, and see where this goes.'
"You there!"
A voice called, snapping him from his thoughts. He stopped and looked down an intersecting path.
Along the path came two soldiers with spears and oval shields, and although the moon was up, beaming its gentle light. The touches they carried overruled her brightness, bathing them and the ground around in an orange hue.
One of the soldiers, unlike him, was older, and his steady scrutinizing eyes, which peered beneath his helm spoke of his experience on watch duty.
However, it was the younger of them, a tall youth of similar age to Kotys who spoke.
"State the tessara, pedite!"
He challenged as they came to a stop just eight paces away, weapons held at the ready.
The tessera was a password given out to assigned guards who ensured security at the camp; primarily against infiltrations.
Sentries and guards could challenge anyone approaching by asking for it. If the person failed to respond correctly, they could be detained or even attacked.
Kotys stared at the younger one for a while, his intense eyes boring into the soldier's.
"...Togo, we were both handed the tessera together."
Togo tilted his head slightly, eyes thoughtful for a moment but he nodded.
"True. I also know that you have joined ranks with the daemo—"
Kotys' gaze hardened.
"–Stranger." Togo amended and tentatively went on. "I... needed confirmation that you have not been eaten. The soldiers, they say daemons can eat us and take our skin."
The older soldier turned to Togo with an involuntary, appalled gasp.
Kotys let out an aggravated sigh, stabbed his spear on the ground before bringing out a small wooden tile to show them the password.
"Here it is. Glad now?!" He snarked.
Togo looked at the tile and nodded. But then he turned hesitant, attracting a swift, frustrated glare from Kotys.
"You might still be something else inside Kotys—"
Kotys took a hard step toward him, pointing toward the camp entrance.
"Togo! He is outside! If it is confirmation you desire, then go to him! Perhaps then, you can discover if he wears the skin of others for yourself!"
With that, Kotys drew out his spear and marched on with an exasperated huff.
Both guards were left standing, stupefied, but then, Togo looked at his partner.
"S-should we see—"
The older one gave Togo a glancing smack off the back of his head.
"Fool boy! We have a designated area! I-I would also wish to live on a few years!" He scolded with a stutter. "Ahem! Let us continue our patrol."
Togo wasn't bothered by the smack; he had a helmet and felt nothing.
He simply nodded. "You are right."
They both silently walked on, their touches illuminating the wan night.
–––
Commius walked into the tent, his lorica segmentata catching the lamplight. On his arms were stacks of parchments.
"From the Librarius, Lord Praefect."
He stated, steadily approaching to place the written documents from the steadily military clerk on the table for perusal.
Alexios' placid eyes went up from the parchments to Commius.
"I did not know the Librarius was also wounded from the battles of the day... That you had to bring his workings to me yourself."
The military clerk didn't join the siege of the garrison fort; it wasn't his task, and they both knew it. Although they were forced to withdraw on two occasions they were not short enough on soldiers to require the camp's military clerk at the front.
Commius stiffened.
"Er, ahem! Lord Praefect, I was just on my way here and sought to do him a favor."
Alexios raised a curious brow.
"A report?"
"Yes, Lord Praefect. A general report."
Alexios's brows creased slightly, a hidden pain surfacing in his eyes.
"This was Vibius' task..."
Commius blinked back and looked down guiltily as a heavy silence settled.
"The Chief Centurion fought bravely, Lord Praefect." Commius softly consoled.
At that, Alexios' eyes hardened, and they went up in search of Commius', but Commius dared not meet them.
"How would you know this when you were back at camp...strangling my sick slave to death!"
Alexios barked and Commius paled.