The soft, golden rays of dawn filtered through the high-arched windows of the Senate Castle, casting elongated patterns across the marble floor. Nathan slowly stirred awake in his allocated chamber, nestled deep within the heart of the political nerve center of Rome. The room was nothing short of opulent—draped in crimson and gold, adorned with masterfully carved columns, and filled with the scent of burning incense and polished cedar.
To any outsider, this was the stuff of dreams. A chamber within the very Senate Castle of Rome—a place where history breathed through its walls, where emperors walked and legends were shaped. It was the pinnacle of Roman luxury, reserved for the elite, the powerful, the chosen. And yet, here lay Septimius, someone the world still dismissed as a mere mercenary, a ghost with no roots nor name in Rome's noble bloodlines.
