Julius awoke before dawn.
He rose, dressed in travel attire—darkened mail beneath a velvet cloak, his armor adorned with simplicity.
The Codex Solaris was already packed, sealed in the hardened blackwood case beneath his bunk.
His hands rested upon it only once, as if to assure himself it was still there.
Then, wordlessly, he fastened the strap and lifted it onto his back.
Outside, the Praetorians had already formed.
Thirty riders in a loose crescent, cloaked against the morning chill, visors lowered, weapons sheathed.
Only the dark sigils on their pauldrons shimmered in the rising sun.
Their loyalty to their emperor was absolute, even with some of the legionaires watching with worry as the Emperor and his Imperial Guard prepared to leave the frontline and all of them behind.
"Mount,"
Julius ordered, and without so much as a drumbeat, the procession began to move.
~
