The Senate chamber stank of incense and cowardice.
Even with the fires still smoldering beyond the hills of Esquiline, the senators sat in their marble thrones like vultures around a carcass — robes pristine, eyes bloodshot, hands gripping scrolls they hoped would become decrees.
At the center, seated on the gilded throne of Nero, Julius felt the ancient air thicken around him.
As if the very walls of the Curia Julia waited for him to repeat history.
The names had already been whispered.
Now they were spoken aloud.
"The Christians must be held accountable."
"Yes. Their sect is unnatural. Subversive."
"They preach fire as a purification—"
"They claim our gods are false! What else could be the cause of divine wrath?"
Each declaration landed like a stone tossed into a stagnant well — louder ripples, uglier echoes.
Julius remained seated.
Still.
But his fingers, hidden beneath the folds of Nero's imperial toga, curled into a fist.
So this is where it begins, he thought.
