Rome. The Great Library of the Athenaeum Imperialis. February 7, 1000 AD.
An absolute stillness reigned throughout the library, fractured only by the rhythmic ticking of the mechanical clock embedded within the marble wall. The radiance of electric crystal lamps was gilding the drifting dust, stirring the motes into a spectral dance between rows of bookshelves that soared to reclaim the ceiling. I was arranging several ancient parchment scrolls when the scratching of the gold pen abruptly ceased.
Aelius Tacitus, my master who served as the Imperial Historian and the Head of the Imperial Library, leaned his back against the oak chair. He exhaled a long sigh, a breath that carried the burden of five hundred years of history he had just poured onto the sheets of paper.
"Cassian, draw near," he called without turning his head.
I immediately stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Yes, Master Aelius?"
He placed his gold pen onto its mechanical stand with an exceedingly graceful motion. His gaze remained fixed upon the final line of the Book One manuscript he had just perfected.
"Tidy this desk and secure that manuscript within the airtight vault," he commanded in a low yet powerful voice. "Emperor Aurelius II departed for the Gallic border last night, leaving a heavy mandate for us. I do not have sufficient time to elaborate, but ensure this room is locked tightly while I am at the palace."
I observed my master reach for his crystal tipped walking stick. The lines on his aged face appeared more weary than usual, as if a storm were moving toward our position.
"Are you going to guide the Caesar, Master?" I asked while beginning to lock the automatic ink bottles.
"Correct. The Caesar must preside over the Grand Session of the Senate at the Curia Julia next month as his father's representative," Aelius replied as he walked toward the private balcony. He paused for a moment, then turned to face me. "Romulus is strong, he is handsome, and his mind is brilliant. However, in a world surrounded by political wolves, all of that will never be adequate. I must ensure he possesses the absolute sharpness required before the chaos in Iberia drags us all into darkness."
Aelius stared at me intently, his gaze saturated with unspoken warnings. "Guard that manuscript with your life, Cassian. History is our anchor. Without an honest past, this empire is merely a ship without a rudder accelerating toward the reefs."
"I will do as you command, Master," I answered obediently.
Aelius stepped toward the balcony jutting out into the Roman horizon. As I opened the heavy bronze sliding door, the subtle roar of steam engines and the distinct scent of sulfur immediately assaulted our senses.
At the hanging dock, a small steam skiff bearing the emblem of the Double Golden Eagle stood ready. Its engine hissed softly, breathing out thin white steam from the brass pipes wrapped around its hull. A Scholae guard in silver armor offered a salute by striking his fist against his chest.
My master boarded the vessel with a steady stride. The craft took off smoothly, gliding high above the steam driven grandeur of Rome. I remained fixed on the balcony, watching the ship sail through the swarms of Navis Aeria toward the Palatine Hill, where the future of this empire was being weighed.
The brief flight above the clouds of steam ended as the skiff docked at the Palatine Hill. Aelius stepped down, traversing palace corridors where the walls pulsed with giant clockwork mechanisms beating in synchrony with the empire's heart. In the center of the Imperial Hall, he paused before the marble statue of Romulus I, offering a silent prayer for the boy who had once carried the world on his shoulders, before continuing toward the massive doors guarded by two Scholae soldiers.
"I am here to see the young Caesar," Aelius stated calmly.
"Follow me, Magister. He is at the training grounds," one of the guards replied, gesturing for Aelius to follow him toward the expansive rear courtyards.
From a distance, sharp cracks of thunder tore through the air. Aelius found Romulus III standing firm, wielding a Fulmen Custos. This weapon was a masterpiece of Roman forge-craft, a steam rifle powered by glass capsules containing a blend of Serica fire-powder and a single drop of liquid Aether. When the trigger was pulled, a hydraulic pin struck the capsule, releasing an instantaneous pressure that propelled a metal projectile at lethal speeds, leaving a faint trail of glowing green vapor in its wake.
Romulus III lowered the weapon, his breath slightly labored. As he turned to wipe the sweat from his brow, his eyes caught the silhouette of his master. Aelius bowed his head in a solemn salute.
"Ah, Master!" Romulus III exclaimed, his face instantly brightening.
"Call me Uncle, young Caesar. You have always been far too generous with such formalities," Aelius replied with a thin smile.
"There is no such thing as being too generous for a student who wishes to honor his teacher," Romulus III answered sincerely. He raised the weapon once more. "Observe my marksmanship, Uncle."
He aimed at a wooden target across the field through the brass optical lens mounted on his rifle. DOOM! The weapon spat thunder and white smoke. The metal slug struck the target, hitting the mark but slightly off from the perfect center.
Romulus III let out a groan of disappointment, his shoulders sagging. "Curse it! Almost there."
Aelius drew closer, inspecting the hole in the target. "It is already commendable. You merely require more practice. As you do... for the Senate session next month."
At those words, Romulus III jolted. He struck his palm against his forehead, as if waking from a long reverie.
"By the Grace of God! Thank goodness you reminded me, Uncle. I had nearly forgotten that the appointment with the elders at the Curia Julia is fast approaching," he chuckled, handing his weapon to an attendant to signal the end of the session.
He rubbed his stomach and looked at Aelius playfully. "Come, my belly is crying out for sustenance. Political discourse is far more bearable when one is not hollow with hunger."
They walked side by side toward the dining area in the exquisite gardens, where exotic flowers flourished thanks to the steam heating pipes hidden beneath the soil.
"Speaking of food, Master... it has occurred to me that throughout all the years you have taught me, I still do not know your favorite dish?" the young Caesar asked as they took their seats at the prepared marble table.
"A difficult inquiry, Romulus," Aelius remarked as he settled into the velvet cushion of his chair, the mechanical joints of the seat hissing softly as they adjusted to his weight. "After all these years of stuffing your brain with war strategies and philosophy, I suppose it is only fair you realize I consume more than just ink and ancient parchment."
Aelius chuckled, resting his crystal headed cane against the marble table. "In the library, I masticate knowledge. But here? My palate remains quite humble. I have always found that the complexity of a man's thoughts is often inversely proportional to the complexity of his dinner."
The first course arrived, carried by servants in crisp white linen. In the center of the table, they placed a large silver platter of grilled turbot, glazed in a modern garum sauce enriched with pungent spices from the distant lands of Hindia. However, it was the smaller crystal bowls that drew the young Caesar's attention.
"These are black dates from the Province of Persia," Romulus said with a sparkle of pride, pointing to the dark, glistening fruit. "My father dispatched a special caravan via the Trans-Mesopotamian steam express just so we could enjoy them fresh. And this," he added, lifting a sliver of dark, marbled meat, "is cured reindeer from the northern frontier of Britannia. They say eating this during the frost will make your heart beat as vigorously as a Navis Aeria engine."
Aelius smiled, taking a Persian date and inspecting it under the sunlight. "The Trans-Mesopotamian express? That route is truly extraordinary. Your great grandfather spent half the national treasury just to ensure the rails would not warp under the desert heat. He would surely laugh with pride to see the fruits of his labor now used merely to deliver your afternoon snacks to Rome."
"And he might laugh even harder to see us pairing these with sheep's cheese from the Atlas Mountains in Africa," Romulus joked, spreading the creamy white cheese onto a piece of toasted rye. "An odd combination of flavors, yet somehow, it makes sense. Much like our politics, is it not? A mixture of various cultures forced into one grand union."
Aelius let out a crisp laugh, a rare sound that seldom echoed within the solemn walls of the Athenaeum. "Be cautious with your analogies, Caesar. If the Senate hears the empire likened to a mix of dates and cheese, they will spend three days debating which province plays the part of the mold."
Romulus burst into laughter, the lingering tension from his marksmanship practice evaporating like the steam from the silver teapot. "At least cheese does not plot a coup, Uncle. Though, looking at some of those ancient Senators in the Curia Julia, I suspect they are indeed made of stale, moldy crusts."
They began to eat in a comfortable silence, the quiet interrupted only by the distant hum of patrolling airships. Aelius eventually set his utensils down, folding his fingers upon the table. Though he lacked even a single drop of imperial blood in his veins, his gaze remained sharp, the look of a teacher who had stood by this boy since childhood.
"So," Aelius began, leaning forward as thin wisps of tea steam danced between them. "Before we open today's scrolls, answer me honestly. We have passed many seasons since I first taught you to read edicts. Do you feel truly prepared to take your father's place in the Senate next month?"
Romulus III fell silent for a moment as his fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of his silver goblet. The playful glint that usually danced in his eyes dimmed and left behind a flicker of doubt he seldom revealed to anyone except the old man seated before him.
"Honestly?" Romulus met the gaze of Aelius. "I fear that I am attempting to pilot a Navis Aeria in a freefall, Uncle. I can memorize the speech and I can wear the heavy purple robes, but every time I imagine the faces of the elders in the Senate staring at me, it seems they only see a student playing at being Emperor beneath the overwhelming shadow of my father."
Aelius nodded slowly with a smile that was more genuine this time. It was a rare mark of approval. "Good. Because the most dangerous man in the Curia Julia is not your enemy, but yourself if you believe you already know everything. That anxiety simply means you are aware that the chair you will occupy for the Grand Session carries a real and heavy burden."
Aelius reached for his crystal headed walking stick and rose as he gestured for Romulus to follow. They walked side by side out of the garden and traversed high corridors adorned with bronze reliefs depicting the triumphs of the earliest machines of Rome. Their footsteps echoed against the marble floors and were accompanied by the rhythmic mechanical ticking of wall clocks embedded along the hallway.
As they entered the Palatine Palace Library, the scent of old parchment mingled with fine lubricating oil immediately greeted them. Aelius walked toward a massive table where a projected map of the empire glowed dimly from the reflection of electric crystals.
"Sit, Romulus. Before you face those old men, you must understand exactly who you are speaking to," Aelius remarked while tapping the surface of the teak table. "Remember your great grandfather, Augustus Romulus II. He was not merely a maker of engines, but the architect of our political order. Through the Lex Imperialis he enacted, the Senate ceased to be a mere gathering of arrogant elders from the original Roman clans."
Aelius shifted a brass lever on the side of the table and caused the light map to display a vast array of territories stretching from the mists of Britannia to the deserts of Persia.
"Your great grandfather reformed the system to ensure the empire would not fracture. He decreed that every province, no matter how distant, had the right to send three of their finest representatives to the Central Senate. Three voices for one Imperial ear," Aelius explained. "Currently, we manage forty two provinces. From Lusitania on the western edge of Iberia, to Aegyptus Superior in Africa, and Mesopotamia Secunda on the Persian frontier. Even the cold reaches of Britannia Inferior hold seats there."
Romulus observed the points of light representing the delegates with intense focus.
"This means that when you stand there next month, you will not just be facing local nobles," Aelius continued. "You will be facing one hundred and twenty six Senators from across the globe. They are the voices of millions, from the coal miners in the northern mountains to the silk merchants in the East. If you can win their hearts, you win the stability of the world. If you fail, you will be seen as nothing more than a hollow ornament upon the throne."